I am incredibly biased as I write this. I share a close connection with the artist Pieter Hugo through our Nearest Truth workshop programming. Although it might seem counterintuitive to the points I will raise subsequently, I have had a chance to hear Pieter talk about his work in detail, with all the challenging points raised. It has widened my understanding of beliefs I have long held about the photography of the homeless (not using the word unhoused). This is that most photography revolving around the topic is, in my way, held up to a higher scrutiny to understand the position of both subject and author. This claim does not suggest an outcome of opinion. Instead, there is a specific dialogue in such work that merits further conversation, and often that is not readily available in the dialogue surrounding images of the homeless. Pieter is not someone I would consider a “taker”, someone who will make their images at all cost, damn the outcome or subject’s sensitivity. He is awake, contemplating how images work and how his position concerning them may be read. He has been through the wringer and does not abnegate his position or intentions when undressing his work. He is as objective as one can be in their reading.
Pieter has thought through everything I will mention, and he does not answer, as some of his contemporaries do, in a language shelved in escapism or misleading narratives that distract from the conversation’s fundamentals. Instead, he has been courteous to scrutiny, having had blatant, open, and honest conversations about his motivations and how they have been perceived, while also positioning himself within the territory of those claims made by others. He has not been defensive, and frankly, why should he be? It is incumbent on the artist as it is on the viewer to understand their role in engaging in conversation about such work, reflecting the social conditions of an epoch. There is no way to excuse the questioner from the questioned. Within the context of his work, questions are raised —rightful questions —that are often unshaded by lyrical or poetic methodological formations, which play with the endeavors of the noble human spirit, etc. He does not hide blemishes, nor does he highlight them unnecessarily. His questions relate to the world we are experiencing. Although I wouldn’t consider his ambition to be solely that of a documentarian, he is not trying to gloss over or oversimplify what is in front of his camera with mediations that are shrouded in artistic dialogue, the same inaccessible dialogue employed by artists who want to speak about similar subjects veiled in a classist position and discussion for art elites. Instead, Pieter’s work is raw, but not without sensitivity.
I have always struggled with images of the homeless. I have written at length about my challenging encounters with it, particularly in Robert Bergman’s work. I keep returning to two discussion points when considering why this type of work exists. The first point is that without illuminating people in a position of misfortune, we do them little service by erasing them from our social and aesthetic landscape/fabric. This point is well-intended, and I believe it is the best argument against the hypothesis that photographers exploit those in unfortunate circumstances for their own sake. It regards the pain of others and suggests a confrontation of our world that must, at all costs, include that which is challenging, that which confronts our morals or ethical balance of sight. After all, it would be disingenuous to suggest that we get to hide the problem or ignore its counterparts to fit the difficulty of the topic. That being stated, I believe there are levels to how artists tackle such subject matter, ranging from insensitivity and brazenness to minimization of the subject out of fear of having their positions translated as corrupted by their art for selfish need.
“One can feel obliged to look at phototgraphs that record great cruelties and crimes. One should feel obliged to think about what it means to look at them, about the capacity actually to assimilate what they show. Not all reactions to these pictures are under the supervision of reason and conscience.”― Regarding the Pain of Others
I find myself somewhere between these two principal arguments, trying to figure out how I respond to the challenging subject matters of substance abuse, homelessness, and mental health issues. It is a vexing task, as Susan Sontag attested, finding a position of neutrality or one that is not self-serving is part of the territory that must be skillfully navigated and rightfully avoided. One must grapple with these issues, or it becomes a gesture only —a glance, not a genuine concern. In Pieter’s case, I am somewhat absolved from the operation by having had these discussions in the first person, which feels like due justice to the imagery. It does not make the subject matter less complicated, but consulting the image-maker can help one understand their concern, reliability, or the challenges associated with creating such images.
The second argument for creating images of homelessness is that it can help address a socially underrepresented situation, promote the realities of the world, and inspire change through observation and visual storytelling. For this discussion, there is a broad history of attempts, some of which have been successful, while others have been less so. Lewis Hine and Jacob Riis are particular examples in America whose work sparked a discussion that led to some reform. This was 100 years ago, and the conditions for which their principal discoveries were illustrated (child labor and slums, respectively) are now widely known, broadcast, and Hollywoodized ad infinitum. We are aware. We need an update and a reminder, but I have my doubts. I feel that photography doesn’t change anything; asking it to do so is, in my mind, a fallacy deeply rooted in the human condition. If Gaza has taught me anything, it is that people will not embrace radical responses easily, no matter how many dead kids they are forced to view.
“photographs are a means of making “real” (or “more real”) matters that the privileged and the merely safe might prefer to ignore.” ― Regarding the Pain of Others
I want to be clear that within this discussion, I am speaking specifically about his work, Californian Wildflowers, produced between 2014 and 2015 and recently published by the eminent publishing house TBW Books, from the same place as myself, America. I mention this positionality of the publisher and myself, as it also helps me better understand the work. I visited the Tenderloin District and Skid Row in 2014, the same year the work was created. Although it doesn’t give me the direct experience of living in Hugo’s subjects’ position, I have some proximity to understanding it firsthand. It is not an abstraction, and this, like the extended conversations about the work, gives me some insight into the production. With that, my opinion can be formed from experience and relational discussion.
Homelessness in America has been an ever-increasing symptom of a myriad of factors. First and foremost would be the post-war dissolution of the American Dream, the outsourcing of labor-oriented jobs, and more recently, the pharmaceutical industry’s grip on America, which has trickled down (the only trickle-down we have) from mega corporations directly to those affected by the diminished returns of the American labor market. The fentanyl crisis and the opioid destruction of America, while the heart of its capital (people) has been ripped out, as a direct war against the working class. It has been documented, shouted at, and warned against for decades. It has created the abject condition of America as a gutter, a place where the premise of its greatness has failed its citizens, its primary capital, its people, who have been strip-mined for the greed of profiteering and war-mongering.
The concept of America now is a sickness, not a place. It is a disturbed and recalcitrant dream, lodged somewhere between the acid reflex of spoiled milk and the slovenly, obese, oil-fried rebound of Diet Coke dictators. What has become of this stitled and corrosive empire can be seen roaming its streets, dead-eyed, wanting, and without much hope. Bath salts to oblivion. It is a resounding echo set to the timer of YouTube game shows, and in the background, there is only the grinding down of the football field stop clock, flickering, uneven, and subliminally screaming MORE! MORE! MORE! The teeth of Jesus pulled out, and what is left are barren and hollow gum jobs at ten bucks a pop. It has turned the sentient monkey loose for a wretched screw in dried underbrush waiting for a match to be casually tossed from a rusting SUV.
Californian Wildflowers offers a sneak peek into the world of California’s cauterized condition through the lens of its citizens. We will not reach a consensus on the matters above, nor will there be a definition of photographic practice that caters to all points of view on the matters I have suggested. To contextualize every body of work that deals with complex subject matter as nefarious or ill-intended is likely a deeper reflection of the viewer than the photographer. Although work may be contentious, making assumptions on one impulse alone is not enough to lay a moral claim to the poverty or riches of the medium of photography. What other fundamental knowledge claim can we proffer when remarking on the consequences? Can we suggest that intention is important again? Is hearing a first-person POV a valid and believable circumstance for which to view the work partially? I think it is.
In Hugo’s case, it is with his words in mind that I assess the work from a different perspective. He lectured on the book in Athens in January and questions were raised about what attitudes one can take regarding work that deals with the social conditions of other people and, as expressed in the beginning of this writing, the position of observer, one who sees the reality of the world in front of them, takes charge of it, and defines the position as one of exchange between operator and subject as relational, if not authoritative. To understand the world, its nuances, faults, and difficulties within the context of photography is essential.
Californian Wildflowers presents a look, an observation of America and its people in the Twenty-first Century. It is not conditioned by the topic of homelessness as much as it reflects the moment of deterioration that is now much broader than before. It reflects America’s wounded, hobbled, and hunched citizens, who are growing in number, sadly. This is no longer a specific niche type of existence, but rather an encroaching and severe issue that is turning from a minority into something much more sweeping and enabled by corporate greed and pharmaceutical agents, purposeless wars, and a it holds the great distinction that America’s ruling class no longer sees in its fiber, the gold threads of its value. It now caters to the oblique, the sacrosanct, and those who have shirked their civics class to drink the Kool-Aid, the bottom liquidation of the American dream swirling naked and empty at the bottom of a Red Bull can.
Pieter’s book may not change this condition, nor was his intention likely to have that be the fruit of his efforts. Still, it instigates further conversation about these issues. I could opine about the sequencing and the use of fruit, how Pieter photographs his subjects and their proximity to his other long list of book projects, or how the light reminds me of Katy Grannan’s and Philip Lorca di Corcia’s photographs. I might suggest Jeff Wall’s Milk, 1984, as a springboard. Still, I want to keep it contained to the subject of America’s people and the condition in which we observe them. As with most of Pieter’s work, it is challenging and invites a deeper discussion about how we see each other personally, socially, and photographically and that from my position declares it, whether you agree or not, as something that holds value in the same way that I disagree to Robert Bergman’s photographs, what is vital is that the conversation continues, despite it not changing anything at all.
Pieter Hugo
Californian Wildflowers
TBW Books
Pieter Hugo Workshop
