‘Continual Departures’

A single rose, it’s every rose
and this one—the irreplaceable one,
the perfect one—a supple spoken word
framed by the text of things.

How could we ever speak without her
of what our hopes were,
and of the tender moments
in the continual departure.

Rainer Maria Rilke, Roses, No. VI. Translated from the French by David Need.

Here’s a picture of the first rose to bloom in my DMZ garden this year.  It’s a species rose that’s native to Korea, China, and Mongolia called Rosa xanthina, aka the ‘Manchu Rose’. It’s unusual in several ways. First of all, it’s yellow, which is very rare in species roses, especially in occidental roses.  It’s also unlike most species’ roses in being ‘semi-double’, that is, each flower has more than nine petals, although the flowers themselves are small – only about 5cm wide. It only blossoms once a year, in late April or early May. As this year it’s been unseasonably chilly and wet, it blossomed on May 1st. This makes it the very first rose – species or cultivar – to blossom.  The Manchu Rose isn’t common. I was very surprised to find specimens for sale in a Seoul nursery. I’ve certainly never seen it growing wild. Last year my wife pruned it back too severely and it refused to flower. But this year it’s putting on a wonderful display.

Soon all the blooms will have gone. But as I’ve taken this photograph of the very first blossom, I’ve preserved it, and can share its beauty with you.

 *

Tens of thousands of years ago, humans came up with the idea of making images. They chose to represent the animals with which they shared their environment, and by making images of them they effectively removed the animals from the flow of time and captured them. But this was obviously only an imaginary seizure. A fiction. It occurred in the mind and was externalized through a visual representation. The fact that the images were often painted on cave walls that were normally in complete darkness, so it was necessary to illuminate them with a torch or lamp, suggests that the cave itself was envisioned by these people as a metaphor for the mind within which images are fabricated. For them, learning to make images must have produced the consoling and confidence-building  feeling that the mutable world had, in a certain sense, been taken into safe custody and controlled.

As a result, it seems certain that Upper Paleolithic humans greatly enhanced their feelings of self-efficacy, their belief in their ability to complete tasks and achieve goals. This was a level of control and domination that was impossible in the real world in which they were confronted with all manner of unforeseeable dangers and risks. But because of their limited knowledge and primitive tools the cave-painters could never lose sight of the obvious fact that the control they possessed through images was fictional, only a temporary reprieve from a real world that they knew was fundamentally uncontrollable.

They were acting out what the contemporary German sociologist Hartmut Rosa in his book The Uncontrollability of the World (2020) calls the ‘irresolvable tension between our efforts and desire to make things and events predictable, manageable, and controllable and our intuition or longing to simply let “life” happen, to listen to it and then respond to it spontaneously and creatively.’  (p. 60).  In other words, human relationships to the world are torn between violence and aggression, on the one hand, because we are motivated by the will for mastery and control, and on the other, a more open and accepting attitude imbued with the desire for uncontrolled interplay with the world. 

*

It only took about 35,000 years for us to make the journey from painting the walls of caves to taking digital photographs with smartphones of roses,. A camera allows us to make the world knowable, accessible, manageable and useful by turning it into an image. Thanks to the extraordinary developments associated with modernity, we have hugely increased our store of knowledge and technological capacity, and we have become very successful at exerting our dominance over the world.. But Rosa stresses that this sense of mastery has come at a very high price. Paradoxically, our very ability to impose such a high level of control has led to a way of life that is all too often characterized by profound alienation, one in which we are inwardly disconnected from other people and outwardly disconnected from the world.

In contrast to a life of alienation, Rosa describes our most cherished experiences as involving what he calls ‘resonance’: a responsive openness to being affected by the world, to being touched, moved, or ‘called’. When we have a resonant relationship to the world, it feels like an oasis. But when we are alienated, it becomes a desert. Any attempt to control a situation, an object, or a person, in the sense of making them knowable, accessible, manageable, and useful, will automatically destroy the possibility of having a resonant relationship with that particular portion of the world, and pushes us towards alienation.

The possibility of experiencing resonance depends on what kind of society we live in, what opportunities are given us to respond to the world, and for the world to ‘respond’ to our desirous approaches. We are constantly being offered visions of better, more resonant worlds, and we seek them out in situations ranging from love affairs, art galleries, favourite restaurants, and roses bloom in our gardens or public parks. But the potential for these situations  to actually offer resonance are constantly being thwarted by our compulsion to take control of them. Our society is systemically driven to exert maximum control over the world.

A primary reason why we so avidly photograph seemingly almost everything these days is because we think the camera can help us experience resonance through increasing our control of the world. But in the very act of successfully ‘capturing’ the moment we risk ruining any chance of feeling its resonance. For in taking a photograph we substitute for the uncontrollably limitless real  three-dimensional world of lived experience a controllable, fictional, miniaturized, two-dimensional world of the digital image.  In the process we forget how to ‘simply let “life” happen’, choosing instead to inhabit a world in which we believe things and events are more or less totally predictable, manageable, and controllable.  

The experience of resonance is like a fish in the fast-flowing river that eludes all our best efforts to grasp it and hold it in our hands. But we are increasingly reluctant to listen to the world and ‘respond to it spontaneously and creatively’.   For what makes our time with roses ‘tender moments’, as Rilke puts it in his beautiful poem, is precisely the fact that we have accepted that we exist in a world characterized by ‘continual departure.’  

Notes

David Need’s translations of Rilke’s ‘Roses’ was published by Horse and Buggy Press in 2018.

 My book, ‘By Any Other Name. A Cultural History of the Rose’ was published by Oneworld Publishing in 2020.

 Hartmut Rosa’s books are translated into English by Polity Press.

‘Keep yourself alive’

A glimpse into one of the many Box Photoism shops in Seoul

There’s a trend in Korea amongst young people to take sets of four passport-like photographic ‘selfies’ in shops that are  sprouting all over Seoul. One chain is called Photoism Box. The picture at the beginning of this post shows one such outlet near Anguk station. Apparently, this trend is yet to invade the west and is a specifically Korean phenomenon.

It began in 2017 with a company called Life4Cut. Here is what Lee Da-Eun of Korea JoongAng Daily says: ‘This analog manner of taking photos grew immensely popular with young Koreans, and numerous studios such as Photogray, Photoism, Harufilm, Selfix and more hopped on the photo strip trend, known in Korea as four-cut photos. Although there are distinct features for each type of photo booth, there are some common characteristics. All of these booths offer natural photoshop features, special seasonal photo frames, unique photo props to enhance the experience and QR codes that provide a digital copy of the photos taken. ‘

The writer suggests three reasons for the growing trend: first, it offers a relatively cheap way to capture lasting memories with friends and loved ones; second, it’s an optimal self-promotion tool to be used on social media.   The third reason is especially thought-provoking: ‘The photo booths also reflect Generation Z’s pursuit of a more “analog atmosphere” in contrast to their very digital lives. Gen Z, or people born between the mid-to-late 1990s to the early 2010s, are most likely immersed in digital culture and less familiar with analog photography. In Korea, however, the younger generation is increasingly interested in a more analog culture and atmosphere, as they pursue film photography and instant self-photo booths.’

Note the text on the window on the Photoism ‘Box’, at the bottom left of my photograph: “Keep yourself alive” (also note that it’s written in English, not Korean).  Interesting! The phrase made me wonder about what is really at stake not just in relation to selfies but in photography in general. What the slogan obviously means is that a photo print is a more tangible memory than a digital file. It’s something you can hold in your hands. And even though you will probably post them online! This is the analogue experience that young Koreans are apparently craving. But let’s dig a little deeper.

In English we say ‘to capture’ something when we take a photograph. We also say, ‘to take’ a photograph, which on the face of it seems less violent than ‘capture’. But etymologically, the two verbs are closely related. The Online Etymology Dictionary says for ‘to take’:  ‘"act of taking or seizing," 1540s, from French capture "a taking," from Latin captura "a taking" (especially of animals), from captus, past participle of capere "to take, hold, seize".’ In relation to ‘to take’ , the dictionary says the verb comes from ‘late Old English tacan "to take, seize," from a Scandinavian source (such as Old Norse taka "take, grasp, lay hold”)’.

These are very aggressive and predatory verbs being employed in relation to the act of using a mechanical optical imaging device to produce a representation of something.  I wondered if it’s the same in Korean. Do they also conceptualize this activity using belligerent metaphors?

It seems the normal way to say ‘take a photograph’ in Korean is  사진을 찍다 (sajin-eul jjigda). The word jikgda relates to the way of describing stamping something, like a document, or printing a book or picture.  The Korean is distantly related to the Chinese for a ‘seal’ on a document. But jikgda can also mean ‘hew’, ‘strike’, ‘chop’. So, there is also an albiet more attentuated belligerent connotation lurking in the Korean language.. But the verb also preserves a more overt link to the idea that a photograph is a stamp or print, that it is something tangible. This link is not necessarily carried over in the English convention of using the verbs  ‘take’ or ‘capture’, which rather imply that we have actually possessed the something we represent,  not just made a lasting impression of it.

In English we  in part employ the same vocabulary in relation to photographs as was used previously to talk about handmade image-making, such as painting. We say, the artist ‘captured a likeness of someone’ in their portrait. But we don’t  say to ‘take’ a painting. Rather, we say ‘make’, ‘produce’, or ‘create’. The choice of ‘take’ implies that the intermediary visualizing technology  provides a directly indexical copy of the source (the subject to be photographed), and suggests the absence of active intervention or proactive work by the one taking the photograph.  But either way, what is at stake is the underlying idea that an image somehow seizes its referent. It is not a gentle action. 

The idea of ‘keeping alive’ brings to mind the possibility that preserving memories like this really is a kind of capture or enslavement, and that the problem then is how to keep what one has photographed ‘alive’, how not to ‘kill’ it.. So, it really is a question of ‘keeping alive’, although, strictly speaking, it’s already too late. The image is already a corpse. For what we do when we document the world in images is simultaneously lose it. This is because reality is process,  and an image inevitably cuts into the process. It freezes, ‘enslaves’, or ‘kills’ it. In other words, if making an image is violent, then the likelihood is that, despite our best intentions, what we ‘capture’ is being enslaved and also in danger of dying.

*

A consideration of the conditions experienced by our hunter-gatherer ancestors is helpful here, because evolutionary biologists have shown the extent to which we are 'haunted' by 'ghosts' of past evolutionary adaptions, that is, are hardwired to negotiate the world as it was experienced over tens of thousands of years, not just the mere hundreds of centuries of historical time. Hunter-gatherer societies are characterized by the  absence of direct human control over the reproduction of the species they exploit, and have little or no control over the behaviour and distribution of food resources within their environments. Foraging for food was a fundamental survival skill, and the basic need for food played a fundamental role in the progressive evolution of cognitive structures and functions that would make food available on a more reliable basis. Under such conditions, humans explored their environments with the purpose of discovering resources of sometimes limited availability. The term ‘epistemic foraging’ is used in cognitive neuroscience to describe goal-directed search processes that respond to the state of uncertainty, and describes human behaviour considered not only in relation to specific task-dependent goals, like foraging for food, but also wider responses to the environment. This context-dependent behavior applied not only to the physical space in which humans existed but also to the abstract context of thoughts and decision making that helped humans to deal with uncertainty.. Foraging for information was as vital as foraging for food, as exploration resolved uncertainty about a scene. This ‘epistemic foraging’ supplied the core abstract thinking that humans developed, and gave them an evolutionary edge.

We are primarily geared towards the reduction of uncertainty through increasing our control over the environment, and we use epistemological tools to ensure this. But as Hartmut Rosa writes in his excellent book 'The Uncontrollability of the World’,  human relationships to the world can be divided between on the one hand a stance of violent and aggressive action motivated by the will to mastery and control, to ‘capture’ and ‘take’,  and on the other, one of erotic desire or libidinal interplay which requires a more open and accepting attitude to the uncontrollability of the world.  Hunter-gatherer societies are characterised by the latter relationship, but within the culture of modernity, as Rosa writes, 'We are structurally compelled (from without) and culturally driven (from within) to turn the world into a point of aggression. It appears to us as something to be known, exploited, attained, appropriated, mastered, and controlled. And often this is not just about bringing things – segments of world – within reach, but about making them faster, easier, cheaper, more efficient, less resistant, more reliably controlled.'  Rosa sees four dimensions to the modern obsession with guaranteeing maximum control: making the world visible and therefore knowable: expanding our knowledge of what is there, and making it physically reachable or accessible,  making it manageable, and making it useful. But this sense of mastery comes at a high price because it lead to alienation from the world - to a loss of what Rosa calls 'resonance', which 'ultimately cannot be reconciled with the idea of intellectual, technological, moral, and economic mastery of the world.' As a result, we exist mostly in a condition of profound alienation, inwardly disconnected from other people and the world. As Rosa writes: 'Modernity stands at risk of no longer hearing the world and, for this very reason, losing its sense of itself.'

*

Image-making is closely linked to the need to encode the results of epistemic foraging. But when seen in this light, a dual origin of image-making suggests itself. It  began as way of encoding a  libidinous and reciprocal relationship to the world,  but gradually shifted to become a way of encoding  the desire to enhance mastery and control.  This could be described as image-making as as a system of engendering versus image-making as a system of production.  This distinction is intended to contrasts two basic ways of being in the world: one in which representation encodes a world in in which we see the world as our dwelling place, and the other in which we are set apart in a position of aspiring (but inevitably futile) omnipotence. But image-making as engendering slowing gave way to image-making as production as we moved towards ‘modernity.’

What we humans fear most is uncertainty – being uncomfortably surprised. What we want most is to be in control.  But in what does ‘control’ lie? Metaphors of ‘taking/capturing’ that dominate European languages in relation to making images, and those prevalent in Korean, suggest a common  root in the idea of separation and aggressive domination and are infused with the aspiration towards control. But the western metaphors imply a far more aggressive relationship to the world than the Korea.  The desire for control, which os a primary means of reducing uncertainty through closure  is matched elsewhere by more open relationships to uncertainty.

The west seems especially inclined to the former. This can be seen in a very tangible way if we consider the evolution of  the European artist’s’ self-image. From the sixteenth century onwards, their posture in their studios was made to look like this:

The preference for this stance, recorded here in a late sixteenth century  Flemish print now in the British Museum, had much to do with the new social role-model then being adopted by artists, which was moving away from anonymous artisan or craftsman to being more like people on the next rank up in society: the knights.  But this stance can also be understood to reflect the emerging idea central to modernity, which is that humanity is primarily characterized by the ability to assert aggressive control over the world. It is interesting to consider that this physical stance coincides with the start of belligerent European colonising of the world. It is also interesting to note that it is not seen anywhere else in relation to the self-representation of the artist. It  certainly contrasts markedly with the self-image of the East Asian artist, who worked seated, poised over a horizontally oriented surface. This seems much more closely aligned metaphorically with someone sowing seeds in the earth - a farmer - that is, someone much more inclined to consider the world a dwelling place,  not as a place for violent conquest.

NOTES

The Korea JoongAng Daily article can be found at: https://koreajoongangdaily.joins.com/2023/01/03/national/kcampus/korea-photobooth-photodrink/20230103190906442.html 

Hartmut Rosa’s book, ‘The Uncontrollability of the World’ was published by Polity in 2020.

The illustrated print is an etching after Johannes Stradanus’ painting of van Eyck in his Studio, c.1590. It’s screen grab from the British Museum’s website.

A Rose a Day No.41

This is a photograph posted a few days ago by my friend Peter Abraham in the UK on Instagram.

This is his website:

https://www.axisweb.org/p/peterabrahams/#info