Two Perspectives
When editing the photographs for one of my clients, Marcus Clauss, one photograph in specific made me stop and give it my undivided attention. I felt drawn into the image. It sparked not only my emotions but especially my thoughts. So, I decided to write them down.
Intrigued about the effect this photograph had on me, I sent the same photograph to Marcus. Curious to see what thoughts are triggered in his mind when looking at the exact same photograph, I asked him to write down what his observations are when looking at this photograph. He agreed to my experiment and sent me his text shortly after.
Reading what he wrote made me notice, that despite our different professional expertise – noticeable in the used vocabulary and writing style – how a few similar figurative elements and associations were made by the both of us. Despite some similarities in the two texts, they demonstrate how the experience of observing a photograph is a highly individual act driven by our previous knowledge, character, sensitivities and preferences.
Both texts can be found below.
“This is the photograph of the mandible – the lower jaw – of a common hippo-potamus. You can see anatomical details with functional traces in the picture, which one could use to describe the function of the chewing apparatus in this species. You see the long incisors, the curved canines that appear small because they protrude vertically towards the viewer, the cheek teeth with the elaborate enamel rosette-like folding pattern typical for hippos that can remind you of four-leafed clover or the clubs on playing cards. You see holes in the bone where blood vessels for the cheeks came out. You see the typical traces – the first molar (in the cheek teeth row, it is the 4th tooth counted down from the upmost) that is worn down the most – something you find in all herbivores, because in an adult animal, this is the oldest tooth (the premolars – the three above the first molar – are all newer, because they replaced the milk premolars; and the second and third molar – below the first molar – erupt later). You can see the notches on the middle incisors that were the topic of Michelle’s and my project, because they tell us something about how the lower jaw moves against the upper jaw, how that movement is constrained by the (here, invisible) upper inci- sors. You can see that the position of the canines does not impede lateral movement of the lower jaw, because their surface is, so to speak, perpendicular to the jaw movement. You can see, on the lower part of each jaw, the strong protrusions that represent the attachment surface of one of the large chewing muscles.
Yet, this is not the primary impact the picture has on me when I look at it for the first time. The primary impression is that of looking at a raw, battered, abused, spread-eagled body, like images of the crucifixion with a tortured Christ figure. The impression derives from a mix of peculiarities – the overall appearance of 5 protru- ding extremities (similar to Michelangelo’s Vitruvian man), especially with the upper lateral protrusions that hold the canines – combined with the very evident traces of destruction that are basically on every part of that body – from the left canine that seems to disintegrate into layers of parchment, the right canine with chips broken out of it, signs of broken chips in the middle incisor and the areas on all four incisors where material has been ground away, the worn-down state of the premolars and the first molar, and the signs of breakage on the third molars, especially on the right, to the serrated edges of the mandibular angles and the broken inner edge of the left mandibular joint. One feels there could be elegance in the overall shape, the smooth curving of the mandibular rami, or in the shape of the teeth – if it were not for these overwhelming traces of destruction. Something is exposed in a way that it cannot hide in shame, that it cannot cover itself, and the resulting impression is one of do- cumented cruelty.
But then, when biological knowledge kicks in, there is another twist. These mas- sive traces of destruction are not the consequence of an act of torture by another being, they are not a consequence of evil. They are the consequence of life, of ageing, of a body that only used itself in chewing, possibly fighting, in living. And that leaves me with another fascination. In this image you see, in a very raw and exposed way, how much destruction life itself exacts on the body, and how the body can take the blows, and keep on living. The beauty of the design does not survive intact, but the designed piece itself does. All the traces of wear and destruction that you see, they were not enough to keep this individual down. The pity that I felt for the nakedness, for the exposure of wounds, merges with understanding that there is no shame in these wounds, that they are actually, as a measure of how much this body could take, a cause for calm confidence.”
Prof. Marcus Clauss, 2020
“This is one of the images I took at the end of the assignment in Zurich. Alone in this bizarre space, an archive of silent stories waiting to maybe be found and told. Good it was only 30 minutes. The silence despite the presence of a zoo was peculiar.
I photographed the upper and lower jaw, fascinated by their form and presence. The slight graduation in the black background, is beautiful in a way tender and lets the specimen breathe. I usually superimpose the specimen from the background and fill the surrounding with pure black. But here it would destroy the sense of space and reality. Just like the small specks of bone lying on the black fabric under the specimen, giving a better feeling of how fragile prepared bone is. The beauty of bone is that it reveals the body’s pure architecture while abstracting from the blood and gore reminding of raw pain. As if the bone is the specimen at peace with its own transience, whereas the “fresh” specimen still emits the absorbed distress. Time heals wounds. Or just their presence?
The light seems to gently caress the specimen, to the extent that I can taste it. Soft and defined. Fills me with calming joy, content and in awe over the wonders of anatomy. Sculptures of nature, perfect as they are. All I need to do is set the lighting. It’s all there, perfection turned into form. The miracle of life, coming into being through billions of cell divisions. DNA, life’s software commanding what each cell’s destiny is. Just sit here, or stand, take a look at it… closer, deeper, melt into the image until you see your own reflection in it. Can you see it? Feel the peaceful humbleness of your own existence. – This is why I do this.
Looking at the teeth, imagining what they experienced… how did the food feel like? Soft? Did it need a lot of strength to bite down on it? How did the grinding feel like? What did theses flowery teeth experience in their existence? Did they see much of the world, or just the bars of the zoo? Like that one specimen in Basel, whose canine teeth were abraded on the front, indicating they were repetitively rubbed up against something. A wall or a fence? Distress? Boredom? A story of a sorrowed life in captivity? The origin of that hippo would probably be in the documents of the archive. Maybe they know the stories of these silent witnesses. – possibly just an opaque glimpse of it. All the things I will never know, and all the things I better not know. All the things shrouded in silence, keeping the magic of their mystery, fuelling our imagination. Silent reflections of our subconscious.“
Michelle Aimée Oesch, 2020