Thinking Images v.26: From Joseph Nicéphore Niépce to Google Images

Given the difficulty of talking about photography, it is possible an image can convey insights about this complex field. Although it is now seven years old, and many will have seen it, Joan Fontcuberta’s Googlegram: Niépce (2005) is perhaps one such image. I’m not often taken by photographic art but seeing Googlegram: Niépce (2005) this week struck a chord.

Fontcuberta’s artwork is based on the first known photograph, Joseph Nicéphore Niépce’s View from the Window at Le Gras (1826). Currently on show at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York as part of the After Photoshop exhibition, the construction of Googlegram: Niépce (2005) is described in these terms:

Fontcuberta created this work by processing the results of a Google Image search for the words “photo” and “foto” through photomosaic software, which generates a tiled picture from a large group of thumbnail images arranged according to chromatic value and density. The result is a composite of ten thousand tiny electronic images that links the photography’s chemical origins to its dematerialized, pixelated present.

It is hard to convey the mosaic, almost impressionistic style, of Fontcuberta’s artwork in a screen grab, but this detailed view gives a sense of the thumbnails that are shaded and shaped to replicate Niépce’s 1826 image.

The link from past to present is neither clear nor linear (and the present is not purely virtual as suggested in the above description), but in representing both the historic and contemporary layers of photography in one image, materialising the popularisation and proliferation of images, Fontcuberta has pictured something important about the complexities of photography.

There remains much anxiety in traditional circles about the impact of vernacular digital imagery and its circulation, not least in the periodic outbursts against apps like Hipstamatic and social media channels like Instagram. Reflecting on the logic of Fontcuberta’s artwork might be one way to rethink the idea that the image present – for all that it involves heightened scale and speed – is just a departure from or corruption of the photographic past.

Image credits: Googlegram: Niépce (2005), copyright Joan Fontcuberta, from the Metropolitan Museum of Art collection; Googlegram 200 detail, from the National Museum of Wales web site.

media economy photography politics Thinking Images

Thinking Images v.9: Egypt, revolution and the internet

Thinking Images – an occasional series on some of the week’s visuals and the thoughts they prompt…

Hundreds of thousands of protestors have returned to Cairo’s Tahrir Square demonstrating that the demand for change in Egypt is as strong as ever. Today the scene has been peaceful, but two weeks of extensive coverage from a corps of international photojournalists has laid bare the violence that led to more than 300 deaths across the country (for overviews of the pictures see the New York Times gallery or the summary on Photojournalism Links).

Whilst many of these images are powerful records of the events they portray, their subject matter is necessarily limited by the focus on a few sites of protests. In circumstances like these, no matter the photographic skills on display, we often end up with a collection of imagery that either doesn’t provide an overall narrative, or a collection that can sustain a range of competing narratives. Being on the ground and close has its advantages, but it frequently fails to capture the context.

In his excellent analysis of the complexity of the political situation in Egypt, Paul Amar shows how much academic and media commentary has employed binary “good guys versus bad guys” lenses to view this uprising. Amar describes three prominent perspectives:

(1) People versus Dictatorship, a perspective that leads to liberal naïveté and confusion about the active role of military and elites in this uprising; (2) Seculars versus Islamists, a model that leads to a 1980s-style call for “stability” and Islamophobic fears about the containment of the supposedly extremist “Arab street”; or, (3) Old Guard versus Frustrated Youth, a lens which imposes a 1960s-style romance on the protests but cannot begin to explain the structural and institutional dynamics driving the uprising, nor account for the key roles played by many 70-year-old Nasser-era figures.

Of the photographs we might ask: do they affirm or challenge a sense of “good guys versus bad guys”? Regardless of the intention of an individual photographer, if they can be read as affirming this framing, how do they intersect with notions of the “People versus Dictatorship”, “Seculars versus Islamists” or “Old Guard versus Frustrated Youth”? I don’t know the answer to these questions. But just by asking them I think we can begin to see how photographs need to be understood as more than documents of a moment; they are objects that constitute an event for those of us not present at the scene.

The resurgence of protest, two weeks on from the 25 January, was fuelled by the release of Wael Ghonim, a marketing manager for Google and prominent internet activist who had been held in secret detention. Ghonim gave an emotional television interview, that can be seen here. The remarkable 6 minute introduction to this interview touches on the significance of the internet and the web in enabling at least part of the uprising.

Outside of Egypt, and after Tunisia, we have witnessed a frustrating debate about the role of social media in political transformations, with many insisting (in the words of Malcolm Gladwell) “the revolution will not be tweeted.” The ‘debate’ is frustrating because the framing of the argument does not often involve evidence. Deen Freelon has performed the important task of revealing both the framing and the range of competing claims on how the internet impacts revolutions. Few if any of these claims match the zealous “cyber-utopianism” so often ascribed to them. Indeed, as Dave Parry has argued, cyber-utopianism isn’t something associated with a particular individual but a circulating theme in national discourse. Once we dispense with the neatly organized but misleading theme we end up with Mathew Ingram’s conclusion:

In the end, the real weapon is the power of networked communication itself. In previous revolutions it was the fax, or the pamphlet, or the cellphone — now it is SMS and Twitter and Facebook. Obviously none of these things cause revolutions, but to ignore or downplay their growing importance is also a mistake.

Egypt has certainly reinforced important points about the power of social media and the structure of the Internet. The Mubarak regime feared the organizing capacity of social media sufficiently to shut the Internet off. That reminded us that the Internet is a physical network and it matters who controls the nodes.

In authoritarian states, the government might be able to flick a “kill switch” to shut off the web. Although there is a proposal for the US to have this capacity too, the most common threats to the open web in our societies comes from corporate control. As John Naughton, Jay Rosen and Dave Winer have argued, the way in which Amazon, PayPal and other companies barred Wikileaks from their online services made clear how far we are from having a truly open Internet. Tim Berners-Lee argues that the way in which social networking sites are walling off their data thereby preventing links is also a threat to the original egalitarian principles of the world wide web.

At the same time, the Wikileaks controversy late last year also demonstrated that the web remains structurally more open than many systems – the closure of was soon overcome by a multitude of mirror sites that cannot be easily or permanently disabled. Learning from these recent events to resist all the forces of closure and keep the Internet open so that, in Tim Berners-Lee’s words, “any person could share information with anyone else, anywhere” has to be a founding principle for the new media economy.

Featured photo: A girl waves the national flag of Egypt in the crowd as thousands of demonstrators take part in anti-government protests, 8 February 2011. Felipe Trueba/EPA.


Google vs. University strategies

Universities increasingly like to think of themselves as businesses, demanding flexible and entrepreneurial approaches from their staff. This is usually a fancy way of saying ‘do more with less’, and it’s said in numerous meetings, working groups and review panels that produce endless audits, reviews and strategy plans. Often it seems like we plan more than we do. Indeed, if you have ever wondered where the spirit of eastern bloc planners — with their penchant for five year strategies — migrated to, you could do worse than look in the UK higher education sector, where we are subject to an unholy bureaucratic alliance that marries centralized planning with a neo-liberal discourse.

I’ve often wondered, though, what real, successful businesses would think of this sort of ‘strategic’ approach? One answer comes in Eric Schmidt’s commencement address to the graduates of Carnegie Mellon University. Schmidt, of course, is CEO of Google, and love or loathe that company, you can’t deny it is both culturally significant and economically successful.  Here’s one thing Schmidt said to the graduates:

“Don’t bother to have a plan at all. All that stuff about having a plan, throw that out. It seems to be it’s all about opportunity and making your own luck…. You cannot plan innovation. You cannot plan invention. All you can do is try very hard to be at the right place and be ready….”

Perhaps that’s a bit extreme as a business model, but it’s an interesting corrective. I wouldn’t endorse all that Schmidt says, but if our managers want to be ‘business-like’, I’d at least like them to engage with the likes of Eric Schmidt.