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Sunday, 13 September 2009 02:00

Past Time

By  Niklas Zimmer

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Roland Barthes begins one of the chapters of his seminal Camera Lucida with: "all those young photographers [...] do not know they are agents of death," and adds a little further on: "With the Photograph, we enter into flat Death."

Spending the weekends with my sons at the harbour in Kalk Bay, camera and backpack dangling off me tourist-style, I felt compelled to take Barthes on literally and actively: to actually aim to erase memory, to actually wish for nothing more than an unpredictably elusive Punctum to insert itself into my images, to deny all the Studium related to photography (what hubris, what vanity), to distract, avoid, pretend, stage myself and everything around me, …

Standing in amongst all the still moments of seaside life, the raging ball of dissatisfaction in the pit of my stomach, there is the … that never goes away. The … speaks only on the surface, If I'm lucky.
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