Fighting the Stigma?

As I write this post I am printing the images from my depression project (title still to be determined) in preparation for Wednesday’s Mid-Quarter Critique. Some of them are hard for me to look at on this big computer screen; my pain is blown up before my eyes, and I have to minimize some of the images while they print because I can’t stand to look at them. I am suddenly acutely aware of who is around me. Who else is looking at these images? What do they think of them? What do they think of me for making them? I feel the strong urge to post a disclaimer next to my computer explaining the project in its entirety for anyone who may pass by and glance at it. I strategically stack the finished prints so that the least provocative ones are on top. I now realize how much importance I have placed on the explanation behind my work. My peers have commended me for my bravery in sharing such a vulnerable body of work, but am I really being that brave if I can’t stand to have this work seen without being accompanied by in-depth descriptions? I have already shared my work publicly via Instagram, but each post has been captioned with a statement about the project the images come from. Why is it that I feel the need to explain myself? I believe this desire is rooted in the stigma that I am trying to fight. I don’t want to be seen as someone who is “crying for attention,” as the type of person who tells the world their problems and makes everyone uncomfortable in the process instead of simply confiding in a few close friends like we are told we should do. In a way this is contributing to the stigma I am trying to fight—I don’t want to be seen as “one of those people,” and, in that, I am stigmatizing “those people.” Despite my intentions in doing this project I still cannot break away from these social norms that have become so deeply engrained in me.

The Depressed Mind and Objective Reality

I am currently working on a project that will document my ongoing battle with depression and anxiety. One of the many struggles of living with depression and anxiety is knowing that your mind naturally, automatically puts a negative skew on reality. This leads you to constantly question what is reality and what is your warped perspective of it. Did she really say that to me like that? Am I being too sensitive? Is everyone really against me, or does it just feel like everyone is against me? Not only does depression affect how I remember, but also what I remember. After particularly emotional encounters I can often feel so drained that it is like I have completely blacked out; I cannot remember what just happened or what was said, all I know is that I feel like I have nothing left in me.

Aripiprazole, December 2015, Lindsey Max

While not trusting your perception of the world is difficult and frustrating for anyone, it can be especially problematic for an aspiring documentary photographer. How can I ensure that my photographs present an objective view of reality when I don’t even know what an objective view of reality is? In class this week we were discussing the issue of conveying an unbiased depiction of reality, and I was starting to feel fairly disheartened about my own ability to do so, when one of my classmates, Sara, made the comment that “any photograph can be a skewed version of what reality is.” These words struck me quite deeply, and the more I thought about them the more I realized that there is no such thing as a completely objective photograph. Every choice a photographer makes—cropping, angle, dodging, burning, lighting, and the thousands of manipulations that can be done in Photoshop—affects how the viewer reads the image. There is always a little piece of the photographer in every photograph they create.

For my own project, I want my images to be personal yet universal, photographs that both tell my story while being familiar to those fighting similar battles. Though my images may not be completely objective, they are real depictions of how I see my world.

In Favor of Cell Phone Photography

Towards the end of John Spellos’ 2006 documentary, The Photographers Series: Keith Carter, Carter reflects on a statement made by his favorite playwright: “You have to know the history of your medium and you have to make art in your own generational way.” While admittedly this assertion rubbed me the wrong way at first (for I love film photography—certainly not the medium of my generation), the more I reflected on it the more I came to feel that this statement legitimized my passion for cell phone photography. As a photographer I know I should always have a camera on me so that I am ready for action whenever a moment of inspiration strikes; what better way to do this than with my cell phone, which I am never without? It is much easier to carry a small cell phone around than a large camera with a bag for film or memory cards or lenses. At first this thought made me feel lazy, like I was being a cop-out for choosing a medium for its convenience—but does convenience negate a medium’s fine artistic quality? Polaroid cameras, for example, may be thought of as less artistic because they “developed and delivered a picture so instantly that it virtually stripped the hand of the artist down to one action. Click.” [1]Many famous photographers, however, used this medium to create fantastic works of art, from André Kertész to Walker Evans to Robert Mapplethorpe. The convenience and immediacy of the Polaroid did not negate their artistic choices in composition.

 

 One could argue that a cell phone is different because it is not made solely as a camera, but as a multipurpose tool that just happens to have a camera in it. In other words: cell phones are not made for photography. I find this fact to be one of the greatest advantages of using the camera on my cell phone, however. People change when they are in front of a camera, whether they intend to or not. Even if you are told not to pose, to just go about your business as usual, it is hard not to acknowledge on some level that you are being watched and recorded. It is therefore difficult to get truly candid shots of people. This is where the cell phone comes in handy: people hardly notice it, for everyone has one, and there are so many different uses that, even if one does notice it, they rarely assume they are having their picture taken. Many times friends have assumed I am texting or playing games on my phone when really I am recording the candid moments I treasure. In my experience, the cell phone has allowed me a level of invisibility that is much harder to achieve with solely a camera, and I believe this shows in the images my phone creates. Below are a few examples. 

About Me

Many people wonder how and why I went from a Bachelors degree in anthropology and religion to pursue a Masters of Fine Arts in photography. In fact, it was my interest in photography that led me to study anthropology and religion. 

I have always loved photography. I received my very first camera when I was in the first grade. It was bright yellow, made by Crayola, and purchased at Toys 'R Us. My favorite location to shoot was the C & O Canal, where I would walk with my mom and brother, camera in hand, hoping for a sighting of a great blue heron or turtles basking in the sun. In the seventh grade I had my first formal lessons in photography; black and white film photography was a mandatory part of the curriculum at my middle school. My mom let me use her old Minolta, and for the first time I was able to set my own exposures and manually focus. It was magical.

I continued to study photography in high school. I dreamed of someday working for National Geographic. Then one day I received a catalogue in the mail for National Geographic Student Expeditions. It felt like fate. I pored through the catalogue over and over again, researching every trip they offered. Finally, I decided that I wanted to go to India. It seemed so exotic, so unlike anything I had ever experienced, and so colorful and full of great subject matter. I applied and was accepted into the program, and the summer after my junior year of high school I was off to India.

Over the 3.5 weeks I spent in India with National Geographic I made hundreds (probably thousands) of pictures. I returned to the United States with images I was incredibly proud of, yet that I could not really explain to my friends and family. After 3.5 weeks I had photographed and experienced a new culture, but what had I truly learned about it? I felt guilty, like I had wasted this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I wanted my pictures to be more than aesthetically pleasing: I wanted them to be moving, to be powerful, to be educational. I wanted to make sure I had been respectful and culturally appropriate in the making of my images. It was after this experience that I decided I wanted to major in anthropology and religion in college. I had studied photography for several years, but my next step was to learn about the people whose stories I wanted to share.


Now that I am once again studying photography, I know that I made the right decision in my undergraduate choices (though I do often feel behind from some of my peers who obtained their Bachelors of Fine Arts). When I look at the work of my peers at SCAD, I can tell that what makes their work so moving is how personal it is. I needed to become more familiar with other peoples, cultures, and religions so that my work can convey that same sense of intimacy.