“In this glum dessert, suddenly a specific photograph reaches me; animates me, and I animate it. So that is how I must name the attraction which makes it exist: an animation.”

Camera Lucida, Roland Barthes

A play

Characters:

The Storyteller - Author

The Teacher, granddad of Balthazar, also known as “The one who knows”, over 60

The Child, Balthazar, also known as “The one who doesn’t know, but still wants to try to know”, 7

The Little Girl, Marie, 11

The Father

The Mother, who is pregnant

The Pilgrim 

Brice, family dog

Day one.

A dialog takes place in the library of The Child’s parents French country house. Room is filled with books and other peculiar objects. It is 7 o’clock in the evening. Winter. Big and flaky snow is covering near by fields.

-The Storyteller:    3000 words

This poem holds.

There are no swords,

No kingdom with a king and queen,

No princess with a spell to dream,

No dwarf, no knight,

Although you might

Witness a fight,

A fight of mind.

The Teacher:             Today, my Lord, we’ll talk about a  “sport”,

Its purpose is to capture thought,

When one has pushed a button” stop”.

In half a second can be less

The present’s filled with duplicate.

The Storyteller:     “The one who knows” will tell untold,

              Well-hidden secret of the world.

            A powerful device appeared

              In 1839. Believed 

            That every image it creates,

            Proofs and undeniably states,

            That given thing has taken place.

            Let us return back to the space,

            Where our characters have traced

            The difficulties this creation faces.

- The Child:              What is so magical about

         Coping the world you see around?

        You might as well exist within,

        Instead of getting out of scene.

- The Teacher:        It surely is an exorcism,

         Originally from surrealism.

        Imaginary souvenir of past,

        The evidence that you took part,

A slice of time on paper,

It couldn’t have been better.

A simple box with shocking power,

To replicate what you endeavour

On canvas stretched across the wall,

Has made your effort equal null.

- The Child:        But Teacher, it is not an innocent black weapon,

            It turns us people to possession.

            From subject to an object quickly

            It changes its attention freely.

- The Teacher:        You right, it could be dangerous in hands

            Of those who choose to violate.

            A major role play circumstances,

            When one decides an image’s fate 

            What would it be, a nude?

            That master Picasso has cubed.

            Or would you imitate Nadar?

            That settled down on Sait-Lazare?

            Enough of references!

            The photo-omnipresence

            It is a “pseudo-presence 

And token of an absence”

A capital for Silence

It is its main advantage.

The passive quality of picture,

Determines what to consider fiction

It could have been eternal,

But to be fully formal,

Although contingency’s repeated

Its own existence is defeated.

- The Child:         Stop for a second, Teacher dear,

            You have to be with me sincere.

            I know you have held in your hands 

            A camera, what will be your defence?

- The Teacher (pauses): You’re right,

            In those times

            It was not as light!

            If you to carry apparatus,

            You are ensured of doubtful status.

            People will call you charlatan

            As if you caring a gun.

            A medium, an alchemist, magician,

            You name it- what a superstition.

- The Child (effusively): But teacher, how it feels like to acquire 

            The eidolon emitted by the object – fire?

            It’s like you trapped a moving flame

            That will forever stay the same?

- The Teacher:        Oh yes, my boy, it does empower

          And this experience will bother

          Whoever tried or  ‘ll try to shoot.

That’s why an image’s always mute.

If you have shot it once or twice

The Death has made a reverence.

Try to adjure, but in a blink

The face will stare, but it won’t speak!

-The Child (thinking): You’ve contradicted yourself, father, 

            What’s there to exorcise its rather

            Late making changes after?

            The Death has made its deed.

            What is the need?

-The Teacher:        A primitive society wore masks,

            Then mirrors liked by bourgeois

            And nowadays, surrounded by

            What image sells and you to buy.

            It is a complicated thing

            For you to ponder at eighteen.

            Oh, the joy of taking photographs!

            I could have given trillion facts,

           But nothing will convince you more

            Then own experience, at four

            I got a chance to try it out

            Or was it when I just turned five?

- The Child:        But you’re the one who knows,

            How you forgot what time it was?

            I’ve started long, long time ago

            And my collection will only grow!       

- The Teacher:        Oh, my dear friend

It is a different set.

But you must not regret,

Collecting in it’s own respect

A talent that is hard to get.

To have a taste,

To read the story of a face,

You need a base.

What is it that attracts you to

          An image you’re about to choose?

Is it a spectacle you see?

Or quiet landscape of the sea?

I bet,

You haven’t thought about it yet.

- The Child:        It’s easy, Sir!

            Let me have five of them laid out

            Here on the table left to right

- The Teacher:        Before you start,

            I want to tell you about art,

            What makes a photograph a part

            Of the philosophy’s aesthetic life.

            They might look accurate and real,

            But its veracity is ill.

            Seduced by thought,

            Presuming truth 

            You’re getting yourself cruelly fooled!

            A photograph has dual nature,

            It is carrying its exotic feature

            Just like a trophy on its back.

            The Referent’s completely stuck.

            A mimicry, an imitation

            Jean Baudrillard used: simulation.

            And that’s the reason it is still 

Considered to be part of field,

            That likes to deal with representation

            It could be portrait of a nation.

            Lets look more deeply in 

            What is the affect, what do you feel?

- The Child (smiling):    It’s hard to say,

            But there’s a way,

            It makes my day.

            An image jumped at me today.

            A swarm of thoughts,

            But what’s the word?

- The Teacher:        It moves you world?

- The Child:        Adventure starts from then on

            And “animates me” all along.

- The Teacher:        My child, tonight I’ll try my best

            Explain to you what does take place.

            You see, there was a man, living in France.

            He went by name of Roland Barthes.

            For him there were two types he could

            Distinguish from a load of good

            And not so much authentic work.

            He found in Latin word that poke.

            A photographic “punctum” was, 

            That made an element look false.

            It occupied or even pierced 

            It looked like accident, indeed!

The Storyteller:     The boy was pointing at one.

            He really was just having fun.

The Child:        I got it, got it have a look!

            Is it how punctum’ll shoot?

            With arrow of a Robin Hood?

-The Teacher:        Your very smart, my boy, do not delay

            How come you picked this image from this vast array?

-The Child:        I like these images,

          This lady 

Has photographed

Her children daily.

-The Teacher:        Is it the hand of little girl?

            Or that her face expressed her soul?

-The Child:        On contrary, it’s her small doll!

-The Teacher:        Oh really, what you find bizarre?

            It’s just a toy don’t think too far

Although dear Balthazar,

I think I understand, it’s strange

-The Child:        Don’t say it, father,

There is nothing I would change

I little bit disturbing is 

An image where her daughter swings

Like carcass in a butcher’s shop,

But no one gives a second thought. 

A Cigarette is held,

When girl looks like

She is only eight.

The punctum here would be the watch.

-The Teacher:        Correct, my Lord, bring me my scotch.

            Examine it, on bottle here

            You’ll read what product states it clear.

            The year and region it was made,

            The comment I would like to trade.

            That it’s a personal delight

            To find the one that serves you right,

            But we have ran too far ahead.

            There is another type of thread,

            That sewed a multitude of scenes.

            Political and cultural perspectives,

            Figures, gestures, faces.

It is as much important thing,

            As cars and toys or wind machines.

The Storyteller:    The Child is yawning. It is nine.

            His stomach rumbles, almost time

            For Teacher and a child to dine.

            Next time we see them in a room

            That’s full of cars and aeroplanes.

Amongst the models, let me zoom,

A leica hides with diligence.

“The one who knows” will start again.

Narration of instructive tale will fail.

The boy is closing both his eyes

And off he flies

Into unconscious space where dreams

Are mixed together with realities.

But our Teacher is still here

And here’s the story we’re to hear.

-The Teacher:        I know you’re young but you should know!

            Not to surround yourself with glow.

            So easy is to satiate

            It is a road to a defeated state.

There was lady Diane Arbus,

Who thought about her privileged status!

I cant!

I need to turn the light!

Perhaps we shouldn’t talk about her dear,

Oh, I think there’s someone snoring here.

-The Storyteller:    The Father closed the door behind him

            And found in library an album.

            Sat down on sofa with a glass

            And gave himself up to a waltz

            Of flowing memories of past.

            He thought of days when with a grace,

            He swooped all women off their feet.

            It took him usually a week.

            With happy face, the life took pace,

            But there was trace.

            He opened up the leathered book,

            Immediately he was hooked

            On world that laid behind the surface.

-The Teacher (crying):It’s so believable so true!

-The Storyteller:    But Teacher knew,

            That picture has another purpose.

-The Teacher (thinking): “Photographer is supertourist,

            Who’s bringing news of their exotic doings,

            Extended anthropologist,

            Who colonizes new experiences.

            It is one step from boredom to a fascination” 

            There is no differentiation!

            “The gradual suppression 

            May feel like liberation -

            Is self-alienation”!

(He sighs)        My boy, my boy, 

Perhaps you’re better off

Without this wicked toy.

-The Storyteller:    He starts to cough

            And turns his head

            And recognizes little step.

            His little boy still half asleep

            With tears on his right cheek

            Is entering the room upset.

-The Child:        I must have had a nightmare, dad!

            I do remember I had friends:

            Giants, midgets all deranged.

-The Teacher:        Forget, forget!

            I have a little present!

            Wait!

            I’ve hid it in your room,

            You’ll fall asleep so soon.

-The Storyteller:    Lets leave The Teacher and The Child

            It’s time to tell them both: “Good night”.

Day Two

Next day. Early morning. The sun has risen; snow has disappeared; air is full of moisture. It will be a foggy day.

- The Storyteller:    The car has parked outside the house:

            Two adults, little girl and Brice.

            They filled the corridor with noise 

            We hear the voice:

-The Mother (whispering): My dear, they both must be in bed

            Do me a favour help you dad.

-The Little Girl:    But mammy?!

-The Mother:        Yes, my love

-The Little Girl    It’s heavy!

-The Granddad:    Don’t worry dear, I’ll carry.

-The Storyteller:    The family’s together now

            Has gathered by the evening fire.

            The girl is sitting with a frown

            And that is why she will inquire.

-The Little Girl:    What have you got there on your knees? 

            Is that the thing you use with “Cheese?”

- The Father:        Dad kept a family tradition.

            We got a camera addition.

- The Mother:        There is a tendency inherent 

            To add a value to aspirant.

            I want you both to think it twice

            Before you push release, or thrice!

            Don’t you become accumulators!

            There’s so much more to apparatus.

            Dad, have you read the Flusser? 

He is validating that 

Imagination turned to threat

And every image user

Is forced to be encumbered

That aims to remembered

Repeated and resembled.

A circle of the movement.

-The Father:        My darling please be careful.

            The road was too eventful,

            It would be best for you to rest.

- The Mother:        So glad we all are back at nest.

- The Grandpa (thinking): “I like how sensitive she is 

            It was a great release.

            The topic’s on,

            Show must go on…”

-The Father:        Has, Grandpa, told what “apparatus’ means?

            It’s “waiting patiently for things”

            I bet, you both are now equipped. 

            Beware and you’ll succeed. 

-The Teacher:        Now boys and girls, back to your room

How to recognize the studium?

            You need to think of education,

            You’ll find photographer’s intention.

            Here is an example.

            Now please do take a sample.

            A photograph by J. Koudelka here,

A dot, a line and cube all three

            Are part of the geometry.

-The Child:        And with a dot and line

            You make the cube

-The Teacher:        That’s right!

            There is an Operator,

            The one I mentioned latter.

            And always a Spectator.

            But also studium is called

            The unary that you behold

            Through news that you see on TV

            And mail that we all get for free.

-The Storyteller:    Meanwhile, next to the fireplace that’s lit 

            A husband and a wife still sit.

-The Mother:        When grandma’s coming, honey, dear?

-The Father:        I’m leaving now to bring her here.

- The Mother:        You are my lovely busy bee.

-The Grandpa:        And now I have suggestion: 

            To make it a confection,

            You have to take the photograph

            When no one knows you’re at the back.

            So when the grandma and your dad

            Return from airport at night.

            You have to be prepared my knight

            And you, my little princess,

            Can take your own decisions.

            Although before,

            I’ll introduce you to some more:

            Essential gesture of the Operator

            Is the surprise – the most important matter.

            The first one is the rarity,

            When someone took 300 years

            Composing an anthology of fears.

            The second called by Mr. Barthes

            A “numen” of historic farce,

            When act has happened far too quick,

            But camera has made a click.

            The third has took 300 years

            To take an image of the sink.

            Ha, I am joking, kids.

            It was a drop. For fifty years.

            The fourth is not much better,

            I’ve told you in the letter 

About photographer named Klein.

He must be getting soon a fine

For making exploitation 

With such a liberation.

I like the fifth one- “trouvaille”,

But even that one is a sale.

The media can recreate

            Whatever image’s on the set.

            So darlings, what’s the plot of tale?

            Or has the essence left you failed?

            We only value photograph,

            When there’s no reason, my young Graf

            Although my queen 

You must foreseen,

I’m sure when you have reach eighteen 

You’ll be already reasoning.

(Grandpa is taking a long and deep sigh)

-The Little Girl:    Do you hear?

            The Brice has barked three times, they’re near!

-The Child:        Lets run, Marie!

            We are still free!

            Will capture them!

            You’re so boheme…

-The Little Girl (with a nose all the way up in the sky):   

I do not need to hide, dear child!

            I’ll meet them in the corridor upright.

            I let you do all that: “POW, WOW”

            And after they will settle down, 

            I’ll fire they wont even know.

            I’ll play it clever not for show.

-The Storyteller (smiling): And that is what has taken place

            She found her brother such disgrace.

(With irony)        Of course, she was much older.

            I wouldn’t even bother,

            Although together in a team

            They were well planned and firm.

            The celebrations were to come.

            The kids were having cakes and gum.

The Grandpa has been telling more

About the details never to ignore.

            And Grandma was convincing him

            Stop talking. Pilgrim,

            Has stopped to visit for a day

            And during supper he’s to say:

            “I hear you talking about art”,

            He spit it out without a tact:

            “What I will tell you is a fact!

            Pure meaning is mistrustful.

            Its better to be lustful.

            Since we consume aesthetically,

            The truth will look pathetically.                               

 Since every photograph’s contingent, 

Your need to search outside, dear sergeant”           

That’s what they said in my division. 

I was at war and had collision.

You better not make own decision.

-The Mother:        Excuse me, how you dare?

            There are 

            Two children sitting not so far.

-The Pilgrim:         Excuse me Mam,

            I beg you pardon.

            I’ll let myself back to your garden.

The Storyteller:    What happened, happened…

            Story’s told.

            I hope you all enjoyed, my fault.

            I haven’t kept my promise, Sir!

            I told you there would be, oh dear!

            I’m guilty, guilty. You are right!

            I told you there would be no knight.

            And princess somehow joined the scene.

            It is so mystical, I’ll say obscene.

            But let us talk about the fight,

            Unravel, this time clew is light.

            This conversation helped by Barthes

            And also by Jean Baudrillard.

            Let’s not forget Mrs. Susan Sontag

            And Mr. Flusser was a contact.

            I’ve been them all:

            A mother who takes all too close,

            Or Marie who denies her flaws

            And Grandma who just thinks it’s false,

            But only one I love the most, 

            The little boy who at all cost

            Feels animated and adores

            The magic that this process holds.

            His pure desire doesn’t think.

            Inside him everything’s in sync.

-The Child:        Marie, Marie, lets both jump!

            You ‘re scared of getting a little lump?

            Believe me by the time the spring will come

            You will be beautiful le femme!

            Dear Daddy, Daddy! 

            Can we go?

            Back to the woods

            We’ve been last fall?

            I really liked the landscapes there,

            Although it took us very long to get here.

            Mom, should I go to the backyard?

            This Pilgrim used to use word lad!

            It never stops this carousel,

            I get on it and it turns well!

            I hope, I hope it never stops!

            Like running water from the bolts.

            It should go on

            It will go on

            Because if otherwise, it’s wrong!

Fin

Bibliography:

Baudrillard, J. (1994) Simulacra and Simulation, Ann Arbor, Michigan: University of Michigan Press

Koudelka, J. (2002) Josef Koudelka. Prague: Torst

Sontag, S. (1977) On Photography.Lodnon:Penguin Books

Barthes, R. (2000) Camera Lucida London: Vintage

Flusser, V. (2000) Towards a Philosophy of Photography London: Reaktion Books Ltd

2009