There is so much power in art!

Lately, I’ve been reflecting a lot on photography and its nature again. This is a process that mostly started due to my inner critique slowly getting louder and louder. I’m seeing tons of photography on a daily basis on social media and the internet in general. Most of the work I am seeing is gorgeous, technically perfect photography, showing moments of glamour, beautiful people, or tenderness. As the internet is the only space that allows participation for a severely disabled person, I only ever see the careful curation of someone’s work, not the process, the failure, or other unfinished ideas. Most work reflects the finished internal process, the moment of satisfaction. As it is only natural, I start comparing my work to other people’s work and start thinking that my work is just not worth showing. Seeing my photography, I think it’s poorly exposed, too dull, too boring, too heavy, literally anything. Going through older work of mine, I realize that there have been two major phases in my life so far: the photos before being bedbound and the photos after becoming bedbound.

Seeing older works, I wonder where this person has vanished. Like, where is this person who took these pictures and lived this life? Reflecting on this shifts my critique into another sphere. Photography, at least in my case, is not something chosen with which I construct a reality, but rather a tool to directly reflect and visualize my experience of reality. This is a subtle but gigantic shift in perception. My recent work, the past 1.5 years, revolves around a reality which is, not metaphorically but literally, dark, blurry, and technically imperfect.

There is only very little light and color left in my experience of life. Therefore, there is no point in comparing my work to a perfectly healthy person’s work, as there is no point in ever comparing your work to anyone’s work, since realities differ.

Everything I am critiquing about my photography, I am actually critiquing about my reality and my life. Photography only shows me this in a rather brutal and direct way. Yes, since being bedridden, my photos are not glamorous anymore.

They don’t show beauty, and they are dull and dark, but what would there be to show in the first place? As I already mentioned earlier, my photos, or art in general, do not construct a reality or create beauty just for the sake of beauty.

They reflect as honestly as possible the direct reality I am confronted with. I think at this point it is also crucial to speak of beauty and aesthetics in general, as we tend to either only ever take a picture as soon as something is beautiful, striking, or glamorous, or, if we have the chance, alter or aestheticize what we photograph, even when the subject itself is something we as a society have decided is ugly, such as dead birds, poverty, decay, or illness. Especially in times of smartphones, where pictures are symbolically omnipresent and storing them is simply a matter of digital space, it is easier than ever to construct and later curate our reflection of life in a way that stays pleasing.

Now, what happens to photography itself when it’s confronted with a life that consists of ennui, pain, nothingness, strict routines, and ultimately boredom?

No matter the technical perfection, editing of colors, crop, format, or choice of camera, a picture in the end just stays a picture, and it needs to be taken by someone in some specific moment of some specific reality. You see? It’s not fair to be rude to myself. I am trying my best, and I don’t take bad pictures. I just long for another life.

I started this little essay by claiming the power of art, and I truly believe that art is one of the most powerful things you can pursue. A lot of the time, it is about the question of why we create, not what we create. Like, why do I take a camera and press the shutter? What do I want to express? It is with these pictures, their reality, and the things they show that I can point to systemic failure, relentless trying, invisible symptoms, and my playful inner self that just doesn’t want to give up but still believes in a tender togetherness.

And you know, Leon before being sick did not make pictures that were all that different. He just was not disabled, but he wanted to tell the same story.