PARRHESIA NUMBER WHAT MEDIUM CAN MEAN Jacques Rancière Translated by Steven Corcoran 1 I will present some remarks here on the use of the notion of medium in art theory and the light cast

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PARRHESIA NUMBER WHAT MEDIUM CAN MEAN Jacques Rancière Translated by Steven Corcoran 1 I will present some remarks here on the use of the notion of medium in art theory and the light cast on this notion by the case of photography. The notion of medium is in fact much more complex than it appears at first. Theorizations of medium as the crucial element of artistic modernity bring two apparently opposite senses of the word into play. First, we understand the word medium as that which holds between : between an idea and its realization, between a thing and its reproduction. The medium thus appears as an intermediary, as the means to an end or the agent of an operation. Now, modernist theorization makes fidelity to the medium into the very principle of art, inverting the perspective. This medium to whose specificity one must be faithful is no longer simply the instrument of art. It becomes the specific materiality defining its essence. This is certainly the case in the Greenbergian definition of painting as that which is faithful to its own medium the twodimensional surface and the coloured pigment and thereby delivered from the servile tasks of representation. The medium, then, is no longer the means to an end. It is properly speaking that which prescribes this end. But the thesis which identifies the essence of art with the law of its medium can be read in two opposite senses. On the one hand, it says that art is art when it is freed from the tasks of mimesis, when it becomes simply the execution of its own idea in its own specific material. This is the statement that is usually remembered. But the thesis can also be stood on its head as follows: art is art when the constraints of the material and the instrument free it from itself, free it from the will to make art. The separation of art from mimesis, then, is also a separation of technē from itself: the separation of technē as the execution of an idea, or implementation of a type of knowledge, from technē as the law of the material and instrument, as the law of that which does not pertain to art. The thesis about the medium thus states two things simultaneously: the first is that art is art when it is only art; the second is that art is art when it is not only art. These two contradictory propositions can be synthesized in the following way: art is art insofar as it is possible that what is art is simultaneously not art. It is art when its productions belong to a sensory milieu in which the distinction is blurred between that which is and that which is not art. In short, the means [le moyen] is also a means to achieve something other than its own end. It is also the means of participating in the configuration of a specific milieu. The tension between the medium as neutral means and the medium as specific substance, between the medium as instrument of realization of an idea of art and the medium as that which resists both idea and art resolves to a third term, a third idea, namely the medium WHAT MEDIUM CAN MEAN as milieu: the milieu in which the performances of a determined artistic arrangement come to be inscribed, but also the milieu that these performances themselves contribute to configuring. Suspending art from the law of the medium amounts to postulating the recovery of both milieus. It amounts to postulating a law of adequation between, on the one hand, artistic performances that are true to their medium and, on the other, a new milieu of experience, a new technical world that is simultaneously a new sensory world and a new social world. Within this view, photography plays a privileged role. The photographic apparatus is, on the one hand, the pure instrument, the automaton at the service of any will, and in particular at the service of art insofar as it is the realization of a will to create art. But it is also the instrument which, by itself, executes the previous task of art, namely representation and so delivers the one who employs it from the concern to create art and from the pretention of being an artist. It is the technology of mimesis: and further still is often invoked as being the very technology that liberates art from mimesis, but also the one that liberates mimesis from art, that enables things to have themselves seen, freed from the codes of representation, from coded relations between visible forms and the production of meaning-effects. Walter Benjamin and Jean Epstein alike celebrated this machine-operated liberation whether photographic or cinematographic that gives access to a truth or an unconscious of the visible. If photography, which is the matter that concerns us here, is par excellence the medium that gives access to a new sensory milieu, then the photographer as artist who is faithful to his medium is the one who captures this new sensory milieu, who inscribes the performances of his camera in its configuration. As Jean Epstein went on to say, the camera is the veridical artist. But the role of this veridical artist can be understood in two ways, as can the relation between its artistic power and its veridicality. On the one hand, the camera is the artist, because it produces a kind of writing, and more precisely because it has an impersonal power in it the light which writes. The sensory milieu, then, is one in which light and movement constitute a new writing. Yet, on the other hand, it is a veridical artist insofar as it does not write anything, insofar as all it yields is a document, pieces of information, just as machines yields them to men who work on machines and are instrumentalized by them, to men who must learn from them a new way of being but also domesticate them for their own use. The first idea is perhaps illustrated by an exhibition which took place in 2005 and marked the move of the Centre National de la Photographie in Paris to its new location at Jeu de Paume. The exhibition was called Eblouissement. Spectators were able to see, in one and the same room, the following: Charcot s clinical photographs of the ill, a picture from the Cabinet of Doctor Caligari, Man Ray s solarizations, a double exposure by Maurice Tabard, a photogramme by Raoul Haussmann, photographs by Brassai, a decomposition and a moire by Eric Rondepierre and photographs of the Serpentine Dance by Loïe Fuller. So it exhibited nothing but photographs, but photographs of very different natures and statuses: photographs taken with or without camera, documentary photographs and artistic photographs, simple and elaborate photographs, and possibly extracts taken from other supports. This seemingly heteroclite collection was unified by a specific idea of the photographic medium: the photographs gathered together in it all attested to the discovery of another sensible world, to the world of captured movement and of light which writes itself, a world that machines had discovered inside the world of ordinary everyday experience; an interior of the sensible, but also the new lived world of movement and electricity; a world where there is continuity between the light of the street lamps and the flash of Brassai s camera as it discovers the hieroglyphs of dreams on walls. It is this identity between a new physis and a new lived world that is composed by gathering together Loïe Fuller s luminous dance, Brassaï s nocturnal fairytales and Man Ray s rayograms or solarizations. The photographic medium is the means of recording this new world of machines but also of contributing to its formation: a world of technology, but one where all technologies are indifferenciated: a calligramme by Apollinaire or a painting by Boccioni would have been equally at place in it. Indeed, the idea of the medium clearly exceeds the idea of the apparatus. And there is no doubt that rather than speak of medium, it would be better to speak here of mediality, understood as the relation between three things: an idea of medium, an idea of art and an idea of the sensorium within which this technological apparatus carries out the performances of art. The mediality envisaged here implies the immediate unity between the power of an organon and that of a sensorium. Photography including in its cameraless forms and cinema are the arts of this new sensible world where light and movement are directly and simultaneously both experimented upon and experimenters: a world of intensities and speeds where matter JACQUES RANCIERE is spiritualized into a luminous and driving force and where thought and dream have the same solidity as the matter that is instrumentalized. The medium as milieu in fact absorbs the medium as instrument. The apparatus photographic or other creates a new sensory world inasmuch as it denies its own specificity within a world of generalized experimentation. This indifferenciation, this de-technologization of technology, is the fundamental operation at stake in the names of various schools: simultaneism, futurism, surrealism and others. In clear opposition to this view there is another way of thinking both the role of artist-machines and the relation between technological medium and sensible milieu. What, according to this other way, the technological instrument produces are not the epiphanies of a new sensible world, but instead documents, traces and signs that have to be observed, read, interpreted and utilized. Benjamin, in particular, takes this position in his Little History of Photography and in The Work of Art in the Age of its Technical Reproducibility. This unfortunate reproducibility, of which, paradoxically, Benjamin spoke very little, has been laden with tons of commentaries, and its counterpart, the aura, has been laden with tons more. It was thus forgotten that the core of the demonstration bears not on the effects of serial reproduction, but instead on the decomposition of unity, on its fragmentation into a series of operations, operations which have the value of tests, of inquires into reality. For Benjamin, the important thing is not that the photographs of Atget or Sanders are infinitely reproducible. The essential thing is that they are products of the machine age, the age of mass existence and the man of the masses; and, moreover, that these products are also ways of training contemporaries how to decipher this new lived world and orient themselves in it. Here again, but from another perspective, the privilege of technology is linked to an indifferentiation of technologies: cinema first and foremost consists in a series of tests into our world; Atget s photos are signs to be interpreted; and Sander s collections are exercise books to be taught to combatants engaged in social struggles for the purpose of identifying allies and adversaries. The products of reproductive technologies are thus the means of a new education in the sensible, the educational instruments of a new class of experts in art, in the art of interpreting signs and documents. It is for this reason that Benjamin makes a declaration about photography s insufficiency and its need for a legend by which to interpret it. And also about the status of arts of mechanical reproducibility being no different to that of Brecht s epic theatre theatre which is simultaneously a school and a parliament, where one must learn by playing, observing, discussing. It is necessary that the men who work on the machines of mass production and who live amidst their products learn to seize the means and products of mass technology. It is a matter of forming, in the heart of this global sensorium called mass being, the particular sensorium of the men of the masses able to read social signs and appropriate mass production for themselves. I have quickly mentioned these two views of photography s milieu in order to present the thesis that I wish to defend: namely, that the idea of the medium s specificity is always an idea of mediality. It is a way of linking three things: a technological apparatus, an idea of art and the formation of a specific sensible milieu. These materials and instruments of art, invoked in the name of the medium, are in effect always more than materials and instruments. In fact they are endowed with the aesthetic function of establishing one mode of sensible presentation instead of another. As thought, the medium is always simultaneously a conception both of art and of the sensorium that it contributes to forming. In this way, that flat surface staked out by Greenberg is much more than a way of negating the illusions of three-dimensionality. It proclaims the elimination of times gonebye when new art was identified with limitless sensible experimentation; it proposes another link, a remote link between the production of art forms and that of forms for a new lived world. In this sense, the law of medium is much less a rupture than it is a particular form, a form seized by the twofold requirement that constitutes the aesthetic regime of art: that aesthetic experience involves autonomy and that art is always simultaneously something other than art. On this basis, it is possible to analyze the variant ways of thinking the medium as forms of transformation of that twofold requirement. I would like to do this by considering two analyses of the photographic medium that have marked the understanding of photography over the last quarter of a century and which are also two ways to settle photography s accounts with the idea of a new common world. WHAT MEDIUM CAN MEAN The first is illustrated by Barthes arguments in Camera Lucida, in which he introduces a well-determined idea of medium: this idea involves an identity between technological materiality and sensoriality. This identity can be explained in three points: first, photography s technological materiality is the negation of art. Photography is not art; it is no skill involving the mind or hand. It does not strike us as being the realization of an artist s performance. Secondly, however, this negation of art also negates the idea of any specific performance of technology. It is inscribed by way of contrast to what is usually meant by the negation of art, which is to say the trivialization engendered by multiple reproductions or the prosaization which commands a view of photographic productions as being simple documents about reality. Barthes s arguments turn the camera itself into a milieu, one through which the singularity of a body is projected towards me, happens to reach me, and even to injure me. For him, the photographic operation is a medium transport. In some sense it refers back to the idea that light writes and to the revelation of the new sensible world behind it, an idea from the age in which spiritists saw in photography a means for communicating with spirits. It is the having-been of the body which itself comes to form an impression on a sensitive plate and, from there, strike us without mediation. This second thesis, which obviously dates from before the digital age, is articulated with a third: the milieu of reproduction, for Barthes, is the exact contrary of what it was in avant-garde views, namely a common world, a world of trivialization of signs and collective experimentation. Technology, on the contrary, is absorbed in an essence of the sensible, the sensible as absolute singularity. But there are two ways to understand this singularity. In a first sense, to be singular is to be incomparable or unrelatable with anything else; it is to have no meaning. It is therefore said that there is no reason why photography appeals to the gaze and engenders affect, or rather that it does so by virtue of this very absence of reason. This is summed up in the famous opposition between the studium and the punctum: in contrast to the photo that provides information and demands an interpretation stands Lewis Hine s two retarded infants, the small boy with his Danton collar and the girl with a tiny bandage on her finger. Barthes pointing up these two details obviously amounts to evacuating the photo s social and political context, that is, the activity of a photographer who systematically used his camera to explore sites of exploitation and imprisonment, of a witness whose pictures summon the appreciation of Benjamin s new experts of the mass age. The Danton collar makes it possible to parry all that, to settle accounts silently with this mediality, which ties appreciation of the photographic performance to a new expertise ; in other words, the experimentation with a new sensible world. The only sensible world to which the photo attests is the relation of absolute singularity between the spectacle and the absolute singularity of the gaze. Avedon s photograph of the old slave presents us with a similar case, but here the procedure is inverted: no detail diverts us away from a socio-political reading. On the contrary, the photographed subject s mask bespeaks nothing other than the slave s condition. But the effect is the same: it is slavery in person as historical singularity which is given, in its entirey, by the singularity of a single face. Decreeing that slavery is present in person, before our eyes, between our hands, in fact amounts to effacing the singularity of other photographs which speak to us of what has transpired between the abolition of slavery and our present, such as, for example, the John Vachon photograph that only shows us the sign Colored nailed very high to the trunk of a pine, alongside what is probably the object pertaining to its discrimination, namely a tap. Concentrating the having-been of slavery into a single face is one way to settle accounts with the great number of forms that racial discrimination takes on in sensory existence. In the name of fully transmitting a phenomenon in its past as a whole, it amounts to cancelling out the form of collective experience called history, which had previously served as a support for interpreting images and for practices with images. The opposition between the punctum and the studium makes it possible to clear away this tradition of practice with and on images. But there is no achieving this suppression without remainder. Singular distortions happen to enter, in return, into the use of both notions. The best example of this is provided by a photograph of a young man in a cell. The young man is beautiful, Barthes tells us, but such is the studium. The punctum is: he is going to die. The problem is that this punctum is not localizable on the body with which we are presented. It is not an event of the image, only an external piece of knowledge that is not visible on the photograph unless we already aware that it is of Lewis Payne, sentenced to death in 1865 for attempting to murder the American Secretary of State. The punctum, in its supposed JACQUES RANCIERE immediateness, is in fact constituted by the conjunction of two things: on the one hand, a knowledge about the history of a figure; and, on the other, the very texture of the photograph, its colouration, is indicative of the fact that it is an old photo from the past, a photo of someone who, in any case, is already dead as we view it. So singularity takes on another meaning entirely. More than incomparable being, what constitutes it is the fact of having been there, therefore of no longer being there. The singularity of photography, then, is that of the Latin imago, of the effigy of the dead, which with Barthes, becomes the effigy of death. Photography becomes a messenger of the beyond. And this determination falls back on the medium relation alone, which produces the real affect of the photograph: in the case of Lewis Payne, not the knowledge that he will die, but on the contrary a non-knowledge. At first sight, we do not know who he is, why he gazes in this way. And even if we know who this young man is, we are still unable to know the thinking that animates this gaze, which expresses neither fear nor revolt, neither resignation nor repentance. Similarly, we are unaware of what the photographer was thinking, and whether it was at his r
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