Expanding Documentary 2011: Conference Proceedings. Vol. 1, No. 2, December 2011
Picturing Power: Visual strategies employed by
contemporary documentary photographers to
examine underlying power relationships and
structures
Alan Hill
PhD Candidate and Lecturer, Queensland College of Art, Griffith University, Brisbane, Australia
This paper seeks to examine the visual strategies employed by photographers Paul
Shambroom and Taryn Simon in addressing often hidden power structures and systems,
placing them in the context of contemporary documentary practice. By extension, the paper
seeks to investigate the particular qualities of still photography and it’s importance to the
functioning of these strategies.
Traditionally, documentary photography has been powered by noble intentions of exposing
injustice in the hope of bringing about social change (Coles 1997, Abbot 2010, Linfield 2010).
In rare cirucmstances it is sometimes possible for documentists to photograph perpetrators, or
simultaneously capture victim and perpetrator. More often however, photographers seek out
individual (victims) to represent a particular issue, with the aim of encouraging the audience to
identify and empathise with that person (Harper 1994). Doretha Lange’s ‘Migrant Mother’
(1998, p. 77) is the classic example, where, as Solomon-Godeau points out, Lange:
…knew as well as anyone that the conditions she photographed were the consequences of
capitalist crisis and neither acts of God, nor arbitrary misfortune. Nonetheless, as a
photographer her instinct was to individualise and personalise – to present her subjects as
objects of compassion and concern (Solomon-Godeau 1991, p.179).
Post-modern theorists highlighted the problems of this approach, problematising the politics
of documentary representations and calling into question what they saw as a naïve pursuit of
truth, a simplification of complex issues into stereotypes, and the power imbalances prevalent
in most author-subject relationships (Sontag 1977, Solomon-Godeau 1991, Harper 1994).
These critics saw the issues as linked to the practice of focusing on individuals, even if the
photographer sought to critique the broader social or political forces.
…this critique has characterised traditional documentary as linked to the prevailing power
centres, thus reinforcing existing social arrangements even when it attempts to criticise. Part
of this is due to the fact that photography typically focuses on discernable individuals or
events; the power arrangements of the society are visually abstract; perhaps invisible (Harper
1994, p. 36).
As Martha Rosler (1989) argued “… in the liberal documentary, poverty and oppression are
almost invariably equated with misfortunes caused by natural disasters: casualty is vague,
blame is not assigned, fate cannot be overcome” (p. 307).
In addition, it was contended that through the construction of narrative, audiences would be
left only with a form of illusionism that “presents its characters as real people, its sequence of
words or images as real time, and its representations as substantiated fact” (Stam 1985, p. 1).
Solomon-Godeau (1991) argued that this is linked to photography’s indexicality – the apparent
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ability to provide information to the viewer so directly that they come to feel they know about
the subjects or circumstance of the story being told.
Susie Linfield (2010) makes a spirited defence of documentary practice, suggesting the postmodern critique was “too easy” and if “earlier generations had taken a naïve view of
photography’s objectivity…the postmoderns clung to an equally exaggerated view of
photography’s subjectivity” (p. 237).
Nonetheless, these critiques have had a tangible and lasting influence on the discipline,
observable in the increased emphasis on engaging ever more closely with subjects, informed
by the idea that to become deeply involved with, and participate in, the life of your subject
validates the story you tell and assuages suspicions of exploitation. Understood in terms of Bill
Nichols (1991) four modes of documentary, the post-modern critique caused a shift away from
observational and expository modes of documentary (as they were assumed to be less
collaborative, less personal, and perhaps less ethical) towards the interactive mode. This can
be seen through highly interactive (and celebrated) work of Eugene Richards in Cocaine True,
Cocaine Blue (1994), Nan Goldin in The Ballad of Sexual Dependency (2005) as well as Jim
Goldberg’s Raised by Wolves (1997) and more recently, Kay Lynn Deveney’s The Day to Day
Life of Albert Hastings (2007).
Expository and observational practices did of course not disappear altogether with the
celebrated Dusseldorf School’s embrace of New Objectivity, and much photojournalistic
practice predicated on an observational ethos. Many documentists have also experimented
with reflexive strategies which Nicholls suggests “…arose from a desire to make the
conventions of representation more apparent and to challenge the impression of reality
normally conveyed unproblematically” (1991 p. 33). The arc from Martin Parr’s satirical wit to
Nan Goldin’s autobiographical work, and much in between, are examples of a photo
documentary practice that uses a visual language embedded with reflexive elements that
signal to audiences the presence of the photographer as mediator.
Despite these (among other) exceptions, there is a sense in which interactive participatory
documentary became the default mode of production. While an emphasis on bringing forth
more complex, ethical and multi-dimensional representations (Pink 2007, p. 4) is welcome, this
paper seeks to examine practices that explore alternative responses to the post-modern
critique.
One particular problem arising from the interactive mode becoming predominant practice is
that the emphasis on intimate, ethical, personal relationships does not easily allow for
engagement with broader and non-personal issues in which documentists may also be
interested. This paper seeks to identify visual strategies, both in terms of subject and visual
approach that can enable an examination of underlying power relationships and structures so
relevant in this globalised society.
American photographers Paul Shambroom and Taryn Simon provide excellent contemporary
case studies as both are chiefly interested in power and, by extension, the ways in which it is
concealed. They take as their subjects the institutions and practices that affect day-to-day life
in America: government, the justice system, the defence establishment, and other public and
private institutions. What is particularly interesting about their (visual) response to these
issues is that it operates more in line with expositional modes of documentary, rather than the
now more conventional, interactive mode. There is, however, a strong reflexive strain running
through all the works examined, and it is the nature and role of photography in this reflexivity
that I am particularly interested in.
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Shambroom’s ‘Nuclear Weapons’ series, published as Face to Face with Bomb: Nuclear Reality
after the Cold War (2003) has much in common with Taryn Simon’s An American Index of the
Hidden and Unfamiliar (2008). In both cases, the photographers have managed to gain access
to some of the most closely guarded secrets in American society, and through their
photographs, give us access to these secrets. However, they did not seek out individuals (or
victims) whose lives had been impacted by these institutions or forces, instead they engaged in
the arduous (and democratic) task of directly negotiating access to these hidden institutions.
Surprisingly they were successful, resulting in institutional case studies rather than personal
ones.
In Shambroom’s earlier studies, ‘Factories’ and ‘Offices’, he provides a wry examination of the
often-banal interior landscapes in which increasing numbers of us spend large portions of our
lives. He asks us to pause and consider the evolution of the nature and location of work - the
unique stillness of the photographic image forcing us to pause and reflect. In ‘Nuclear
Weapons’ Shambroom provides an unexpected and unprecedented glimpse of the American
nuclear arsenal between the end of the Cold War and 9/11. Perhaps what is most astonishing
about ‘seeing’ the world’s most potentially destructive force - objects which we intellectually
understand have the potential to annihilate life on earth but rarely if ever see - is just how
similar the environments are to those in ‘Offices’ and ‘Factories’. The images are straight
forward, unembellished and understated. Simple, expository ‘documents’; what Helena
Reckitt refers to as “quasi-clinical objectivity” resulting from Shambroom’s “studied
impartiality” (2008 p.32). There is a clear lineage here from the work of Bernd and Hilla
Becher (and subsequently, students and followers of the Dusseldorf School), back to the New
Objectivity and Straight Photography movements in the earlier part of the 20th century (Reckitt
2008, p. 39)
This visual understatement allows us to imagine (rather than have to be shown) the full
potential of what we have been granted such rare access to. Most of the images are eerily
quiet, occasionally including or referencing (but never foregrounding) the people who work in
the periphery ‘looking after’ these weapons. Likewise, the accompanying text is equally
understated; straightforward, factual captions with longer ‘notes on the photographs’ where
Shambroom presents further technical details about the objects photographed.
He expands beyond his own initial visual or aesthetic interest to that of the viewer by
focussing on the hidden and the close qualities of his subjects, thereby asking us to look more
astutely and establishing our own sense of awareness of our visual and social surroundings
(Mullin 2008 p.19).
The image that adorns the cover of the book Face to Face with the Nuclear Bomb, ‘B83 onemegaton nuclear gravity bombs in Weapons Storage Area, Barksdale Air Force Base, Louisiana,
1995’ (Figure 1), provides an excellent example of Shambroom’s attempt to disorientate the
viewer through the combination of the extraordinary object with the very ordinary context; in
this case, a soldier sweeping the floor around a row of bombs. It makes sense once you have
seen it - that a nuclear arms storage facility is just as mundane a workplace as a factory or an
office - but who would have imagined it to be before Shambroom showed us?
The ordinariness of the image heightens the sense of expectancy and encourages the viewer to
extend the scene; what else goes on here, or worse still, what happens if he knocks one over?
It contradicts our understanding of nuclear power, built up in the absence of work like
Shambroom’s, from historical and fictional images of the horrors of radiation and nuclear war.
But Shambroom is not playing down the dangers, rather he enlarges them, by showing us how
causal we are about these weapons and prompting us to imagine their potential impacts if
ever unleashed. This invocation of the viewer’s imagination is an astute use of the extremely
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limited information that, despite this privileged access, a photograph can actually provide. And
so the beauty of the objects, combined with our existing knowledge of their latent power,
makes the images resonate and raise unsettling questions. As Christopher Scoates asserts,
Nuclear Weapons’ is “aggressive in it’s questioning and asks the audience to participate in such
questioning”, adding that “the series clearly argues for art that is a confrontation of values”
(2008, p.29).
‘Joint Chiefs of Staff Conference Room, National Military Command Centre, the Pentagon,
Washington, D.C. 1993’ (Figure 2) depicts an empty conference room where pads of paper and
pencils wait patiently, underscoring the ominous potential of the decisions that might be made
by people around this table.
The elegance of Nuclear Weapons and its social content become both aesthetically and
politically provocative. The style of the work makes its social truth accessible and convincing.
Shambroom frames his political discourse in almost purely visual terms. His photographs rely
on the single straight image to convey the personal, political and aesthetic (Scoates 2008, p.
29).
Shambroom also takes us outside the institution with a series of picturesque (if not for a few
fences and roads) landscape images, many photographed at sunset. The captions tell us,
however, that far from innocuous farmland, these are ICBM (Inter Continental Ballistic Missile)
silos.
Shambroom has used his camera to create a comprehensive visual catalogue of something we
could not otherwise have seen – he exposes a secret. But paradoxically through his distant,
dispassionate language, and his use of photography, which only ever provides the briefest
glimpse of these secrets, he provokes the viewer into using their imagination to consider what
is not photographed, underscoring our powerlessness.
Taryn Simon also creates a visual catalogue in An American Index of the Hidden and Unfamiliar
(2008). Simon’s project is much more diverse than Shambroom’s, but similarly chronicles
places and objects to which access is generally denied. Where Shambroom has provided a
detailed examination of a particularly extreme and well-concealed manifestation of power,
Simon’s index sets out to show us just how many aspects of society are hidden from view.
From a prisoner on death row to an image from deep space; from Richard Nixon’s presidential
materials to a patient having Hymenoplasty; from the Church of Scientology to a vial of live HIV
virus, Simon shows all manner of things that we didn’t even know existed, or at least, rarely
see.
Simon’s visual approach is similar to Shambroom’s in that the images are quiet, still, and
relatively simple, almost peaceful. Some images are banal, like the innocuous looking
transatlantic fibre-optic cables so central to our communication age (Figure 3) but most are
more visually seductive than Shambroom’s, like the beautifully abstract Cryopreservation unit
(Figure 4).
The qualities that make, in their different ways, these objects hidden also charge the
aesthetics of their photographic impact. The beauty of Simon’s pictures… is heightened by the
anxiety we feel when these strange worlds are unhidden (Dworkin 2008, p.145).
The significance of many of Simon’s images is only revealed when you read the accompanying
text, creating a persistent tension between the beauty of the image and what it actually is
revealed by the text. In ‘Photography’s Intertextuality’ Jung Joon Lee (2007) suggests the
tension between image and text “makes us explore our own values about the multifaceted
dimensions of these hidden and unfamiliar phenomena” (p.28). The image ‘Nuclear Waste
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Encapsulation and Storage Facility’ (Figure 5) illustrates this tension well. What appears as an
abstract pattern of blue dots resembling a map of the United States, turns out to be drums full
of nuclear waste emitting a bright blue glow in their cooling pond in in one of the most
contaminated sites in the world, described in characteristically dispassionate terms:
Nuclear Waste Encapsulation and Storage Facility, Cherenkov Radiation
Hanford Site, U.S. Department of Energy
Southeastern Washington State
Submerged in a pool of water at Hanford Site are 1,936 stainless-steel nuclear-waste capsules
containing cesium and strontium. Combined, they contain over 120 million curies of
radioactivity. It is estimated to be the most curies under one roof in the United States. The
blue glow is created by the Cherenkov Effect or Cherenkov radiation. The Cherenkov Effect
describes the electromagnetic radiation emitted when a charged particle, giving off energy,
moves faster than light through a transparent medium. The temperatures of the capsules are
as high as 330 degrees Fahrenheit. The pool of water serves as a shield against radiation; a
human standing one foot from an unshielded capsule would receive a lethal dose of radiation
in less than 10 seconds.
Hanford is a 586 square mile former plutonium complex. It was built for the Manhattan
Project, the U.S.-led World War II defense effort that developed the first nuclear weapons.
Hanford plutonium was used in the atomic bomb dropped on Nagasaki in 1945. For decades
afterwards Hanford manufactured nuclear materials for use in bombs. At Hanford there are
more than 53 million gallons of radioactive and chemically hazardous liquid waste, 2,300 tons
of spent nuclear fuel, nearly 18 metric tons of plutonium-bearing materials and about 80
square miles of contaminated ground water. It is among the most contaminated sites in the
United States (Simon 2008, p. 19).
There is a strong expositional rhetoric to this project, but the images are so considered, so
formal and perfect, sometimes beautiful, the access so rare, that the viewer is reminded of the
artist’s (reflexive) hand in their production.
It is not based on any positivist will to construct a complete and representative picture of
American life. Nor is it bent by any didactic objectives. Simon’s photographs do not endeavour
to reveal invisible essences. Instead they culture a productive distance, clinically depicting the
materials of American mythology (James 2009 p.2).
While many individual examples are fascinating or shocking, it is the diversity that becomes
confronting. There appear to be so many secret activities that we become unnerved and start
to feel alienated. Are these secrets necessary? Is this the price for security (post 9/11)? Who
is really in charge? Are we implicated? Have we lost our way? What does this mean for
democracy?
Power is continuously negotiated and controlled across boundaries and margins by the
policing of the secret and hidden. Simon’s photography transgresses such boundaries. (James
2009, p.2)
In ‘Nuclear Power’ Shambroom gave us one example of a secret topic. Simon’s index shows us
a plethora of secrets, big and small, personal and institutional, public and private. Like
Shambroom however, it is ultimately not what Simon shows us that is disturbing; it is what we
don’t see, and remains hidden, that we should be concerned about. She illustrates how little
we know and how much is kept from us and in this way Simon encourages us to look and think
critically.
These are not one off projects for Shambroom and Simon whose investigations of power
extend across several bodies of work, although employing different strategies in each case.
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Shambroom’s Meetings (2004) and Simon’s The Innocents (2003) show us how their
approaches can be adapted to different contexts, including when focussing more directly on,
and collaborating with, individual subjects. These projects are also catalogues of visual and
textual data that required systematic (expository), investigative collection techniques. But far
from dry, empirical, literal studies both have created visually engaging photographs, infused
with reflexive strategies that interrogate the means of production and the politics of looking
and photographing.
Shambroom’s ‘Meetings’ situates itself at the other end of the power spectrum, underscoring
that power, and the places it manifests itself, is the central concern of his work. ‘Meetings’
documents the frontline of democracy in the United States - the municipal council meetings of
small communities right across the country. Shambroom’s characteristic formal and systematic
approach, where each image is brightly lit, frontal and from a consistent distance, not only
enables comparison of details large and small, it also reflects the seriousness with which each
meeting is taken by it’s participants (Figure 6).
As Stephen Doyle describes, the images “collect the gestures and debris, the clothing and
culture, the heads and hands of citizens willing to debate and decide the minute questions of
civil governance” (2004, p.62). Shambroom also includes minutes from the meeting to
accompany the photographs. While many appear quaint, even humorous, on first inspection,
the viewer begins to reflect on democracy and their own role in it. There are connections
here to the work of Martin Parr and his focus on the ‘ordinary’ as a strategy to encourage an
audience to reflect. The people who attend these meetings are ‘us’ and the fact that
Shambroom has photographed them causes us to reflect on our role in society and question
why they seem unfamiliar.
In The Innocents (2003), Simon conducts an incisive examination of the US justice system. The
project comprises portraits of the mostly black men who have been wrongfully convicted of,
and served long sentences for, serious crimes, but were subsequently exonerated on DNA
evidence (through the work of the Innocence project).1 The people she photographs are, in
every sense, victims, although not of crimes, but of the justice system itself. The portraits are
all taken in a location significant to the case (often the crime scene itself, otherwise the alibi or
arrest location) creating an unusual tension in the images - each one precise and factual, yet
poetic and chilling. The subjects engage the camera with a consistent and earnest gaze but are
quiet and passive. What emerges from the images is pathos and the sense of incongruousness
Simon has created between the subject and the location. The viewer is constantly aware of
this uncomfortable construction - these are photographs of things that should never have
happened; portraits of men at the scenes of crimes they were convicted of but did not
commit.
Text again plays an important role in disturbing the beauty of the images. Accompanying
captions provide the details of the crime, the significance of the location and the time served
(Figure 7). A longer, descriptive text provides further detail about the crime and the
circumstances that lead to the wrongful conviction of the person photographed. Chillingly
most of the disastrous miscarriages of justice involve mistaken identity relating to
photographs, sketches and identification parades, implicating photography and memory. The
book, with 45 cases photographed and described, alludes to the scale of the problem,
reminding us it could happen to anyone. Arguably Simon’s most overtly reflexive work
(perhaps outside the bounds of documentary for some) ‘The Innocents’ seeks to
simultaneously examine the justice system and photography itself through their common
interest in truth and their problematic prejudices.
In summary, this paper has explored visual strategies that can enable photographers to
address the fundamental, enduring and, in some ways, paradoxical problem of how to make
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the unseen, seen; and in so doing, ensure that the field of documentary practice does not limit
itself in approach (to interactive mode) or subject matter (to individual victims).
Documentary photography exists, I think, not to improve a particular situation (though it may
occasionally do this) but to increase our capacity for self-confrontation (Scott 1999, p. 82).
Paul Shambroom and Taryn Simon provide excellent case studies in addressing both parts of
this problem because their work is concerned with the invisible, intangible concept of power,
which they tackle directly. Their approach is at once enlivening photography’s expositional
strengths, while continuing to interrogate the practice itself through a variety of innovative
and reflexive visual and textual strategies that, as James suggests, teach us “to look
differently” (2007, p.3).
In this age of secrets, globalisation, and information overload they use photography to give us
a glimpse of what we cannot see, forcing us to reconsider what we thought we knew. They
encourage us to become critical lookers, thinkers and citizens, first and foremost, by modelling
these qualities for us.
Notes
1. The Innocence project is an American litigation and public policy organization dedicated to
exonerating wrongfully convicted individuals through DNA testing and reforming the criminal
justice system to prevent future injustice . http://www.innocenceproject.org/
Notes on presenter
Alan Hill is a documentary photographer, Associate Lecturer and PhD Candidate with Griffith
University, Queensland College of Art. His research interests include documentary
photography’s ability to critique and provide social comment and developments in multimedia
documentary storytelling.
Email: [email protected]
References
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Deveney, K. (2007). The day-to-day life of Albert Hastings. Princeton Architectural Press: New
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Pink, S. (2007). Doing visual ethnography. London: Sage.
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Figure 1: B83 one-megaton nuclear gravity bombs in Weapons Storage Area, Barksdale Air
Force Base, Louisiana, 1995. In Shambroom, P. (2003). Face to Face with Bomb: Nuclear
Reality after the Cold War, The Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore.
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Figure 2: Joint Chiefs of Staff Conference Room, National Military Command Centre, the
Pentagon, Washington, D.C. 1993. In Shambroom, P. (2008). Picturing Power, Weisman Art
Museum, Minneapolis, p. 93.
Figure 3: Transatlantic Sub-marine Cables Reaching Land, VSNL International, Avon, New
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Figure 4: Cryopreservation Unit, Cryonics Institute, Clinton Township, Michigan. In
Simon, T. (2008). An American Index of the Hidden and Unfamiliar, Staidly, Gottingen, p. 67.
Figure 5: Nuclear Waste Encapsulation and Storage Facility, Cherenkov Radiation, Hanford
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Figure 6: Maurice, Louisiana (population 642) Village Council, May 15, 2002. In Shambroom,
P. (2008). Picturing Power, Weisman Art Museum, Minneapolis, p. 108-9.
Figure 7: Frederick Daye, Alibi location, American Legion Post 310, San Diego, California
where 13 witnesses placed Daye at the time of the crime. Served 10 years of a life sentence.
In Simon, T. (2003). The Innocents, Umbrage Editions, New York, p. 78.
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Bibliographic Reference
Title: Expanding Documentary 2011: Proceedings of the VIIIth Biennial Conference, Auckland:
Vol. 1, No. 2, December 2011: Editorial and Peer-Reviewed Papers
Organised by Auckland University of Technology, Faculty of Design and Creative
Technologies in association with University of Auckland, Faculty of Arts.
Editor: Dr Geraldene Peters
Publisher: Auckland University of Technology, the School of Communication Studies, Faculty
of Design & Creative Technologies, 2011
ISSN: 2253-1475 (digital)
© Written text is copyright of the authors. All rights reserved. Except for the quotation of
short passages for the purpose of criticism and review, and for the online conference
proceedings, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or
otherwise, without prior permission.
All details correct at the time of publication, December 2011
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