© Anónimo, Instalación de vidrio, ca. 1955. Fondo Museo del Vidrio

I warn you that I will broach a topic seldom addressed, one which needs to be discussed further and is certainly not solved. I am referring to the relationship between photography and “reality”. This is a topic which, in addition to being relevant, not only due to the implications it has for our contemporary culture, but also because it covers the most recent Fototeca-Cineteca exhibit at the Art Center in the State of Nuevo León, and the publication that complements it: Nuevo León, imágenes de nuestra memoria.

The history of this relationship is intimately associated with the so-called objective capacity of one’s surroundings, an aspect attributable to the also so-called absence of human intervention in the process of obtaining and reproducing “real” images. Both ideas, the one that refers to objectivity and the one that evokes the mechanical, automatic, impersonal and inhumane process of photography, have been used to argue in favor or against it. In favor we have heard arguments that these are the precisely the qualities upon which the modern dream of mimesis rests; that is, achieving an exact copy of the world that surrounds us. On the other hand, these qualities have shown the most radical attack against creativity, imagination and human genius, the only possibilities of elevating human nature above and beyond nature, and even of correcting nature to mankind’s benefit.

At present we know that no image, be it photographic or of any other nature, including paintings, is totally naïve or objective. Implicit in them is a determined way (historical, cultural and ideological) of viewing, understanding and interpreting the world, which is expressed and communicated to us in the final product offered to us as an objective and mechanical reproduction of reality, a “certain impression of reality”.

© Sosa, Cuauhtémoc y Famosa, Monterrey, Nuevo León, 23 de diciembre de 1964 Archivo Municipal de Santa Catarina.

Today, in the same way, we understand photography as more than simple images, as acts of movement where the perspective of an era, the producer’s and the spectator’s converge and accentuate that touch of “reality” which, in spite of everything, these photographs continue to transmit to us since these images have testimonial value. What I want to say is that if throughout time the producers of images were to make an effort not only to make them look more or less real, but also to affirm that what was created had been “seen” in effect by them, this effort would be much more evident in the photograph due to the very nature itself of the process as well as by the product obtained.

All of the preceding can be understood with greater clarity when we examine photographs from the past. In the face of this type of images we test our ability to doubt, but it is only with greater difficulty that we question the testimonial value they seem to possess. I will only cite three of the reasons that could explain this situation: the first refers to the value traditionally given to photography and which has been assigned to it from the very beginning: the fact that a photograph is a document (a use we continue to give it); the second is that in spite of knowing the contrived nature of photography, one must be aware of the ideological mechanisms that operate within it. In the face of these images in particular, it is very complicated not to see in them an “impression” of reality (that’s how it was, or that’s how it happened) that somewhat witnessed and saved for us; the third reason is the connection stored in our memory. I believe it is now more than ever before (and I assume that would be even more true among the younger generations) during the 164 years since photography broke into modern western culture, our memory is there, covered with images of this nature.

© Anónimo, Familia Bazán en día de campo en el arroyo Garrapatas, ca. 1920, Colección de beatriz bazán de Vaquero.

Let’s take, for example, the photograph of the 1938 Christmas party (Alberto Flores Varela, Fiesta de Navidad en Vidrio Plano, 1938). Anybody who attended and has to remember it (whether it be for oneself or for those who were not present) the next day, months or years later, those resorted to would mention the data called up from their memory bank, which would only be segments or areas of an image exactly like we see here: the ad hoc decor of the room, the gifts for the children (observe the little boy who plays with the wheelbarrow in the lower right hand corner); the costumes some of the children are wearing (the little boy dressed as a Mexican cowboy in the background to the right); the plaid dress of so and so (in the center in the background) and even the cold of the evening, which forced the men to wear their best overcoats, scarves and hats. The intimacy that these and other memories store through the image we observe reinforce their objective nature, while those of us who were not there or can’t remember this event, have no other option but to believe in its “reality” (that something of that nature, or similar, happened, moving on to or leaving aside “knowing” that this wasn’t the case, when a party or some other event of this nature is an act in movement, which takes place over time, these are aspects that here we do not “see” but the image and remembering the event indicate to us that it is not necessary to have this “knowledge” since they —photography and memories— are substituted by “realism”).

Another image that we can resort to in support of our arguments is one where we observe a group of photographers somewhere in the Huasteca region in 1935 (Anonymous, Fotógrafos de la Huasteca, 1935). Their placement parallel to the horizon, their relationships of comraderie, always with their eyes looking ahead, make obvious the actions of the colleague who asks them not only to group together but also to pose for him, for the camera and thus, through this act and this action (double action, the people depicted and the photographer), we also see what is outside of this printable area; in other words, we are sure that somebody was there, a witness to what was happening, what was real, what we observe, since before us there was somebody who saw this “in reality”. Who could certify this better than a photographer, with his camera as a test of faith? He appears to the extreme left of the line they have formed, which turns this photographer into a redundancy: photographers who are photographed to prove “this truth” of photography, what “was reality” at that time; how could one doubt the “reality” of those who were there if we have that image?

© Refugio Z. García, Anuncio publicitario de cerveza Carta Blanca (Carta Blanca mi cerveza favorita), ca. 1925. Colección Xavier López de Arriaga.

Equally interesting is the other photograph with a large group of biking enthusiasts (Anonymous. Cyclists, 1900). They are also seated according to the pleasure of the author in two orderly rows, those in the first row with a distracted look among themselves and on their vehicles, while the second row is standing or leaning on their bikes. In the background there is a huge poster of the Cerro de la Silla. The value plus of this photography is not the image per se, but rather that in this image we see both the passage of time as well as the operations resorted to by our memory. In other words, overlaid on the photograph, once obtained and observed, at some moment in time other than the moment of the shot or of the first exhibit, we find that each one of the characters has received a number and their names are written at the bottom of the print. The written word has been added to the mnemonic capacity of the image, thus turning its recourse into a register, a document, a more effective print of “reality” for the memory, for remembrance sake.

Let’s take one last example, the war council for revolutionary General Pablo Gonzalez, which is a photograph by Mauricio Yáñez dated July 19, 1920. The scene develops against the backdrop of the Teatro Independencia (¿?) before a numerous audience which had congregated for this purpose, curious to know the outcome of the “faithful sentry of Constitutionalism” and who, just one year before, had been a presidential candidate. To the left, seated and elegantly dressed, is the previously victorious head of the army from the Northwest, who apparently is not paying much attention (legs crossed and his hands between them), looking toward the back or watching someone who is outside the visual field of the camera); to the right, the person standing behind a table is reading more than a judgment —most likely it is a book he has in his hands. History has taught us that the General was arrested that same year for attempting to rise up against Carranza. Even through he was condemned to die, his execution was finally stayed, but he had to leave the country and seek refuge on the other side of the Rio Grande, from where he would not return until 1940.

© Desfile del Centenario de la ciudad de Montemorelos, Nuevo León, 28 de mayo de 1925. Colección Beatriz bazán de Vaquero

So far we have sustained the thesis that when dealing with photographs from the past, it is practically impossible, and in spite of being aware of the opposite situation being true, to detach ourselves from “the truth” or “the impression of reality” they transmit to us, the effect is reinforced by the intimacy kept by the mechanisms of memory; however, in the face of images such as the last one we have described we have to stop and recognize that the scope of the “impression” these photographs cause us is limited, just as limited as the simple memory of the image. It is this sum or index of information that can provide us with the “realism” of a photograph from the past, which turns into a part of it. What we have said about the trial of General Pablo González is not contained in the image nor in the photograph of that point in time, but rather it is useful to us to give us a certain idea of how the photographers interpreted the process that would follow, but since it deals with a historic fact (unlike the other photographs we have cited here) there is nothing in it which leads us to know , nor to understand what happened, which is why its alleged “realism” and “objectivity” should be placed in doubt (let’s imagine that no written register had been kept of the image presented to us, nor was there anyone who could have recognized the scene, then very possibly we could be talking about how theater plays were carried out in Monterrey in other eras).

I deem it necessary to insist on the notes from the previous paragraph, especially now that the Government of the State of Nuevo León has made an effort to locate, exhibit and publish these photographs. While this action of pulling together more complete files and archives as time goes by it is important but that is not enough to “be present”, in the past (just like the simple transcribed relationship of the facts). To comply with this task it is necessary to initiate what could turn into the social history of photography in Nuevo León. I will come back to Yáñez’ photography to exemplify this point. His representation of what happened to the General should be complemented not only by historical knowledge in course for this case, but also with information about why the photographer was there, who commissioned him, why did he select from all possible moments that particular moment in time, what was his intention, what political or ideological motives did he have in mind, what was the purpose of his work, what other photographs did he take of that same process, what other photographers have similar work, how do these photographers’ work relate to each other, how are they different, and, within Yáñez’ career, where could we place this set of photographs and what does it have to do with other similar works, etc.

© Jesús R. Sandoval, Equipo de Voleibol Nuevo León, 2 de diciembre de 1930, Fondo Museo del Vidrio.

We also need to find out more about that background of photographers throughout time in Nuevo León, where they get their training, how they learn to do photography, where their materials come from, what kind of work they perform, who their clients are, the cost of their materials and their products, what written references exist regarding their work, what contacts they maintain with their colleagues from other places and among themselves, etc.

These are matters that are related to photography, those who produce them and the final users of their work. By joining the historical interpretation of facts with the atmosphere that prevailed during that era, the reactions that ensued, and to continue with the same example that a character such as Pablo González was jailed, what was said in Monterrey about this event, the consequences it had for the city, etc., is what will allow us not to be seduced by the “realism” of these photographs and to finally end up not only with the images from our memory, but simply knowledge from our past.Eric Jervaise