Guy Holtzman

What is photography? This question I did not ask myself at the age of eight when I received my first camera as a birthday gift from my mother. It was a very simple Kodak click and shoot camera with no zoom or focus options. Easy for a child like myself to load the film cassette, close the camera, and take pictures of anything that interested me.
Photography has undoubtedly had an unprecedented impact on the history, or rather, the telling of the history of the past two centuries, but what is it exactly that gives photography its power? Smell or fragrance, heat or cold, wind, rain, night, these are all things that a person does not literally experience when viewing a picture containing them; however, each individual’s memories of those sensations as well as their memories of the people, places, and events in their lives absolutely influence their interpretation of a piece and can result in a very tangible and ultimately more powerful experience. There can be a tendency to view the creative process as a closed loop wherein the artist has an idea to express, makes a photograph that reflects that idea, and the viewer, upon seeing the piece, is struck with the same idea that inspired the work. While perhaps this sort of agreement might be validating for the egos of some artists, it’s a lot like attending a debate where one person speaks while the rest silently nod their heads. Rather, the creative process should resemble the frame of a tree with ideas sprouting and growing, taking their unique shape as a result of the many forces brought to bear during their development. The artist has an idea, makes a photograph that reflects the idea, and then steps back while each viewer has their way with the work, twisting the idea as it grows far beyond its seed.

Speaking of stepping back, last year in Haus der Kunst, a Munich art museum hosted an exhibition by the photographer Andreas Gursky. Mr. Gursky’s photography demonstrates "Extreme Long Shot" or ELS: photos of racetracks, political gatherings in North Korea, sports competitions, landscapes, and industrial production lines. These works are literally the embodiment of “The Big Picture” and in them, I saw the expression of a belief that the pursuit of technology as well as global economics and politics have resulted in the loss of individuality and degraded the impact and value of each of us alone. Despite this proposition which requires viewing the pieces from afar to see the sum rather than the integers, a majority of the visitors spent their time with the pieces engaged in an up-close examination. Were they, consciously or not, fighting back against the proposal that they, as individuals, no longer matter? Or, were they just simply missing the point? Does either answer make Mr. Gursky’s work less valid? Does the artist need an audience to complete his process or is the act of creation enough? At what moment is the art created? When an idea first forms? When the shutter opens? When the print is made, or when the audience catches their first glimpse? It was these questions and so many more, raised so eloquently in Susan Sontag’s On Photography, which brought me back to this medium and continue to both inspire and haunt me each time I raise the viewfinder to my eye. Am I reflecting reality or creating it? Can I trust my hand to capture what my eye sees, and can I trust my eye to see what my heart feels? And what about the many moments each day when my heart and mind collide? My mother is an American and I hold an American passport, but I was born in Munich and raised in Bavaria. At age 34, this is my first time living in “my” country, and I very much feel torn between the old world of Europe and Columbus’ “New World”. Rather than culture shocked, I seem to be culture stunned as I am repeatedly stopped in my tracks by what I see in front of me. It is this internal conflict that inspires Detritus. I was walking glumly around town shoe gazing when my eyes began to focus on the tossed debris scattered on the sidewalks. I’ve been told there is a saying here that you can tell a lot about someone by what they throw away, so I began to photograph the littered landscape, hoping it might tell me something about the home I know nothing about. Thus far Detritus has raised far more questions than provided answers, but my mind and body are engaged, and I feel my transformation from a passive observer to an active, if puzzled, participant in American society. As my knowledge of America grows, so does Detritus, and what began as an exploration of minute inanimate debris is growing to include the buildings and, most importantly, the people tossed aside as America continues her forward march. I am determined not to be swept aside, not to be a remnant. Rather I am now a witness giving testimony with my shutter, and fulfilling the promise of that little birthday gift all those years ago.