Jorg Meurkes Punctum 2, 29 January 2013 (1)

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Jorg Meurkes (5908884)

Objects of Cultural Analysis

Final Paper

29 January 2013

Thinking the Punctum: Gillian Wearing, Self-Portrait at Three Years Old

Let me begin with a personal experience. One day, quite some time ago, in a well known New

York museum, I happened on a photograph. The portrait of a young girl head slightly tilted,

blank expression a pretty straightforward school picture with a slight touch of awkwardness

not uncommon to this category. I wondered why these kinds of portraits often look a bit

peculiar. Especially this one. So I scanned the picture to try and find some details, some clues for

a possible answer. Was it the old fashioned white blouse with the bow tie? Or the doll-like

features, particularly the combination of the blouse and the black hair? Maybe it was what

caught my eye in the first place: the indifference of the face staring at me? Perhaps. I was not

quite sure. So I continued my investigation.

The card next to it gave me some additional information. I think it said: .. Self portrait.

By looking through the holes of the little childs mask, the artist asks questions about time,

identity .. (I am sure there was more, but this is all I remember). When I looked back at the

image, I realized it was not a simple straightforward portrait, but a photograph of the artist

wearing a mask based on a picture from her childhood. I was looking at a photograph of a mask

of a photograph. Knowing it was more than just an old portrait, my perception of the picture had

shifted. But at the same time, it had not made that big a difference. After all I was looking at the

same picture, only now with some additional interestingly sounding text to think about in

relation with the photo. A bit disappointed, I walked away. I liked the concept, but the work had

not sparked anything in me, nothing aesthetically thrilling. Just some light intellectual wonder.

This was soon to change. After observing some other artifacts in the exhibition, I

returned to the photograph. At first, alternating between the whole of the picture and the eyes of

the girl, I still was not too much impressed. Then I noticed the eyes were sunken abnormally low

in the sockets. I noticed a thin grey line on the left side of the left eye: a small shadow marking

the difference between the mask and the artist own eyes beneath. Suddenly it hit me. I realized

that the eyes of the little girl, were actually the eyes of the artist. This all happened, like a bees

sting, very quickly. As if the artist was staring right at me, exposing me. A feeling of being caught.

I was fixed on the eyes of the artist, staring back at me through the mask. Of course I had read

this in the description, but only now I felta real impact: for a moment it was as if the artist was

there in person. An angry look, but scared at the same time as if she was trapped. For a
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moment, she or it, or whatever it was, became more real than the photograph itself. My heart

rate had sped up. But I was not really scared or frightened by it. Maybe there was some anxiety,

but at the same time there was a strong fascination. Something drawing me closer, rather than

making me run away.

When, about a month ago, I read Roland Barthess CAMERA LUCIDA for the first time, this

memory immediately came back to my mind. Barthes distinguishes between what he calls the

studium that what the subject or spectator perceives as the general theme of the photograph,

which Barthes denotes with terms like knowledge and civility,politeness, culture,the

body of information, that what generates an average effect and thepunctum, that what

breaks or punctuates this field, as well as pricks, wounds or bruises the particular viewers

subjectivity . Whereas the studium, conditioned by social norms and values can be liked, be the

object of more or less pleasure, be interestingly talked about, can even be an object of politico-

ethical shock and indignation; thepunctum is that which distorts both the (signifiers constituting

the) studium as well asthe subjectivity engaged with the photograph (Barthes 26). Barthess

description of his encounter with the photograph comes close to the my own experience. Until

the eyes of the artist became real to me, I dwelled in the order of the studium. I (re)searched

for intelligible details, information and knowledge, I learned a bit and this made me like the

photograph. But one detail disrupted my cultural undertaking, my bildung.1 The moment I

noticed the thin grey line, I was subjectively stung and, simultaneously, my perception as

spectator of the studium radically changed. In this sense, It is possible to view the eyes as a detail

that constitutes my particularpunctum, in the way Barthes has theorized it.

We should, however, be careful with such a quick equation. What I took to be my

punctum (the thin red line and eventually the pair of eyes) was a detail intended by the artist.

This is important because, as Micheal Fried has shown, Barthes precludes intended details as

constitutive of apunctum. According to Fried, Barthes observed that:the detail that strikes him

as apunctum could not do so had it been intended as such by the photographer. If Barthes talks

about thepunctumas a certain detail, we can be sure that the artist did not intend to captured

it: Thepunctum, we might say, is seen by Barthes but not because it has been shown to him by

the photographer, for whom it does not exist (546). A detail can only be apunctum if it was

shot without the photographer being aware of it. A photographer in some way always stages a

scene that he wants the spectator to see. Details that make up this intended image will have a

meaning: the photographer means something with them, something that he wants to convey to

his audience (what could be called culture or knowledge). Therefore, intended details are from

the start included in the studium. At the same time, whenever a photograph is taken, certain

details will be captured which the artist was not aware of. Barthess example is the photograph

1Bildung (German for "education") refers to the German tradition of self-cultivation.


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of two disfigured children. But this is not what interests him, for it is all too obviously staged,

intended. Barthes is pricked by two details that seem to be contingently captured: the small

bandage round the finger of one of the children, and the Danton collar of the other (Barthes).

These details just happen to be there, never staged, meant or intended by the photographer.

Fried therefore concludes that intended details can never constitute apunctum.

In this way Frieds argues that Barthes can be placed in the tradition of antitheatrical

critical thought. In Frieds reading, thepunctum is precisely that which guarantees the anti

theatrically of the photograph: In short for a photograph to be truly antitheatrical for Barthes it

must somehow carry within it a kind of ontological guarantee that it was not intended to be so

by the photographer Thepunctum, I am suggesting, functions as that guarantee. If we accept

Frieds reading, we must conclude that my experience of what I thought was apunctum, could not

be one, for the detail that constituted it was clearly intended. The eyes were obviously intended

by the artist. They did not happen to be there. Frieds argument ultimately rests upon the

assumption that a detail that causes apunctum cannot be intended by the photographer.

Nonetheless, it were precisely the eyes that pricked me. It was as if I saw two pairs of

eyes: the ones of the child, which could be counted as ordinary (intended) detail of the studium,

and the ones of the artist behind, which would be the punctual detail. We could say that this

second detail was not directly placed by the artist, not specifically intended by the photographer,

and therefore can be thought as the unintentionality that is necessary for a detail to be a

punctum. But this would be hard to argue, because the difference between mask and the artist

eyes behind it was exactly the point of the work: it was explicitly mentioned in the description

next to it. To take a more empirical view, this detail could never be legitimately called a detail,

because, in fact, there are only one pair of eyes present (which were clearly intended). This

photographic work of art thus poses a problem. If we take the artwork and its effect (my

experience) seriously, it must be possible for an intended detail to cause a punctum. It challenges

Frieds argument, and puts forward the possibility to think thepunctum without unintentionality

as its necessary condition. On the one hand it forces us to reevaluate Frieds line of thought, and

on the other, it give us a chance to think of thepunctum in a different way.

Fried bases his argument for a great part on two related passages in Camera Lucida, both

about intentionality. The first one is as follows. Certain details may prick me. If they do not, It

is doubtless because the photographer has put them there intentionally (Barthes 47) and to

recognize the studium is inevitably to encounter the photographers intentions" (27). I agree

that if a detail does not prick the subject, it is doubtless put there intentionally. This does not

violate my own experience: every detail that did not prick me (the bow tie, the hair) was

intentionally staged by the artist. I also tend to agree with the second point: when I recognized

the studium (when I undertook my investigation, I read the card and I found that it was a


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photograph of a mask) I inevitably encountered the photographers intentions. From this Fried

concludes that, for Barthes, a "detail that strikes him as apunctum could not do so had it been

intended as such by the photographer" (Fried 546). However, this does not follow from both

passages. In short, Barthes claims that details-that-are-no-punctum are always intentional. But

he does not claim the opposite: it is not true that details-that-are-intended cannot bring about a

punctum.

The difference consists in the point of departure. If we are not pricked by a detail, this

detail is of the studium, because a pricking would constitute apunctum. If we recognize the

studium (if we wander about through the details that make up the studium) , we must

necessarily encounter the intentions of the photographer, because the studium is defined as the

field of culture and knowledge, and this includes what the artist tried to show in his picture.

Thus, if we are not pricked, we recognize the studium, and if we recognize the studium, we

recognize the artists intentions. Starting from the recognition of the studium, we necessarily

encounter intentional details.2 However, it does not follow that if we start with an experience of

apunctum, we will necessarily trace it back to an unintended detail. We cannot claim that if we

are pricked, the detail must have been unintended. We can only be sure that if we are not

pricked, we encounter the artist intentions. To make this clear, let me rephrase Barthes: certain

details may prick me; If they do not, It is doubtless because the photographer has put them there

intentionally. If they do, we cannot be sure if the photographer has put them there intentionally.

They probably were not intended. If a detail pricks a subject, it would constitute apunctum. The

detail is probably unintentionally shot. But f it was later revealed to be an intended detail after

all, it would not invalidate this experience. If it was finally revealed that the details that

constituted Barthespunctum (the bandage, the collar) were after all intended by the artist, it

would not invalidate Barthes description of these details as apunctum. If apunctum hits, a

punctum hits: we cannot choose to be hit by one; we cannot be taught to experience apunctum.

In the following passage, it becomes clear that Barthes never denies that intended details

can cause an experience of thepunctum . He does not claim that the punctual detail must

necessarily be unintentional, only that it is at least not strictly intentional and thatit

probably must not be intentional:

Hence the detail which interests me is not, or at least is not strictly, intentional, and

probably must notbe so; it occurs in the field of the photographed thing like a

supplement that is at once inevitable and delightful; it does not necessarily attest to the

2

We might object that some detail that did not prick us, could be capture without the photographer beingaware of it. But it is Barthes argument that if a detail did not prick us, they were doubtlessly intended. In

any case, it does not invalidate the point that details thatdo prick us, could still be intended.


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photographers art; it says only that the photographer was there, or else, still more

simply, that he could notnotphotograph the partial object at the same time as the total

object(232).

It is possible, while it may not often be the case, for an intended detail to cause an experience of

apunctum. But we must also say that, at the very least, every detail is not strictly intentional. It

is also something more. But it is therefore not a completely unintended detail, because it could

be intentionally put there. That which we call the detail could be intended by the photographer.

What is interesting is that Barthes also speaks about the photographers art. The detail, which

might be intended, might also attest to the photographers art. The point is only that it does not

necessarily attest to the photographers art. If we read Barthes closely, it seems that it is

ultimately not about the unintentionality of the photographic detail. It is something else. If the

punctum is not limited to the unintentional quality of the detail, it is, for Barthes, not the

unintended detail that is thepunctum, and that what guarantees antitheatricallity as Fried puts

it. For it is always possible for a fully staged, intended photographic work of art, theatrical in

every sense, to cause an experience of thepunctum.

But what then is thepunctum? The artwork under consideration offers a rethinking.

First, we are dealing with a photograph of the artist wearing a mask based on a picture from her

childhood. It is a photograph of a mask of a photograph. This gives the effect of the double eyes,

at the same time of the mask and of the artist behind the mask; it is ultimately what the work is

about and therefore we must call this detail intended. In an empirical sense there is only one

detail, the eyes, and this detail is intended. But in my experience this detail was not limited

strictly to its intention. For it created the effect that the artists eyes were present at the same

time as the eyes of the mask, piercing through it and pricking me. If we take this effect seriously,

we can say that the intended detail creates the impression of something more than only the

detail which is (strictly) intended. This more occurred in the field of the photographed thing

like a supplement. The artist could notnotphotograph the eyes that belong to the mask at the

same time as her own eyes piercing through the mask. But the effect of the eyes was intended

this way, so we can take out the double negation, and change it to an affirmative statement: the

achievement of this work of art is the ability of the artist to photograph the eyes that belong to

the mask at the same time as her own eyes piercing trough the mask.

What we should focus on is that the eyes emanate something through the photograph.

Something that was always there, trapped, caught behind a mask, but suddenly breaks through.

In other words, apunctum that pierces trough the studium. There is something that is more than

the pictorial representation alone, something that sticks to the image that cannot be cut loose.

The eyes that pierce through the eyes of the mask, function as a reminder that something was


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there, that there must have been more than its representation alone. They remind the spectator

that photograph necessarily presupposes a real referent, behind the mask of representation. If

this realization caused in me the experience of thepunctum, the latter cannot be equated with

the unintentionality of a detail. And in fact, if we follow Barthess central quest for the eidos, the

essence of photography, we will discover that it is not the unintended detail that matters, but

exactly the relation between the photograph and its referent.

In his search for essence of photography, Barthes compares the photograph against other

forms of image representation, most importantly the painting (76). The question is in what way

the photograph is unique in relation to the painting. In other words, why does thepunctum only

occurs with a photograph, never with a painting? According to Barthes the difference lies in the

relation of the image to it referent: First of all I had to conceive, and therefore if possible

express properly (even if it is a simple thing) how Photography's Referent is not the same as the

referent of other systems of representation(76). The referent is that what the image

represents. All images in some way represent something. However, the relation between

representation and referent is different for each one of the image forms. What is represented in

a photograph always necessarily points to a referent that once was a real thing: I call

photographic referent not the optionally real thing to which an image or a sign refers but the

necessarily real thing which has been placed before the lens, without which there would be no

photograph (76).

This is what makes a photograph essentially different from a painting. The latter also

points to a referent, but this referent is always cut from its representation. There is no necessary

link: The painting can feign reality without having seen it. Discourse combines signs which

have referents, of course, but these referents can be and are most often chimeras. There is as

it were a gap between the representation and referent, so that the image can deny the existence

of its referent. An abstract painting for example, does not point a really existing referent.

Contrary to these imitations, in Photography I can never deny that the thing has been there.

There is a superimposition here: of reality, and of the past. What is essential for the photograph

is thus the relation between representation and referent. And since this constraint exists only

for Photography, we must consider it, by reduction, as the very essence, the noeme of

Photography. It is Reference, which is the founding order of Photography (76). For Barthes the

essence of photograph is thus: That-has-been, or the Intractable: . This That-has-been, in

other words death (as it is no longer), stands for its necessary relation of the photographic

representation to a real referent, a referent that necessarily has been. Every photograph has

this essence, of course, so the photograph of the masked artist here discussed as well. However,

this photograph, is staged in such a way that it, in a way, pushes the essence to the surface,

thereby increasing the likelihood of apunctum. In this sense the workthinks thepunctum: If


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we take the mask of the child (including its eyes) as the photograph, the eyes of the artist that

pierce through the mask are the intractable, stubborn remainder of the referent that has been.

The specific relation between a photograph and its referent is why thepunctum can only

come about within a photograph. If this relation did not exist, we would never have to care about

itnecessary having been. It is simply not there. It cannot cause a disturbance, because it is not

connected with it. There is a cut, a gap between representation and (possible) referent. There is

no that-has-been that emanates through a painting. As Barthes puts it, the photograph is

literally an emanation of the referent. The eyes of the artist piercing through the mask make

this connection undeniable. A sort of umbilical cord links the body of the photographed thing to

my gaze (80-81).It is this is what makes the photograph unique compared to the other

systems of representations (76).

So what can this tell us about thepunctum? Thepunctum is that which both disturbs the

studium of, and the spectator engaged in the photograph (26). While in the case of the painting,

the studium and the subject remain safe and intact, with the photograph they are always at

risk. The photograph does not safeguard the negating power of thepunctum, precisely because

of its essence: the sticking of the referent, of the that-has-been to the representation. There is a

necessaryrelationship, otherwise there would not be a photograph. Coming back to our initial

question, thepunctum is not the unintended detail, but the very essence of photography: the

necessary connected referent. Therefore thepunctum is actually the same as the essence: the

that-has-been. However, it always manifests itself as, at the same time as an experience, and a

detail (as immanent to the representation or studium). Thepunctum is nothing other than the

spectators sudden realization of the that-has-been. Because of the nature of the relation

between what the photograph represents and its implicit referent (which is the that-has-been),

this realization necessarily manifest itself as a detail: as a sign in the order of representation.

Thepunctum is thus the same as the implicit referent, which is the that-has-been, the

essence of the photograph. It is a negative category, because it is felt only through the

disturbance of the positive categories of the subject and the studium (it does not consist in the

positivity of a detail. Thepunctum is not present by itself: it is only a necessary implication of

every photograph). When apunctum hits, the consistency of the symbolic order, that is, the

studium, is disturbed. The fantasy is broken, which gives rise to a sudden uncertainty. This

event always lurks behind the photograph, , it can always strike, because of its essence.

However, normally we are, as Barthes says, indifferent to this essence (77) Normally we are

immersed in our culture, knowledge, politeness, in other words: in the studium. But it is always

possible that this seemingly closed structure is disturbed, and often this comes about by a

detail. This, as Barthes recognizes, is most likely to be an unintended detail(not intended to be

staged or captured by the photographer): the details that are intentionally shot are much more


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invested with the studium and therefore do not remind us of the essence of photography: the

that-has-been. It is thus not the detail that disturbs us, but the realization of that-has-been,

which we experience as thepunctum. Thepunctum brings about, emanates, the essence of

photography. When thepunctum hits, we are awakened of our normal indifference. It is this

indifference which the Photograph had just roused me from(77).

The photographic artwork I encountered allowed us to challenge the view that the

punctum is caused by an unintended detail. Rather, when we experience apunctum, we

encounter the very essence of photography: the necessary relation of the representation to its

referent, the that-has-been. The eyes of the artist piercing through the mask exemplify the way

this referent is implicated in every photograph. The realization of this essence is caused in

different ways, of which the unintended detail is one. However, it is not the only way. The eyes

that had pricked me, were clearly intended by the artist. Nonetheless they gave rise to a sudden

realization of a real thing, trapped behind the mask. They shattered the studium. This was my

experience of thepunctum.


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Fig. 1.

Wearing, Gillian. Self-Portrait at Three Years Old. 2004. Solomon R. Guggenheim

Museum, New York. Chromogenic print, edition 5/6, 71 5/8 x 48 1/16 inches

(182 x 122 cm).

Works cited

Barthes, Roland. Camera Lucida: Reflections on Photography. New York: Hill and Wang, 1981. Print.

Fried, Micheal. "Barthess Punctum." Photography Degree Zero: Reflections on Roland Barthes's

Camera Lucida. Ed. Geoffrey Batchen. Cambridge, MA: MIT, 2009. 141-167. Print.

Jorg Meurkes Punctum 2, 29 January 2013 (1)

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