As I come to the end of part 2 and having now read all but one of the books in the reading list I find that there is one that has not been mentioned within the course material (unless I have missed something) and that I have not referred to myself. I thought therefore it would be worth a brief note, not least because having read it I am not entirely sure what I am supposed to get from it. Is this a bit of a pavé dans le mer tossed in to see how we react to it? If it is then at least I have read and thought about it.

I have commented more than once before on my struggles with theory and how much practical use it is to my photography. I also find that sometimes I have commented on a book not because I find it useful or interesting but quite the contrary. I find that both negative considerations apply here.

One problem that I have with this slim book is the opacity of much of the academic-theoretical language. I think if you are well versed in theory, and properly engaged by it, this sort of language carries with it a certain lucidity and precision. I am afraid though that it eludes me and sometimes (despite or because the precise use of language was my professional stock-in-trade as a lawyer for more than thirty years?) I find that even after as close a reading as I can manage I am still not always sure exactly what point is being made.

That apart, this is an interesting, and occasionally for me slightly surprising, account of the development of (what I shall admittedly and deliberately imprecisely simply term) modernism in visual art and the way art takes the real and the familiar three dimensional physical world and reduces it to a single, flat, plane. If nothing else this is a useful reminder that what is portrayed is not the real thing – the map is not the territory – and is not necessarily what we expect, remember, or think we know about what is depicted.

What though is the practical relevance of this to the photographic practitioner? It is of course always important and useful to know the story of the art and to have a sense of where within its range of practices one stands, and what other practitioners are conscious, and possibly unconscious, forebears and influences. However when I got to the brief section on psychogeography I found myself asking the question how this helps me as someone who takes photographs rather than theorises about photography? For an understanding of the concept and ideas behind psychogeography I think I got much more from Coverley (2018), not least simply because it is written in more accessible language, and because it is more wide-ranging and comprehensive. But even with that book the same question arises. At some level, probably unconscious, I am sure the concept is there in the background. At a conscious level though it is not something that directly influences how or what I photograph, except to the extent that I am undertaking an exercise that specifically explores it. When pursuing my own projects I do not go out thinking “I am going to approach this from a psychogeographic point of view”.

From a theoretical and art-historical point of view labels are useful, at least up to a point. I am though not at all sure how they necessarily help the person who takes photographs instead of writing about the practice.

One thing I would definitely say in favour of the book is that at least the editor takes photographs and has produced a couple of interesting sequences, juxtaposing adjacent images of different buildings in such a way that to set up some interesting surprises and challenges to one’s visual expectations. They quite cleverly subvert one’s perception of what is being seen. I think that some of the ideas discussed in the book, such as the references to abstraction and the use of collage, are relevant here but perhaps more in the process of editing and composition of the book rather than in the process of composing and taking each individual photograph.

Coverley, M, (2018).  Psychogeography.  Harpenden:  Oldcastle Books

Cramerotti, A, (2010).  Uncapping the City:  Perspectives of Flatness.  Bristol:  Intellect

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