Women
In Francisco Huguenin Uhlfelder’s (FHU) photographs, [I am referring
to his photographs of mature women], women appear before us, exposed to
the splendour of the human paradox: beauty’s unattainable place. What
I mean to say is that beauty’s intangibility appears more intangible
than ever.
What perturbs us so much when we are confronted with these women? Has-been beauty, beauty that still causes us to stir or do we recognise that we may have to question this omnipresent manifestation, to wonder what is really worthwhile in this life? Through these photographs, we can identify the mystery of beauty with the mystery of life. Faced with the upper limit when beauty has all but faded, we become all too aware of life and death - a boulder that we cannot budge. Even more so than a text, photography limits us to seeing the metaphor in the artist’s work. Even though we may be distracted, even though the problem before us is not developed further, it is impossible not to become bothered or restless, as if we have been sitting uncomfortably for a long time in the same position. Why does beauty have such power over a life? Why is it so cold when beauty is over or nears its end (for the life regarding it and for the life that bears it)?
Melancholy is the leitmotif in the gaze of these women who were asked to pose for the camera. It is clear to see the subjects’ discomfort in some of the photographs, vulnerable to the light that will develop this exact moment forever. It is this “exact moment” that drowns these faces in melancholy! If these photographs were not for developing, the expressions on these faces would be different. Knowing beforehand that the “exact moment” will be developed and shown is what introduces an existential chill. More than being revealed to the world, what causes this shiver is being revealed to one’s self (because the individual takes it for granted that the world sees him/her as the camera shows). Obviously, no one is really like his/her developed “exact moment” captured in a flash between him/herself and the camera, but those who allow themselves to be photographed know that they will have to face more the way others see them rather than what they see in the mirror. What FHU captures on film is, essentially, fear. Fear of not being who you are. The subjects’ fear of not recognising themselves in the image. These women, who were once undeniably beautiful, are afraid that they will not find themselves in the developed photographs. FHU captures this existential chill, which is the fear that when we look at a photograph, we will be confronted with a total stranger. Something even worse can happen: we may be faced with someone we refuse to be (a stranger we do not want to accept we are). But something altogether much simpler may occur: we may merely not want to be reminded of the image that we are (although such people normally refuse to look at the developed photographs). What then leads these women to face the camera, to expose themselves to fear?
As well as the different circumstances behind the women photographed and the different days they were having, that is to say, besides the subjectivity, it is important to try to understand the objectivity of exposure to camera light. In this search for objective reasons, there are three that stand out: because they know they are beautiful; because they want confirmation of how the world views their beauty; because they want to reaffirm their own lives over and above the image that the world may have of them. For someone who knows she is beautiful, the camera captures no melancholic air, nor does it cause any shivers. Yet the situation here is not “she knows she is beautiful”, rather “she knows she is still beautiful.” This “still” changes everything. Anyone who is aware of a “still” gets a chill to their very quick. At a dinner among wine connoisseurs, when the sentence “there’s still some wine” is uttered, two contradictory things are undeniably heard: for now, that’s good, but things are going to get worse. Moreover, if we use those who snort cocaine as another example, this becomes more evident: if we don’t add “a lot” to the “there’s still” they immediately start to think that things are taking a turn for the worse. If, in a football match, one of the teams really needs to score a goal and one of the players or fans asks how much time is left until the end of the game and the reply is “there are still 5 minutes left”, this doesn’t make one jump for joy (although there is hope, which is why it is valid to reply “still”). “Still”, as an adverb of time, immediately holds us hostage to duration, to the duration of the act governed by the “still.” The shiver comes from what our conscience tells us from deep-down: this is nearly over. In the case of the women in the photographs: beauty is nearly over. For someone looking at these photos face-on, life is nearly over. If these women felt a similar chill to the wine connoisseurs at their dinner or the football fan, it probably depended on each individual and how their subjective spirits were on the particular day they faced the camera. Yet they will never be rid of the “still” and its chill. Furthermore, the confirmation that these women may be looking for in the developed photo alone shows the stage that their consciences are at: the need for confirmation. Anyone who is enveloped in a need for confirmation, whatever it may be for, is immersed in murky waters. The need for confirmation is considerably different to the need to hear what one already knows but likes to hear continually and repeatedly (the example of a woman or girl who needs to hear that she is beautiful, needs to hear the world repeat what she knows so well). The need for confirmation about oneself is exactly the issue here and it can only be accompanied by a violent chill to one’s very core. Lastly, the women in these photographs face the camera in order to face the world. To show the world that they are bigger than beauty. Bigger than beauty that once was (or still is), greater than the expectation of beauty that the world has of them. Perhaps. Yet who needs to be reaffirmed by transcending beauty? Certainly not the woman who never had beauty, rather the woman who had it or feels she is losing it. Reaffirming oneself before the world through transcending beauty (in a photograph) serves only as a reminder for those who deem such affirmation necessary. The woman who has never been beautiful knows that she doesn’t need to reaffirm herself through transcending beauty: she is already above beauty (one could also mention the case of feeling below beauty.)
Yet why then do these women expose themselves to fear? For beauty. The same reason why we expose ourselves to life. We now see more clearly why these photographs, which appear simple portraits, disturb us so much. Even if beauty fades from a woman’s face, from her body, it never totally disappears. Sometimes only a hint remains; other times the wish that it were not over; other times a memory, an old way of life that has left its mark on this woman now, and just like a dress, does not fit well. There are many ways in which the disinherited react to the loss of their fortune (the interrupted fortune). Only someone who gives what they inherit or can inherit (refusing the legacy) can be free from a memory riddled with this possession. If truth be told, lost beauty is never truly lost, we just stop seeing it. But it remains in these women, showing itself without a light that brings them to us. Ceasing to see or potentially ceasing to see (the beauty that remains in the memory) is exactly what causes the existential chill that FHU’s camera captures in such exemplary fashion.
How is it possible that we fall in love with these women, with the portraits
that reveal these women here? We fall in love with the beauty we thought
lost forever; we are besotted with the beauty that remains; we fall in love
with the pain these women carry, in their fear of going from the light into
the darkness; we fall in love with who we were, who we are or who we may
be, according to the case, age and sensitivity of each observer, recognising
our lives in each of our counterparts, in the depicted life of these women.
Yet the passion is even deeper-rooted: in this work by FHU, we fall in love
with existence. We fall in love with the human being, stretched along an
entire lifetime. Because, as we have seen, this “exact moment”
is only exact because, in addition to this moment, it hurls our understanding
to a before and after. Faced with these photographs, our understanding goes
even deeper: faced with these women, understanding pitches us against ourselves.