The following essay was produced in 2014 and reworked a few years later.
“When a front cover of the photographic journal Camerawork (Figure One) appeared in the 2007 Who We Are: Photographing Britain exhibition at Tate Britain in London, its inclusion appeared to support the idea that documentary photography is an acceptable material for inclusion in a major exhibition of photography.
Moreover, its inclusion within the confines of an internationally important state funded museum, leads one to also suggest that it is considered a work of art rather than a work of photojournalism on display. Following that exhibition, the inclusion of other political art photographs have been appearing in exhibitions in major galleries including those under the aegis of the state-funded Tate brand…”
Political photographs in museums and national art galleries are rare beasts. At least they were for many years prior to an exhibition of photographs depicting life in Britain: Who We Are: Photographing Britain at Tate Britain, London during 2007. On the tenth anniversary, which is more coincidental than pre-arranged, I publish an essay, first written in 2014 as part of my MA in History of Photography. It cultivates the notion that rather than being a rarity, th protest photograph performs a function hitherto not recognised by curators and academics alike. Namely, that the protest photograph is not just a worthy artform for wider recognition by the major galleries and museums, but also one that functions in the same way as the History painting. Examples of history painting include such masterpices as Théodore Géricault’s Raft of the Medusa (1819), Oil on Canvas, that hangs majestically in its own salon in the Musée du Louvre, in Paris. The History painting, as any self respecting art historian knows, is the pinnacle of art, from which all other forms of visual art hang their credentials. To not do so would be considered suicidal!
Given the current political environment, and the constant references to the 1970s, the essay has been reworked for publication and many thanks to my former tutor Dr Patricia de Bello, from Birkbeck School of Art History, London, for the suggestions made to improve the essay’s worth. She has no doubt forgotten that she ever gave me any advise, but what stuck in my mind for the last 4 years, was that the essay would eventually be worthy of publication. I am of course, too old to revisit academia and the pitfalls of journal publication, so I have added it here on my blog for all those readers willing to take time to read it.
…Long Live Olivier Blévigne!
An odd title, but a fascinating exploration of aesthetics and the place of art in society…the reader’s judgement though is paramount.
On the eve of the Holocaust Memorial Day, Italy calls for Holocaust denial to be treated as a crime. Almost at the very same moment the United Nations adopts a resolution against denial. Read down the current news lists a little further and German prosecutors call for a five year sentence against Ernst Zundel, the alleged high profile Holocaust denier. In a statement to mark Holocaust Memorial Day, Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams has said that the day should be marked for future generations.
Where though is the stance of the British Government in all this debate? Could we see Holocaust denial outlawed here? The UN adoption was achieved without a vote. What would Britain have done if it had been put to a vote? Hypothetical questions maybe, but much of our apathy to the Holocaust lies in some of our history since World War II. The attached essay is based on records held at the National Archives, Kew and elsewhere and tells the story of two events that highlight the anxiety that the British state has in dealing with Holocaust events.
Sometimes comical sometimes 'jaw-dropping', the events that unfold in this story of Britain's 'National Holocaust Memorial' are a telling revelation of inter-departmental stalling and downright interference by the state. Papers released at Kew indicate the possibility of overt prejudice by some cabinet ministers determined to see this memorial 'buried' at arms length to Whitehall and the state.
The essay is a lengthy text, fully referenced and is released in full without changes from its original form. It was an attempt at a Foucauldian analysis of events since WWII relating to the idea of Holocaust.
