For those who don't know, I've recently begun a battle with cancer. I am undergoing treatment for Hodgkin lymphoma and it has not been pleasant, as you can imagine. At the moment, I'm typing at 3:00 am because I seem to have insomnia now. I spend all day fatigued and fighting it, just to finally lay my head down and feel not sleepy in the least. I feel it's prudent to point out that fatigue and sleepiness are two different things, but, alas, one should lead to the other and this eludes me at the moment. So, yes, these are the ramblings of an insomniac at the moment.

I've been fortunate enough to have a ridiculously amazing support group though. Between my family, boyfriend, and friends, I've barely been alone in this battle, which is an amazing thing to be able to report. I don't know if I will make blogging this experience a habit, but if anyone comes across this, positive vibes, words of encouragement, and any type of advice would be greatly appreciated.

A Review of Walter Benjamin's “Little History of Photography”

Finding unity in 1871, the fresh face of Germany was quickly altered by advances in technology and a booming economy. Born in Berlin in 1892, Walter Benjamin thus grew up in a constantly changing city, one “deeply marked by the rampant growth of German industry in the last quarter of the nineteenth century.” ¹ This is perhaps why Benjamin's work often discusses how culture is inherently affected by industrialization and advances in technology. It seeks to provide “radical explorations and theoretical extensions of the reconsiderations of relationships among technology, media, and the human sensory apparatus.” ² It grapples with how industrialization and mechanical reproduction mediates “the complex processes by which we perceive, act upon, and function within that world.” ³ As a prominent philosopher and thinker of the nineteenth century, Benjamin's career as a writer began while he was still in high school and his methodology grew as he matured into adulthood, beginning with German literary and philosophical traditions, and ending with a critique on a series of problems in contemporary culture. His well-known essay, “The Work of Art in the Age of Its Technological Reproducibility” fully discusses his theories concerning the materialistic interaction between art and the viewer, but in his “Little History of Photography,” written in 1931, the reader can begin to see the beginnings of Benjamin's burgeoning philosophical theories. Because he believed that “certain historical moments and forms become legible only at a later moment,” ⁴ Benjamin utilizes the historical progression of photography to discuss its significance within the art world, as well as society as a whole.

“The fog that surrounds the beginnings of photography,” Walter Benjamin writes, “is not quite as thick as that which shrouds the early days of printing.” ⁵ The genius through which photography was born, he asserts, was the inevitable result of the tireless endeavors of men who independently strove to capture images in the camera obscura. Continuing the journey through time, the developing landscape of photography begins to slowly form: from a fuzzy artistic technique to industrialization, from private studios to the fairgrounds, where, as Benjamin notes with derision, “huskters and charlatans” appropriated the new techniques for personal gain. ⁶ He touches on a handful of specific photographs and photographers to show the progression of subject matter from landscape to portrait. He speaks somewhat poetically on the usability of this new technology, for “the most precise technology can give its products a magical value, such as a painted picture can never again possess for us.” ⁷ These were the slow years for photography, when it was still so fresh, so new, that photographers were still afraid to look at their pictures too long lest “the tiny little faces in the picture could look back at us.” ⁸

However, the magic of photography would soon be tainted by businessmen, followed distastefully by the retouched negative (the “bad painter's revenge on photography” ⁹). Photo albums became a fashionable table accessory in which Aunts and Uncles, cousins and siblings, would be presented leaning against a column or propped against a pedestal. Benjamin makes no attempt to hide his derision for this application of photography. Not to be discouraged by this “nonsense,” Benjamin notes that “to do without people is for photography the most impossible of renunciations.” ¹⁰ More specifically, the most virtuous aspect of photography is “to put before the camera people who had no use for their photographs” ¹¹ and the work of German photographer, August Sander, provides the perfect example for Benjamin. Sander's work consists of hundreds of pictures taken of people in every social stratum of life. It empirically examines the differences between different social classes and is, to Benjamin, not a mere collection of portraits but a training manual used for the vital need of reading facial types.

Additionally, Benjamin covers the “present-day” (i.e. 1930's) relationship between art and photography. He does this in a number of ways but the most succinct can be seen in the juxtaposition between the views of Antoine Wiertz and Charles Baudelaire. Benjamin quotes Wiertz as saying that when photography “has grown to its full stature, when all its art and strength have been revealed, then will Genius seize it by the scruff of the neck and shout: 'Come with me—you are mine now! We shall work together!'” ¹² In contrast, Baudelaire's vision of photography is somewhat more cynical. His quote claims that “if photography is permitted to supplement some of art's functions, they will forthwith be usurped and corrupted by it, thanks to photography's natural alliance with the mob.” ¹³

In Benjamin's conclusion, he makes it clear that neither position is really his concern. What both Wiertz and Baudelaire fail to realize, in Benjamin's eyes, are the lessons that can be learned from thinking about the authenticity of photography. In other words, the legitimacy of photography is not nearly as important as the discussion to be garnered from its presence. The subject is filled with cliches that have not furthered the conversation. With new cameras becoming smaller and smaller, the photographer is able to capture quick, secret images that lack substance and understandability. Inscription, then, is Benjamin's answer. With inscriptions, there is no guesswork to the questions concerning a photograph's purpose. In the future, the illiterate will be those who are ignorant of photography, but Benjamin asks: what about the photographer? Shouldn't he be deemed just as illiterate if he is unable to read his own pictures?

Ultimately, Benjamin's “Little History” frames the historical progression of photography within its growth as a usable technological apparatus. Although not significantly developed, “the critique of capitalist industry provides a frame, always present in the background.” ¹⁴ The title would seem appropriate, as well, for while historical progress pushes his argument along, it is but a canvas for the brushstrokes that reveal a “philosophical account of visual perception.” ¹⁵

Furthermore, David S. Ferris asserts that Benjamin's chosen method is dialectical materialism, which “locates things or the material reality of life within a process that involves ongoing conflict and opposition.” ¹⁶ It is dialectical in nature because no absolute power controls the process. This approach allows Benjamin to analyze the political, cultural and intellectual trends of a particular time without being swayed by the biases of that particular era. While this may very well be true, Benjamin nonetheless falls prey to his own ideologies. Indeed, his bias is evident throughout, as he often implies a “correct” application of photography, speaking with derision on some and singing high praise for others.

However, that is not say that Benjamin's history has little merit. He explores the history of photography as thoroughly as anyone could at the time, considering that the technology was still rapidly growing and finding its purpose in society. His retrospect of photography's origins is still a valuable source of knowledge. His obvious and implied opinions demonstrate the contention that the new technology faced almost immediately from its conception. The frenzy with which is was devoured by the masses and the hesitance of the art world to accept or deny its offspring further comments on the power of the photography. When all is said and done, the visual image, no matter its tools of creation, will always provide society with both beauty and conflict.

Endnotes and Bibliography 

Cleopatra has been called “the most powerful woman in the ancient world's first century B.C.” ¹ Her physical beauty was nothing remarkable, yet “the contact of her presence, if you lived with her, was irresistible; the attraction of her person, joining with the charm of her conversation, and the character that attended all she said or did, was something bewitching.” ² She was a formidable figure in her own right—an accomplished, poised woman who consistently seemed to know what she wanted and how to get it. She was, however, a woman living in a man's world; her life and accomplishments are inextricably linked with men of great power—such as Julius Caesar and Mark Antony— and her authority was validated through the children that resulted from her romantic affairs. Her impact on the ancient world was not just a by-product of her choice in lover, though. Cleopatra's public image was bolstered by the continued association with the goddess, Isis, and it was this divine persona that made her accessible to the structure of Roman religion. As the cult of Isis gained a stronger foothold on Roman culture, Cleopatra's divine alter-ego provided Octavian, ever desirous of power, with the ammunition needed to subvert the “inimitable couple” that was Cleopatra and Antony.

From a young age, it would appear that Cleopatra was primed to be a goddess among mortals. Indeed, the “Ptolemaic dynasts were one with the pantheon of Egyptian gods and therefore shared with them the interior space of the temple,” ³ meaning that Cleopatra was considered a goddess from birth. By the time of Cleopatra's reign, the cult of Isis had been spreading across the Mediterranean and to solidify her position, much like other queens before her, Cleopatra desired to merge her identity with Isis. She appeared at times in the garb of the goddess. During a parade in 34 B.C., for instance, “Cleopatra, splendidly outfitted as Isis, was ensconced on a gilded throne, from which she received territorial gifts for herself and her children.” ⁴ This particular event demonstrates her influence over Antony and the force of her Isis persona: “rather than presenting his spoils to Capitoline Jupiter as was proper, he gave them to Cleopatra as she sat on a throne in the garb of Isis.” ⁵

Although her divinity was accepted wholeheartedly in Egypt, it was some time before it was accepted elsewhere. The cult of Isis had been gaining popularity in West because of Isis's appeal to merchants and sailors throughout the Mediterranean. It's possible that this acceptance of Isis throughout the Mediterranean aided the eventual acceptance of Cleopatra as the goddess's reincarnation. Indeed, in the years after 50 B.C., “she likely made the goddess fashionable among the glitterati of Rome. Isis was the ideal women's goddess—the guardian of women, marriage, maternity, fertility, and children.” ⁶ Following Cleopatra's example, Antony, likewise, associated himself with a divine entity. Much like the Ptolemies, the Romans knew how to effectively weave their personal histories with the stories of their gods and goddesses. He “now posed with Cleopatra for paintings and statues, he representing Osiris or Dionysus and she Isis.”⁷

However, as much as the association with divine counterparts was beneficial to themselves, it also had some negative repercussions. Their divinity quickly became a tool through which Octavian could wage a propaganda war against them. Egypt was an important asset to Rome because of its wealth and plentiful grain supply, and, as such, Octavian sought to triumph over Cleopatra and Antony. His attempt to do so was framed in the context of a military struggle against Cleopatra herself, rather than a civil war between rival Roman factions.

He demonstrated that the Roman state was still open to foreigners—to Egyptian culture and religion—by restoring the temples that were dedicated to Isis, while also using religion to draw a distinct line between foreign and Roman cults. He portrayed himself as the defender of Roman gods and goddesses, as well as the defender of Italy. Although he did continue to encouraged worship of Isis (as long as it was outside the pomerium), he utilized the difference between “Roman” and “non-Roman” to construct a discernible Roman identity. Octavian's actions came at a pivotal time for the Roman Republic; after being devastated by fifty years of civil war, the Roman identity had been shattered and, thus, “the significance of his actions lies in the need for clear boundaries in order to establish and maintain group identity.” ⁸

Furthermore, Octavian believed, like others during his time, that Rome's rise to world power was directly related to the exemplary virtue of the forefathers and that the political division and civil war of the late Republic was born from rapid moral decline. Defending the religion of the forefathers and restoring the superiority of Roman religion over foreign cults fell in-step with the prevailing view of morality. Naturally, “the idea that the state religion represented the foundation of the public order led to the practical conclusion that the politics of change had to start with the gods if a moral renewal in the image of Rome's forefathers was to succeed.” ⁹ Cleopatra's and, by extension, Antony's divine alter egos provided the perfect backdrop against which Octavian could draw his lines between Roman and non-Roman, enabling him to triumph over the couple and restore a Roman group identity. With a clear sense of “Romanness,” it was assumed that the wounds of the Roman Republic could then began to heal.

Endnotes and Bibliography

she holds his kisses in her palms
collecting them one by one
she'll save them for a rainy day
when her arms are too empty
and her lips are too cold.

She slept in the ground for forty-three years. She slept and waited, waited for the vibration of footsteps above her--waited for a savior, a shovel and sifting dirt.

She could still feel the knife blade in her stomach.

She could still see the drunken ignorance on his face.

So she slept and waited and gathered her strength. She called upon the worms and spiders to help her.

I will give you my skin and hair and nails, if you will give me breath, she thought. The worms took her skin and the spiders took her hair. They shared the nails.

She breathed cool and deep and waited . . .

We came upon the milky gray river and washed our souls with rosemary.

We must never forget that feeling. The vibration of pumping blood is never too much to handle. Scrapes and bruises must equal severed limbs and crushed bones if we are to survive. The Witch grabs my hand.

We are in this together now.

Restless and stretching, bones and muscles, flesh and soul. Reach for the Moon's hand—and find empty air. She sits in the dark and contemplates her choices. Is this the witch's curse? To be so riddled with worry that her bottom lip begins to bleed? Her powers only extend to others and do little to console her own soul, damned as it is.

Her spirit-companion sits near the fire, though it can feel no heat nor cold, and only looks up when she moves around the room. It can feel her restlessness and understands that its immaterial form can offer her no solace at the moment.

With the ground so frozen, the worms do not come out to play and she fears she may have lost her one and only true purpose. A sickness has attacked the small town and there are many knocks on her door for a cure, but she needs the petals from a rose and no one can offer her such a delicacy. Why, then, has she been given this task? Materials are so bare here. Why does the Crow God insist she stay? He says there is a darkness out to get her, but why does he care? And since when has darkness been her enemy? There are many questions keeping her eyelids from closing tonight, and very few answers to satiate her worry.