Critical Analysis of The Space and Time of “The Scourged Back”
Songs, movies, books, and other forms of linguistic creative work always have a way in making us transgress in a different world through space and time. A photograph of a man, Gordon, that is deeply unsettling and complex does the same. Gordon was a man who escaped from slavery in 1863 from a Louisiana plantation and found safety among Union soldiers in Baton Rogue. While he was examined in the camp, the doctors found that he had horrifying and extreme scars on his back, which was found to be brutal whippings from his past white overseer during his time in the plantation. Later then, Gordon’s back was photographed, reproduced, and it built a huge sensation when it was first publicised.[1] The photographers were noted Civil War photographers, William D. McPherson and J. Oliver, and the image of Gordon’s back was titled as “The Scourged Back,” was copied by Mathew B. Brady,[2] and published by Harper’s Weekly.[3]
In the mid eighteenth century, the United States were expanding its galleries in photography. Many photographers travelled to villages and towns, and had their wagons as studios. One of the most celebrated galleries out of the seventy-seven in New York City was Mathew B. Brady,[5] the studio that made known the artwork. It is no wonder that the photograph has become such a huge sensation, because it was partly due to the fact that it was publicised by one of the leading galleries at the time. This was also a time when photography was first used for propaganda.3 Not to mention, the medium that this photograph was taken in, carte-de-viste, allowed images to circulate quickly because of its inexpensive reproduction cost.[6] “This Card Photograph should be multiplied by the 100,000 and scattered over the states. It tells the story in a way that even [Mrs. Stowe] cannot approach, because it tells a story to the eye,” commented The New York Independent.3 With this, it is clear of the important role that mechanical reproduction plays, in which that it changes the way Gordon’s image inhibits space and time.
“Even the most perfect reproduction of a work of art is lacking in one element: its presence in time and space, its unique existence at the place where it happens to be,”[7] writes Walter Benjamin in his influential essay The Age of Mechanical Reproduction, in Illuminations (1968). Benjamin calls this presence in space and time as “aura”, and he writes that an artwork’s “aura” and authenticity withers during mechanical reproduction.[8] Additionally, he believes that a reproduction of an artwork has no sense of uniqueness and permanence, therefore, they are ephemeral and ubiquitous.[9] In light to Benjamin’s claim, John Berger expresses that due to reproduction, the artwork enters the homes of the viewers, and is influenced by the surroundings of it, like furniture, words, and other images, and it changes how the artwork is perceived overall.[10] Both authors highlight of the importance of the original work, and the insignificance of the reproductions.
In regards to Benjamin’s notable theory, there is a definite relationship between his beliefs in mechanical reproduction with how “The Scourged Back” is perceived. However, the theory cannot be applied to “The Scourged Back” the same way it can be applied to other artworks. Firstly, “The Scourged Back” can be analysed in which it is no longer a photograph that was taken at an exact date in 1863, during an exact time, at exactly Baton Rogue because a sense of ambiguity comes to play with the photograph. Benjamin may say that the presence in space and time of an artwork is highly essential, but “The Scourged Back’s” lack of it is perhaps what makes the photograph so fascinating, because the artwork is adaptable to our own past, present, and future. It simply belongs to us, the viewer, and we now have the permission to include it in our own space and time.
Above all, “The Scourged Back” does not seem to lose any “auratic” aspect to it despite Benjamin’s and Berger’s beliefs. The photograph still produces an atmospherically captivating state in which we are embedded in. The reason for this counterargument is because of Gordon’s pose, which is strong enough to keep its excellence. Gordon’s pose indicates his self-awareness of his movements, he is careful, but at the same time he is taking control over his own body. Half of his face is showing, which also points out that he is claiming his identity and is making known of who he is. Then, there is his arm, which extends the space that he occupies, and this reflects upon his inclination to expand his presence.[11] Here, Gordon does not ignore his scarred back, but he is telling everyone that he still has power over his own body, and that no one can take away his individuality. The photograph ultimately brings forth a dualism of vulnerability and authority, which is why it still remains abiding and perennial in any space and time.
Nonetheless, one must take note that “The Scourged Back” is a photograph that was quite literally born to be mechanical reproduced. It is unlike any other artwork, which has an original piece that is hung on the wall of a gallery, an auction house, or in someone’s living room. Even the supposedly original version of it in the National Portrait Gallery in the Smithsonian Institute is of a copy.[12] Therefore, there is no comparison between the original and the reproduction, because it is utterly inaccessible. This is also another reason why “The Scourged Back” is an essential work, because of its implicit complexity.
There is also a different way to view this photograph’s space and time, which is to move on to the space and time of Gordon himself, because he is no longer known as Gordon, but rather as “The Scourged Back.”
It is important to recognise that by enclosing Gordon himself into a photograph, the camera encloses and almost traps him within the frames of the photograph. It is as if Gordon’s body is no longer inhibiting space, but now has become an object in a picture. The idea of objectification and commodification plays a crucial role when looking at the image of Gordon. All the while he was in the plantation, Gordon was an object of slavery for his master, his body was treated as an object for it to be violated by the white master. Correspondingly, he then becomes an object within the frames of a photograph. Afterwards, he becomes a symbol, and his scourged body has yet become another object that symbolises slavery and violence. With this, photography objectifies Gordon’s body and transforms it into a commodity. With its immense distribution, perhaps Gordon has never known the pleasures of freedom, because he is now trapped under the gazes of the spectators forever,[13] and the objectification of his body contributes to the artwork being lost in space and time.
All things considered, the photograph of Gordon transgresses to the now and speaks to us in a universal language that we can all understand, and it is conveying a message that each one can interpret differently. There are multiple ways in which “The Scourged Back” can be analysed, with the recognition of the effect of mechanical reproduction and Walter Benjamin’s theories of the loss of authenticity and aura in reproductions. One is to emphasise on the fact that the photograph loses its place in history, and becomes part of our own history, but still maintains its “auratic” behaviour through Gordon’s pose even though it is being continuously reproduced. Another way to look at it is that mechanical reproduction, along with the conventions of the medium contributes to objectifying and commodifying Gordon which plays a part in. Altogether, the work of art demonstrates simplicity and complexity at the same time, but “The Scourged Back” remains undoubtedly one of the most remarkable photographs in history.
NOTES:
[1] “Gordon,” National Portrait Gallery, https://npg.si.edu/object/npg_NPG.2002.89
[2] Matthew Hinton, “For first-hand history of Civil War era, look back through lens of New Orleans photographers,” The New Orleans Advocate, August 13, 2015, https://www.nola.com/entertainment_life/article_350057a5-092d-5391-88ca-26dce2fc4a89.html
[3] Joan Paulson Gage, “A Slave Named Gordon,” The New York Times, September 30, 2009, https://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/04/books/review/Letters-t-ASLAVENAMEDG_LETTERS.html
[4] William D. McPherson, J. Oliver, copied by Mathew Brady Studio, Gordon, albumen silver print, 8.6 x 5.5 cm, National Portrait Gallery, Smithsonian Institution, accessed December 15, 2019, https://npg.si.edu/object/npg_NPG.2002.89
[5] Helmut Erich Robert Gernsheim, Andy Grunberg, Beaumont Newhall, Naomi Rosenblum, “History of photography,” Encyclopaedia Britannica, October 4, 2019, https://www.britannica.com/technology/photography/Photographys-early-evolution-c-1840-c-1900
[6] Lara Perry, “The Carte de Visite in the 1860s and the Serial Dynamic of the Photographic Likeness,” Art History 35 (2012): 728–749
[7] Walter Benjamin, Section XIII, Illuminations, ed. Hannah Arendt (New York: Schocken Books, 1968), 220
[8] Ibid., 221
[9] Walter Benjamin, “A Short History of Photography,” Screen 13, no. 1 (Spring 1972): 20, https://doi.org/10.1093/screen/13.1.5
[10] John Berger, Ways of Seeing (London: Penguin Books, 1972), 219–220
[11] Elena-Larisa Stanciu, “The Black Male Body: Violence and Representation in American Visual Culture” (Master thesis, University of Southern Denmark, 2013), 72
[12] “Gordon,” National Portrait Gallery, accessed December 11, 2019, https://npg.si.edu/object/npg_NPG.2002.89
[13] Elena-Larisa Stanciu, “The Black Male Body: Violence and Representation in American Visual Culture”, 73
