ROBERT ALBAZI: DIE SONNE
When did the star dissolve, or was it captured
by the sequence of squares and squares and circles, circles?
‘Paris 7AM’
Elizabeth Bishop
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Earlier this year, Runes: Photography and Decipherment was exhibited in a small room at the Centre for Contemporary Photography in Melbourne. Curated by Australian artist Justine Varga and art historian Geoffrey Batchen, the exhibition included mid-19th-century daguerreotypes and calotypes; NASA satellite photographs; abstract, colour-field works using expired photo paper; and the digital code of a scanned heliograph. The result of complex processes, many of these works bore traces of their making: a strip of static interrupting part of a satellite image of the moon, represented the moment the satellite hit the moon’s surface; and the Rothko-like bruises of black and white in a print by Alison Rossiter were the result of developing expired and un-exposed film.
In The Birth of Tragedy, Nietzsche writes: ‘the problem of science cannot be recognised within the context of science’. To understand the ways in which science uses imagination and invention in its pursuit of truth, one must, according to Nietzsche, ‘see science under the lens of the artist’. As Varga and Batchen note in the exhibition catalogue, the works in Runes are ‘all indexical traces of specific phenomena or actions’, but for me their true interest lay in their poetic potential. A NASA image from 1964, for instance, resembling a chewed patch of monochrome pixels (in fact a picture of the heat patterns in the outer gaseous layers of the sun), made me think about filaments of gas turning through the sun’s corona, rising like long hair underwater.
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American amateur astronomer Lewis Rutherfurd’s 1870 photograph of the sun, Die Sonne, manages, as Varga and Batchen write, ‘to reduce a gigantic sphere of flaming gases to a perfectly circular and therefore comprehensible abstraction’. Looking at the pale yellow disc, however, I couldn’t help but feel underwhelmed. It was far more interesting to imagine Rutherfurd taking the photograph.
I imagine Rutherfurd opening the back door of his house, and, while standing in the doorway, calling out to his wife Margaret that he’d be back in the late evening. Perhaps he never spoke to his wife like this, and would instead leave the house without talking to her in the stern and childish manner of those men who, when offended or confronted (often by their partners), go for long, solitary walks. If Rutherfurd did leave in this way, his walk was short—through the garden and into his private observatory built, with the money inherited from Margaret’s family, in 1856. Once inside, he might have sat in a wide, wooden chair, tapping his foot on the ground and absentmindedly scratching the surface of a black button on his waistcoat while thinking about Margaret, star clusters and the Pleiades rising like smoke. At some point, Rutherfurd would have stood up and walked slowly to his large telescope. Before preparing a glass plate, he might have held his slightly smaller right eye to the lens and seen the point of a leaf, a section of wing, flick of sky, and sun. Rutherfurd’s slightly smaller right eye would shake as light moved through the iris. Sunlight would stain Rutherfurd’s eye. And, after lifting it from the lens, straightening his posture, and turning to look at one of the grey walls of the observatory, he would see, for a few moments, bruises of light against the surface, like those we see, flaring for a moment, whenever we close our eyes.
Notes
Elizabeth Bishop, ‘Paris 7AM’ (1946) from Poems, Farrar, Straus and Giroux, New York, 2011, 28.
Justine Varga and Geoffrey Batchen, Runes: Photography and Decipherment exhibition catalogue, 2, 9.
Friedrich Nietzsche, ‘Attempt at a Self-Criticism’ in The Birth of Tragedy, trans. Shaun Whiteside, Penguin Books, London, 1993, 4, 5.
Photo credits
Runes: Photography and Decipherment, install shot, Centre for Contemporary Photography, 2018. Photo: J. Forsyth.*
Lewis Rutherfurd (USA 1816–1892), Die Sonne [The Sun], 22 September 1870, albumen photograph, 38.0 x 30.0 cm (frame), collection of Geoffrey Batchen, Wellington.
* Works, from left to right:
Lewis Rutherfurd (USA 1816–1892), Die Sonne [The Sun], 22 September 1870, albumen photograph, 38.0 x 30.0 cm (frame), collection of Geoffrey Batchen, Wellington;
NASA (USA), Associated Wire Press Photo: ‘Polar Caps’ found on Sun: A computerized picture of the sun’s corona, or outer gaseous layer, which was made by the OSO 7 satellite and released by NASA, 3 December 1971, gelatin silver photograph, 19.0 x 26.5 cm (image), collection of Geoffrey Batchen, Wellington;
Man Ray (USA/France/USA/France 1890–1976), La Voie Lactée [The Milky Way], 1973, gelatin silver photograph (signed and dated), 15.5 x 26.0 cm (image), 27.1 x 37.2 cm (frame), collection of Justine Varga, Sydney;
Marion Hardman (Australia b. 1951), Untitled (from the Bonnet Hill series), c.1977, gelatin silver photograph, 45.7 x 45.7 cm (frame), collection of Geoffrey Batchen, Wellington;
NASA (USA), Associated Wire Press Photo: Target for Surveyor 7: Mountainous area around the crater Tycho, one of the roughest spots on the moon (taken by the Lunar Orbiter V spacecraft), August 1967 gelatin silver photograph, 38.7 x 34.7 cm (frame), collection of Justine Varga, Sydney;
Thomas Barrow (USA b. 1938), Untitled (from the Cancellations series), 1975, gelatin silver photograph, 27.94 x 35.56 cm (image), 42.0 x 52.3 cm (frame), collection of Geoffrey Batchen, Wellington;
Alison Rossiter (USA b. 1953), Velox T4, expiry date October 1, 1940, 2008, unique gelatin silver photograph, 20.2 x 25.3 cm, collection of Geoffrey Batchen, Wellington;
Anne Ferran (Australia b. 1949), Untitled, 1985, gelatin silver photograph, 41.5 x 33.8 cm (frame), collection of Geoffrey Batchen, Wellington;
Justine Varga (Australia b. 1984), Untitled, 2014–15, chromagenic photograph, 25.0 x 21.0 cm, collection of Geoffrey Batchen, Wellington.
Bio
Robert Albazi is a Melbourne-based writer. His work has appeared in the Seventh Gallery Emerging Writer’s Program, un Extended, Art + Climate = Change, and other publications. In 2016, he was assistant editor for the Lisa Radford anthology Aesthetic nonsense makes commonsense, thanks x, published by Surpllus.
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