Journal articles on the topic 'Inuits – Photographie'

<p align="left">In 1906 Roald Amundsen’s Gjøa Expedition returned to Norway after three years in the Arctic. The first to complete a Northwest Passage by sea, the expedition also brought back a substantial amount of ethnographic material concerning the Netsilik Inuit, with whom Amundsen and his crew had been in sustained contact during their stay on King William Island in Nunavut between 1903 and 1905. This material included a large number of photographs, forty-two of which were included as illustrations in his expedition narrative, titled <span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT;"><em><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPS-ItalicMT;">Nordvest-passagen </span></em><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT;">and first released in </span></span>Norwegian in 1907. Focusing on a selection of published and unpublished photographs from Amundsen’s voyage and their interrelationships, this article examines the degree to which the Gjøa Expedition’s use of photography formed part of a planned project that intersected with anthropological concerns and practices of its time. My purpose is further to demonstrate that there is a discernible change in the representation of indigeneity that occurs when particular photographs were selected and then contextually reframed as illustrations in <span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT;"><em><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPS-ItalicMT;">Nordvest-passagen</span></em><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT;">. </span></span>On the one hand, the extensive body of photographs taken in the field elaborates the close interaction between crew and Inuit recorded in Amundsen’s personal diary and published narrative, testifying to the existence of an active and dynamic contact zone. In this regard, the original photographs could arguably be read as a dialogic portrayal of the unique individuals Amundsen’s crew met while in the Arctic. On the other hand, a peculiar distancing seems to have taken place as the Gjøa Expedition’s photographs were selected and reproduced as illustrations for Amundsen’s expedition narrative. Likely connected to a desire to match his expedition narrative to existing scientific visual and literary conventions, this shift suggests Amundsen’s attempts through textual and visual means to deny the Netsilik Inuit’s coevalness.</p>

Depuis plusieurs décennies, dans l’Arctique canadien, la pratique des relations sociales se trouve nourrie par le champ des technologies de l’image et de la communication à différentes échelles. Parmi ces technologies, les techniques de représentations imagées de la personne constituent, à travers la photographie et certaines modalités de représentation graphique, des pratiques quotidiennement investies par différentes générations inuit. Au terme d’une recherche doctorale en anthropologie, cet article propose d’examiner quelques pistes ethnographiques relatives aux relations de parenté inuit contemporaines. Il examine notamment une approche de la parenté dans le village de Sanikiluaq (îles Belcher, Nunavut) en termes de processus électifs (c’est-à-dire des façons de choisir, mais également de transformer ou non un lien en une relation effective et pratiquée). Cette approche s’applique à un certain nombre de pratiques impliquant les supports photographiques et corporels (à travers le tatouage) dans les stratégies de fabrication du lien social et parental. Elle interroge dans cette perspective le rôle de l’agencement domestique des photographies de famille dans les pratiques d’appropriation de l’enfant et la fonction de certains types de tatouages identifiés comme «tatouages-relation» dans le processus de production, de pratique et d’interruption du lien de parenté.

Abstract. This article presents a case study for the combined use of TerraSAR-X and time-lapse photography time series in order to monitor seasonal sea ice processes in Nunavik's Deception Bay. This area is at the confluence of land use by local Inuit, ice-breaking transport by the mining industry, and climate change. Indeed, Inuit have reported greater interannual variability in seasonal sea ice conditions, including later freeze-up and earlier breakup. Time series covering 2015 to 2018 were acquired for each data source: TerraSAR-X images were acquired every 11 d, and photographs were acquired hourly during the day. We used the combination of the two time series to document spatiotemporal aspects of freeze-up and breakup processes. We also report new X-band backscattering values over newly formed sea ice types. The TerraSAR-X time series further show potential for melt and pond onset.

Les paysages du Nunavik sont représentés par les images du tourisme national et international et non par le filtre des images inuit. La mondialisation et le pouvoir de l’image ne font qu’accroître le besoin de visibilité des territoires et des identités, mettant ici en vis-à-vis l’émergence de la photographie inuit avec les représentations iconographiques occidentales. À cela s’ajoute une démocratie participative à la proue de tous les projets d’aménagement. Ainsi, sur un territoire où l’on s’exprime en trois langues autochtones (l’inuktitut, le cri et le naskapi) auxquelles s’ajoutent le français et l’anglais, comment l’imagibilité inuit peut-elle devenir un outil de médiation paysagère dans un projet de parc national québécois?

Cet article présente un terrain effectué en juillet 2012 dans un village du Nunavik (Nord Québec) dans le cadre d’un projet sur l’imagibilité inuit. Mené en accord avec la municipalité de Kangiqsujuaq, ce projet a fédéré une dizaine d’habitants qui ont choisi et commenté quelques photos de leurs albums de famille. Les 35 clichés recueillis ont été scannés et déposés à l’Institut culturel inuit Avataq à Montréal en vue d’assurer la protection et la conservation de ce patrimoine photographique « ordinaire ». Ces clichés ont ensuite été agrandis et viennent de faire l’objet d’une exposition dans la communauté afin de permettre la transmission intergénérationnelle autour de la mémoire collective, familiale, individuelle des habitants du village. L’enjeu essentiel de ce projet repose sur la prise en compte du regard des habitants qui permet une représentation plus appropriée du territoire. La question est de savoir dans quelle mesure ce patrimoine photographique pourrait rentrer en ligne de compte dans l’aménagement muséographique des centres de transmission des parcs nationaux, comme ici, en ce qui concerne le parc des Pingualuit, présenté comme l’icône touristique du Nunavik.

Abstract This paper describes how new cartographic and information technologies were used to record and represent Inuit geographic and environmental knowledge in Igloolik, Nunavut. The method proved a powerful tool to document an approach to geography that is mainly oral. It was also helpful in documenting how people relate to a highly dynamic environment as the Arctic. The method includes the merging of different geographic databases that acquire full meaning when seen as layers of the same map. It also involves the search for new ways of representing, including simulated horizons, photographs of horizons embedded on maps, and recordings of oral descriptions of trails and locations. An example of such method can be seen in the Igloolik Multimedia Project, a CD-Rom that is being currently piloted in the Igloolik high school.

<p>This research sought to explore one southern Labrador Inuit community’s intergenerational relationships, with a focus on seniors’ perspectives and understandings of health and well-being. This knowledge is important for accessing and responding to social and demographic change to ensure a continued ability to provide for future generations. Our research employed a community-based participatory research (CBPR) approach and a qualitative, arts-based methodology, including photovoice. Participants in this study included six seniors and six youth from St. Lewis, Labrador, Canada, who were provided with cameras and were asked to take photographs that represent how their lived experience related to the research questions. Our findings demonstrated that strong relationships between older and younger generations, particularly within families, exist in St. Lewis. We argue that these relationships contribute positively to the overall health and well-being of the community. Little is known about how youth and seniors in Indigenous communities perceive one another and their respective roles in a contemporary context. Our research suggests that learning more about the factors that shape senior–youth interaction and communication in St. Lewis may lead to interventions that will support intergenerational contact and, hence, promote cultural continuity and increase overall well-being. The promotion of cultural continuity and well-being is of particular importance in Indigenous communities, given the disruption of culture due to colonialism and given that Indigenous communities with high levels of cultural continuity are healthier.</p>

Abstract This study on developments in festive clothing is based on clothing and photograph collections in museums, interviews with Tunumiit (East Greenlanders) and participant observation during several months in Kalaallit Nunaata Tunua (East Greenland) in 1997, 1998 and 2001. Festive garments for special occasions did not exist in the traditional pre-Christian culture of East Greenland. In this article we investigate what influences affected the development of special clothing for festive occasions. Changes in Kalaallit Nunaata Kitaa (West Greenland) and European influences deeply affected clothing traditions in East Greenland. In the course of this process, some Tunumiit garments came to disappear and others were re-invented and re-shaped using new materials. Preparing animal skins and sewing attire always have been a women's preserve. In the past, sewing qualities were highly valued within Inuit society. Today, sewing skills and designing clothing are paid for but they still reflect women's qualities and sealskin garments shape Kalaallit identity. The development of festive clothing and the continuity in celebrating first events and rites of passage testify to the dynamics and strength of East Greenland culture. East Greenland clothing is part of a vivid cultural tradition and is still “women's magic.”

We center three publicly accessible images: (1) Am I not a Man and a Brother? (1787), (2) Colin Kaepernick (2017) “Taking a Knee”, (3) Mother McDowell of the Black Student in Florida Admonished for “Taking a Knee” in school (2017). The photograph of mother McDowell is included, rather than her son, who she wanted to remain anonymous across media outlets. We draw primarily from publicly accessible media and scholarship available via the Internet (museums, newscasts, scholarly repositories) to provide a composite of kneeling discourse and counter-narratives related to race (i.e., anti-slavery, abolition, anti-racism protests) and proper behavior. Each image is situated within literature supporting analysis through concepts (time, race) visual, and textual information. Rather than detailing the images, we focus on the surrounding narratives, contemporary readings, redactions, and annotations (we create or relate to) to consider emotions as part of the context, impetus, and force behind the actions captured in them. We juxtapose, redact, and critique images and texts associated with kneeling/taking a knee by men and boys racialized as Black, but not exclusively., as the practices we illustrate in response to structural racism (i.e., discipline in schools) also bring attention to events involving other students: a Black girl and an Indigenous (Inuit) boy.

ABSTRACTWith the completion of a careful study of a photographic copy of the original notebook Frederick Cook kept on his attempt to reach the North Pole in 1908, now in Copenhagen, Denmark, many new details have been added that allow a more accurate account of his actual movements and timetable than has been possible previously. Because some records were altered or destroyed by Cook, however, a complete account still necessarily contains an element of speculation, which must be the case when based on the only records that exist of an unwitnessed assertion. But this uncertainty can be controlled to a reasonable degree by the notebook's remaining content in concert with the several other accounts Cook wrote of his expedition. One thing is sure, however: Cook was far behind his published timetable. At the outset, he set his start date back by one full week. He failed to report a number of delays in his journey and left out a lengthy detour that prevented him from reaching land's end at Cape Thomas Hubbard until well past 1 April 1908. This ruled out any chance to reach the North Pole in 1908. Frederick Cook was no fool; he was a veteran explorer. He knew any attempt that late in the season would be suicide. Furthermore his efforts to lay caches that would separate his own return route from that of his Inuit support party indicate that not only had he already given up the idea of making a serious attempt, but also that he was preparing for his eventual hoax of claiming to have reached the North Pole on 21 April 1908 long before he reached the Arctic Ocean.

Interview with Inuk artist Barry Pottle from Nunatsiavut in Labrador (Rigolet). Photographs are selected from ten years of photography based on his experiences and observations as an urban Inuk. This conversation provides insight into Pottle’sphotographic practice, particularly the artist’s process of learning the art and technical processes of photography and why his photographs matter in the process of Canadians facing their complicities in Canada’s ongoing colonialism. Pottle’s practice produces unique knowledge about Inuit culture and history through his eyes as an urban Inuk photographer.

This paper explores the digitized photographs captured by Canadian optometrist and amateur photographer Arthur H. Tweedle during his government-sponsored eye survey of the Arctic in the 1940s, and considers the impact digitization has had on the meanings and functions of these images. Held by Library and Archives Canada (LAC), Tweedle’s collection has been digitized as part of Project Naming¸ a photographic identification project that seeks to identify unnamed Inuit individuals depicted in images held by LAC. While Project Naming’s impact in terms of acknowledging the agency and identities of Inuit depicted in the archival record cannot be underestimated, it is also important to consider the ways in which Tweedle’s collection functions differently after being digitized, and to question the extent to which this new context has led to a reframing of the photographs’ meaning. Analysis of Tweedle’s photographs, and of the textual materials that accompany them in the archives, suggests that the removal of these images from their original context as part of a wider collection has hidden much of their colonial history from the public eye. While one might read the images on the LAC website as simply a visual record collected by a tourist, meant for compilation in a personal or family album, the undigitized textual records in Tweedle’s files suggest that they were used as part of a wider effort to depict Inuit peoples as “others” in Canada.

Issaluk, Johnny. Games of Survival: Traditional Inuit Games for Elementary Students. Iqaluit, NV: Inhabit Media, 2012. Print.Johnny Issaluk is an Inuit athlete who has competed in traditional Inuit games since age 16 and has won at national competitions. He grew up in Igluligaarjuk on the coast of Hudson’s Bay and now coaches younger athletes in Iqaluit. In this book he provides a visual guide to how the games should be played. The book is also designed to help preserve the traditions of the games for future generations. Issaluk tells us that being part of the book is one of the “biggest accomplishments” of his life.The Inuit games “were used not only for fun, not only for celebration, but for survival”. Each game is designed to improve a hunter’s agility, strength or endurance. The book is made up of photographs of people performing the movements for each game, accompanied by text that explains both how to play the game and why it was played. For example, the Alaskan High Kick, an agility game, is first described in a paragraph followed two pages show two different people performing the kick and step-by-step instructions. In describing the Hand Pull, a strength game, Issaluk explains how to perform it, but also tells us that “the hand pull was traditionally used to strengthen the wrists and the grip, so that a hunter could hold a walrus in one place until the animal got tired.”While the instructions are clear, the images will be most helpful to anyone trying to understand the games or teach them to elementary school children. The children in the photographs are dressed in bright colours and presented against a stark white background, so that there is nothing to distract or confuse the viewer. Sometimes sequences of movements are illustrated. In other cases, the same movement or position is shown with several different participants or from different angles, so that it will be easy for readers to replicate it.There are few books that teach how to play Inuit Games. This one is high quality and authentic. It would be an excellent tool for use in an elementary level physical education program. Highly recommended for public and school libraries.Recommendation: 4 stars out of 4Reviewer: Sandy CampbellSandy is a Health Sciences Librarian at the University of Alberta, who has written hundreds of book reviews across many disciplines. Sandy thinks that sharing books with children is one of the greatest gifts anyone can give.

Current scientific evidence indicates the threatened Cumberland Sound beluga (Delphinapterus leucas) population is genetically differentiated and spatially segregated from other beluga whale populations. This population has been hunted for subsistence for centuries by Inuit who now live in the community of Pangnirtung, Nunavut, Canada, and was harvested commercially from 1860 until 1966. The commercial harvest removed at least 10,000 individuals from the population. Visual and photographic aerial surveys were flown during August 2014 and 2017 and produced beluga whale abundance estimates of 1,151 (CV = 0.214; 95% Confidence Interval [CI] = 760-1,744) and 1,381 (CV = 0.043; CI = 1,270-1,502), respectively. Long-term trends in abundance were examined by fitting a Bayesian surplus-production population model to a time series of abundance estimates (n = 5), flown between 1990 and 2017, taking into account reported subsistence harvests (1960-2017). The model suggests the population is declining. Engaged co-management of the Cumberland Sound beluga population and information on demographic parameters, such as reproductive rates, and age and sex composition of the harvest, are needed to restore the ecological integrity of the Cumberland Sound marine ecosystem.

Akulukjuk, Roselynn. The Owl and the Lemming, illustrated by Amanda Sandland, Inhabit Media, 2016.The Owl and the Lemming is a traditional Inuit fable, and is based off of Roselynn Akulukjuk’s live-action and puppetry short film of the same name. This is a simple story of pride getting in the way of a tasty dinner on the Arctic tundra.After a long winter, Lemming comes out of her burrow to gorge herself on the tasty moss. Owl, who is also hungry, sees Lemming, and blocks the entrance to her home. Unable to pass, Lemming realizes she will have to trick Owl into moving away from her home. She suggests to Owl that he lean back, and look up into the blue sky - “No way! I am not stupid!” She then suggests that Owl wait for a fatter lemming to come by - “Why would I want to wait for a lemming that might never come out when I can just eat you?” Finally, Lemming suggests they have a contest to see who can jump the highest.The book is written simply enough that it could be used for children to practice their reading, though the text size is small and compact, making pointing a challenge. The illustrations are a combination of photographs of the tundra landscape, with Owl and Lemming superimposed as cartoon figures, which makes for an odd juxtaposition. However, the cartoons do allow for Owl and Lemming to show their personalities and reactions to their respective predicaments.Overall, this is an entertaining story, and the illustrations help to root it in the Inuit tradition. This book would do well in both schools and public libraries.Recommended: 3 out of 4 starsReviewer: Andrea QuaiattiniAndrea Quaiattini is a Public Services Librarian at the University of Alberta’s JW Scott Health Sciences Library. While working as a camp counsellor, she memorized Mortimer and The Paper Bag Princess by Robert Munsch as bedtime stories for the kids. She can still do all the voices.

Jordan-Fenton, Christy and Margaret Pokiak-Fenton. Illus. Liz Amini-Holmes. A Stranger at Home: A True Story. Toronto: Annick Press, 2011. Print. This straightforward and powerful sequel to Fatty Legs begins with Margaret’s return after her two year travail in residential school. Her eager anticipation quickly turns to bewilderment when she no longer feels part of her family or culture due to the changes she has been forced to undergo: English is now her first language of communication, her stomach cannot accept the once familiar foods, she is anxious about the possible damnation of her family members because of the lack of prayers in the family home. Margaret’s memories, thoughts and experiences, captured by her daughter-in-law, are presented in an accessible and believable manner. Margaret’s father is the one stable anchor on her return to a home that has become almost as foreign to her as was the school she just left. Besides the changes in family dynamics, Margaret is also presented with concrete examples of fears of the unknown and unfamiliar in the wider community with the presence of the trapper the people call the Du-bil-ak (the devil). Margaret points out that his skin colour is similar to that of Lena Horne, her father’s favourite singer, but this does not lessen her fear of the man either. Margaret’s major solace during this difficult year of transformation and searching for her identity is reading and rereading. As she regains her sense of herself through her reading concrete experiences with the dog team and her family, she develops the strength she needs to fulfil her father’s wishes to return to the detested school with her younger sisters. Accompanied by colourful and expressive illustrations as well as relevant photographs, the setting and people of home are vivid and present for the reader. The footnotes supply readers with explanations of Inuit terms and cultural practices. A brief account of the practice of residential schools follows the narrative. Highly recommended: 4 out of 4 stars Reviewer: Gail de Vos Gail de Vos, an adjunct instructor, teaches courses on Canadian children's literature, Young Adult Literature and Comic Books and Graphic Novels at the School of Library and Information Studies for the University of Alberta and is the author of nine books on storytelling and folklore. She is a professional storyteller and has taught the storytelling course at SLIS for over two decades.

Hainnu, Rebecca and Anna Ziegler. A Walk on the Tundra. Iqaluit: Inhabit Media, 2011. Print. This volume is a cross between a picture book, a story and a field guide to edible plants. Inuujaq is a little girl who wants to play with her friends, but they are still asleep. Her grandmother, Silaaq, takes her out on the land to collect plants. While Inuujaq is more concerned about her friends and snacks, her grandmother patiently passes on the traditional knowledge that her grandmother had taught her. As Silaaq teaches the reader learns about the plants as well. For example, when they pick qijuktaat, we are told that “Its long green fingers and white bell blossoms flutter in the wind. Inuujaq touches the little branches. They feel prickly on her palms. And they smell fresh, like the summer wind when it comes from the hills.” Authors, Rebecca Hainnu and Anna Ziegler, have worked on several educational publications. That background is apparent in this book. There are eighteen Inuktitut words, including 6 plant names, introduced in the text. They are explained and italicized when they are first introduced, for example “Nirilikkit – eat them”. The next time the word is used, it is assumed that the reader knows what it means. Because there are several Inuktitut words on each page, I was not able to remember them as I read and had to use the glossary or look back to the first use of the word, which is distracting. However, as a tool for building vocabulary, or as a story book for students who have some familiarity with Inuktitut, this work would be excellent. The pictures that accompany the story are cartoon-like with lots of bright colours. Artist, Qin Leng, has given the land a lot of colour. The ground is covered with green grass and bright flowers, reflecting the Arctic summer. Silaaq and Inuujaq wear pinks and purples and blues with green boots and pink shoes. The plant glossary, or field guide, is illustrated with photographs for accurate identification. There are very few children’s books about Inuit plant use. The content is valuable, but because of the incorporation of Inuktitut words, it is more challenging to read. A Walk on the Tundra will find most of its readers at the upper elementary level rather than the age 6 to 8 group which is its defined audience. Recommended for elementary school and public libraries. Recommended: 3 out of 4 starsReviewer: Sandy CampbellSandy is a Health Sciences Librarian at the University of Alberta, who has written hundreds of book reviews across many disciplines. Sandy thinks that sharing books with children is one of the greatest gifts anyone can give.

I love memory. It reminds me of who I am and how to get home, whether there's bread in the freezer and if I've already seen a movie. It's less helpful on whether I've already met someone and utterly useless in reminding me if I owe money. Overall, though, I'd rather have it than not. Psychologists and philosophers tell us that memory is one of the ways in which we maintain the integrity of the self. I've never met anyone who's lost his memory, but we've all seen movies in which it happens. First, you lose your memory, then you're accused of a crime you can't remember committing. I forget how it turns out but I did once see a documentary about a man who'd lost his memory. It was horrible. It was driving him insane. He could remember his wife, but couldn't remember when he'd last seen her. He thought it was years ago although it had only been 5 minutes. Every time she entered the room, he traversed paroxysms of agony as though seeing her again after an eternity of waiting. The experience was overwhelming for both of them. Of course, psychoanalysts are unequivocal about the importance of memory: repressed memories are the very stuff of the unconscious and analysis helps us remember. When memories are repressed, bad things happen. As Breuer and Freud stated in 1893, "hysterics suffer mainly from reminiscences". History has also long been concerned to discover a true memory, or at least an official one. And history has become one of the main cultural battlegrounds over the right way to remember. But lately, memory has become big business. Entire industries are devoted to selling it back to us. Not private memories, but the likely memories of a group. For example, my newsagent carries at least 3 "nostalgia" magazines, replete with loving photographs of old toys, reprints of old ads, interviews with old personalities, and so on. Fortunately, they're all just a bit too old and the absence of my personal nostalgia reassures me that I'm not quite as decrepit as Generation Xers claim. Nonetheless, amongst my 200-odd TV channels, there is one devoted exclusively to old shows, TVLand. It broadcasts nothing later than 1981 and, though its policies are clearly guided by contractual availability and cost, specialises in TV of the mid-1960s. Now that is getting dangerously close to home. And I confess that, after 30 years, re-viewing episodes of Julia or Petticoat Junction or The Mod Squad ("one's white, one's black, one's blond") is an experience both compelling and embarrassing. And again, this summer, as for the past 15 years, movie screens were awash in retro-films. Not films with old-fashioned plots or deliberately nostalgic styles -- such as Raiders of the Lost Ark -- but films based on cultural artefacts of the near past: The Avengers, Lost in Space, Sergeant Bilko, McHale's Navy, another Batman, The Mask of Zorro, etc. Indeed, now that we've lived through roughly six Star Treks, Mission Impossible, The Flintstones, The Twilight Zone, The Beverly Hillbillies, The Jetsons, and in view of the fact that even now -- even as I write these very lines -- locations are being scouted for Gilligan's Island: The Movie, it seems appropriate to ask if there is a single TV show of the 1960s which will NOT become a major Hollywood movie? That's not all. I have access to approximately 10 "golden oldies" music stations, some specialising solely in "PowerHits of the '70s" or "Yesterday's Country" or "Hits of the Big Band Era". In fact, I think Big Band is making a comeback on the pop charts. Maybe everything old is new again. On the other hand, memory has also become highly political. Much more that I ever remembered. All over the world, governments and institutions are rushing to remember the wrongs of the past and issue sincere apologies. President Clinton apologised to Japanese Americans, some Australian state and local governments to Aborigines, Canada to the displaced Inuit, Tony Blair to the Irish, Swiss banks to the victims of Nazi gold. The return of the repressed is apparently highly therapeutic and certainly very virtuous. Strangely, though, the institutional process of memory recovery is happening at precisely the time that the same recovered memory theory is under attack in the courts. After having been a potent argument in the 1980s, especially in cases involving a sexual component, recovered memory is now widely discredited. Indeed, even movies-of-the-week which at one time preached recovered memory as unassailable truth now regularly use it as the cover of false accusations and gross miscarriages of justice. Even the Canadian Minister of Justice is under pressure to review the cases of all persons jailed as a result of its use. It would seem that after having been private for so many years, memory has gone public. It's a political tool, a legal argument, a business. The opposite of hysteria: we suffer from too much memory. Which leads me to my problem. I can't remember Princess Diana. This is no doubt because I avoided all mention of her when she was alive. And when she died, I was away. Not far away but conceptually away. Away from the media. I didn't follow the news till days later, when it was all over and TV had moved on to something else. Her exit, of course, was rather nasty. Not the sort of thing I'd want to witness, but certainly the sort of thing I'd like to know about. And it didn't exactly happen away from the public eye. There was, it is said, a crush of paparazzi in hot pursuit. And there are allegedly tons of photographs. So how come we haven't seen any? How have the authorities managed to control all those pictures? Supremely concerned with her image in life, Diana is fortunate that others are concerned with it in death. At least the absence of photographs allows us to preserve an unblemished memory of Diana, beautiful, beneficent, almost a people's princess. It does seem though that her memory, like her fame, is largely a by-product of media exposure. If you're in it, everyone knows about you. You're everywhere, inescapable. Your smiling face beams down on millions, your every thought reported. And it's not just the excessive, tabloid press, the fake news programmes, and the tawdry scandal sheets that indulge in this oversaturation -- although they do indulge quite a bit -- but all media. Obviously, competitive pressures are to blame. And probably also a cultivated appetite for the sordid and the scandalous. The upside of so much attention, of course, is that, once you're gone, there will be lots of images and sound bites to remember you by. These will be recycled again and again and again. Today's fragments of time are tomorrow's memories. Consequently, if you must be a public figure, try to have a good exit. Consider perhaps James Dean's advice to "live fast, die young, and leave a good looking corpse." Especially a good looking corpse. Of course, if you're out of it -- out of the media system, that is -- then, you're just out of it. Nobody will remember you anyway. This is why Elvis will never die and John Kennedy will never stop dying. Except perhaps for his heavy Las Vegas phase, virtually all of the images of the King show him as magnetic, powerful, and exciting. Colonel Parker was careful about that. Elvis constantly exudes energy, an all-too-palpable physicality, forever re-energised and re-distributed by the film images of him. And the posters, and the sound of his voice, and the myth of his wildness. Fortunately, though, Elvis had the good grace to expire privately, beyond the public eye. In this, he resembled Marilyn, Rock Hudson, and Walt Disney. Of that event, he left no record. Indeed, the absence of such a record has allowed the remaining images to fuel a new myth. Endlessly re-circulated in a media sub-system, the images prove that Elvis lives! Consequently, people -- usually those first contacted by aliens -- keep spotting him at 7-Elevens, supermarket checkouts, and isolated gas stations. Apparently, he just wanted to live life normally. The fame had become too intrusive. And who could begrudge him that? So he faked his death, left no trace, and wandered off into the wilderness. To this extent, Elvis shares the fate of Hitler and the Romanovs whose deaths were deliberately obscured. As a result, Hitler lives on, at times on a desert island, sometimes in a bunker deep beneath the earth. And wasn't that Alexis, the tsarevitch? And over there, Anastasia? Aren't they having lunch with Amelia Earhardt? Kennedy, though, left a bad image, the queasy head shot. Too public, too visible, too shocking. It wasn't what James Dean meant. And that one image has absorbed all the others. This is ironic because Kennedy was the first president to look and behave like an actor whereas it would be years before an actor could look and behave like the president. Kennedy loved the camera and the camera, as they say, loved him. He had a permanent staff photographer who generated thousands of shots. He embraced television as no president had before, dominating the televised debates, holding live press conferences, opening the White House to TV tours. He invited Robert Drew to film his 1959 nomination campaign in Primary, giving him, as is always said in these cases, "unprecedented access". But the only pictures we remember come from Dallas. Gloria Steinem called it "the day the future died". Then, if we think really hard, we remember the funeral. But we can hardly remember anything else. Pictures of Jack campaigning, playing with the kids, receiving Marilyn's birthday greetings, are almost surprising. They're so fresh, as though we'd never seen them before. Kennedy should have died like Elvis, he would have lived longer in the imagination. As it is, he only ever dies and the very publicness of his death seems to have authorised its endless restaging. Has any film ever been more publicly scrutinised, examined, and re-created than the Zapruder film? The incident has littered the culture with such stock phrases as 'lone gunman' and 'grassy knoll'. It's also the birthplace of every crazy conspiracy theory. And everyone from the Warren Commission to Oliver Stone and Jerry Seinfeld has used the phrase "Back, and to the left". It's not surprising that our memory of public events should be bound up with images of those events. Most of us, most of the time, have no other access to them. This knowledge, combined with the pervasiveness of the media system, has led clever marketers of all sorts, to attempt to stage what Daniel Boorstin in 1961 called "pseudo-events". Events which exist for the benefit of the camera, with no real substance of their own. Their purpose is precisely to create an image, a feeling, a mood. Of course, every propagandist of any skill understood these facts long before Boorstin. How many photographs were doctored on Stalin's orders? How often was the mole on Mao's chin repainted? How often was Lenin's face itself repainted with embalming fluid? And didn't Adolf Hitler surround himself with the most exquisite filmmakers, photographers, and image-makers available? You just can't dictate without a firm grasp of your image. And that's the other side of modern times. Increasingly, we all have a firm grasp of image. We are no longer the media dupes which moralists frequently presume. The media have made us all rather sophisticated in the ways of the media. Everyone understands that politicians manage their images and stage events. Everyone knows that advertising is only creatively truthful. No one believes that what happens in a film really happens. We all realise that most of what's seen on TV is spin doctoring. We're hardened. And this is no doubt why the creamy sincerity of the eager tears which now attend public disclosures, the touchy-feely goodness of anyone who can "feel our pain" are so much in demand. No matter how fake, how contrived, how manipulative, they at least look like the real thing. At one time, popular culture merely suggested shock and violence. It did not show them directly. The Kennedy assassination marked the end of that time as people turned away from the screen in horror, asking "Did they have to show us that?" We're now in a time when popular culture suggests nothing and shows everything, in as much detail as possible. This is the moment of Diana's death and we turn to our screens demanding to see more, shouting "We have a right to know!" But a slippage may be happening. We know so much about media operations -- or believe that we do -- that the media may be losing their ability to define events and construct memory. This appears to be one of the lessons of the Diana coverage: the paparazzi in particular, and the media in general, were at fault. Public anger was directed not at her driver, her companions or her lifestyle, but at the media. That the behaviour of the paparazzi remains to be fully elucidated, and that Diana had the weight of accumulated prestige and exposure on her side, make meaningful commentary more difficult, but there is a clear sense in which the public sided with perceived sincerity and genuineness and against perceived exploitation. Clearly, these matters are always open to revision, but the anger directed against the media in this affair spoke of pent-up rage, of long nursed grudges, of a generalised judgment that the media have done more harm than good. Something similar is happening in the Clinton-Lewinsky affair. The US media are apparently obsessed with this event and greatly agitated by the necessity of further coverage. Public opinion, however, has indicated just as firmly that it doesn't care and wants the whole thing to go away. There's a split between the definitional power of the media and public opinion, a drifting apart that wasn't supposed to happen. Media commentators of both the left and the right, both those who believe in media effects and those who decry the concentration of ownership, have long agreed on one thing: the media have too much power to tell us what to think. And yet, in this case, it's not happening. Indeed, 10 years from now, what will we remember? That Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky had an affair or that the media were very agitated about it? The way in which media images are linked to popular memory may be changing. We are less concerned with whether the media got the event right than with how they approached it at all. Already, concern over the Gulf War centres as much on the manner of coverage as on the legitimacy of the war's objectives. And the old complaint that the media cover elections as strategic horse races, thereby ignoring substantive issues, presumes the naivety of the audience. Everyone can tell exactly what the media are doing. So what will we remember? How will we feel in 40 years examining old footage of today's newscasts? Memory fades and images are about emotion. Will we experience the diffuse grimness of the WWII veteran watching Saving Private Ryan, identifying less with specific acts than with the general feeling of the moment? Probably. But perhaps we'll also carry with us a second layer of meaning, an equally diffuse recognition that the moment was constructed. I was watching a documentary last night about Hitler's last days. I'm sure everyone's seen it or something like it. The very fact I can be sure of this is the measure of the media's ability to shape popular memory. Hitler, visibly ailing, emerges from his bunker to acknowledge his last line of defence, a string of soldiers who are really only children. He stops as though to speak to one and pats the boy on the cheek. It's a profoundly creepy moment. One feels discomfort and distaste at being so close, one is acutely aware of the distance between the image's intention and the reality of which we have knowledge. Then, suddenly and imperceptibly, the camera shifts angles and follows Hitler down the line of soldiers, a standard travelling shot. It's invisible because that's the way military reviews are always shown. It works because we want a good view. It's compelling because it draws us into the scene. It looks so real and is plainly read that way, as historical actuality footage. But it's also plainly constructed. And that's increasingly what we see nowadays. We see the way in which images intend to connect to emotions. Maybe it's the future of all memory, to be disjointed and creepy. To acknowledge simultaneously the reality of the event and its fakeness. Rather like the performance of Hollywood actors or US presidents or publicly proffered sentiment. Clearly, we won't be dealing with the return of the repressed as we'll remember everything. We'll just have too much memory. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Paul Attallah. "Too Much Memory." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 1.2 (1998). [your date of access] <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9808/memory.php>. Chicago style: Paul Attallah, "Too Much Memory," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 1, no. 2 (1998), <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9808/memory.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Paul Attallah. (1998) Too much memory. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 1(2). <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9808/memory.php> ([your date of access]).

Image matérielle ou image mentale, émanation du geste humain ou production de l’esprit, artefact ou souvenir, l’image recouvre une multiplicité de formes et de significations qui vont des rêves aux dessins d’enfants, des ombres projetées aux peintures célébrées, des traces mnésiques aux images numériques. Tout autant confrontée à cette tension entre matérialité et virtualité, la connaissance anthropologique sur les images, comme les nombreux domaines du savoir qui lui sont associés (sociologie, sémiologie et études médiatiques, principalement) ont proposé des manières distinctes d’aborder les images, abandonnant toutefois aux sciences de l’esprit (psychanalyse et sciences cognitives) la dimension imaginative. Ainsi, deux voies se sont historiquement tracées pour intégrer les apports de la représentation imagée et se partagent, aujourd’hui encore, le domaine de l’anthropologie des images. D’un côté, l’image comme support au discours permet de questionner le potentiel culturel, politique et idéologique de l’image que les chercheurs vont déceler dans des corpus de représentations (publicités, images de la presse, cartes postales, selfies, snapshots et autres illustrations culturelles); de l’autre, l’image comme instrument de recherche dans laquelle la production visuelle des chercheurs (captations photographiques ou filmiques, tableaux, croquis, dessins et plans) est une manière d’accéder à leur terrain d’étude avec parfois pour ambition de proposer une visualisation de leurs résultats de recherche. Pour le dire avec Douglas Harper (1988), l’image peut aussi bien être un objet d’étude sur lequel on porte le regard qu’un instrument de recherche qui conduit ce regard. Si l’anthropologie s’est saisie dès le début du 20e siècle du potentiel expressif et cognitif de l’image avec les travaux photographiques de Margaret Mead et de Gregory Bateson sur les usages sociaux du corps dans la culture Balinaise (1942), et ceux, filmiques, de Robert Flaherty à travers son documentaire sur la population inuite de l’Arctique (1922), c’est l’iconologue et anthropologue Aby Warburg qui, à la même époque, a le plus insisté sur la complémentarité de ces deux formes d’images (matérielles et mentales) comme de ces deux postures de recherche (sur les images et avec les images). En effet, son projet d’un Atlas (2012) – composé de milliers de photographies et baptisé du nom de la déesse grecque de la mémoire, Mnemosyne – avait pour ambition de retracer, par la collecte et l’assemblage d’images, des invariants anthropologiques qui traverseraient les époques et les continents (de la Grèce antique à la Renaissance florentine; des Bacchantes romaines au peuple Hopi d’Arizona), et dont la mise en correspondance permettrait, par-delà les discours, une lecture visuelle de l’histoire culturelle. Dans cette méthode d’interprétation iconologique, les représentations matérielles et l’imagination sont intimement liées dans le processus de connaissance anthropologique : les images sont tout à la fois la source du savoir et son véhicule. Le terme de « formules de pathos » que Warburg propose, exprime, dès lors, le caractère idéal-typique du motif imaginaire qui se répète de représentation en représentation à travers les époques, les espaces et les cultures. La proposition qui, par ailleurs, est faite de mettre le détail au cœur de la démarche de recherche, en insistant sur l’attention aux motifs discrets mais persistants – comme la forme d’un drapé ou le tracé d’un éclair – retrouvera plus tard l’un des impératifs de l’anthropologie interprétative formulée par Geertz et l’effort ténu de description que sa mise en pratique exige (1973). Elle rejoindra également celui de l’anthropologie modale (Laplantine 2013) qui milite pour un mode mineur de la connaissance, à l’image des lucioles qui ne brillent la nuit que pour celles et ceux dont l’acuité sensible est mise au service de cette contemplation. Malgré sa radicalité, le parti pris de considérer les images comme la trame à partir de laquelle l’anthropologie se constitue comme savoir a ceci de fascinant qu’il inspire nombre de recherches actuelles. En effet, dans une société saturée par le visuel et dans laquelle les écrans forgent en partie le rapport au monde, cette voie originale trouve aujourd’hui un écho singulier dans plusieurs travaux d’envergure. Georges Didi-Huberman (2011 : 20) reprend, à son compte, le défi warburgien, autrement dit « le pari que les images, assemblées d’une certaine façon, nous offriraient la possibilité – ou, mieux, la ressource inépuisable – d’une relecture du monde ». De son côté, Hans Belting (2004 : 18) insiste sur le fait que « nous vivons avec des images et nous comprenons le monde en images. Ce rapport vivant à l’image se poursuit en quelque sorte dans la production extérieure et concrète d’images qui s’effectue dans l’espace social et qui agit, à l’égard des représentations mentales, à la fois comme question et réponse ». On le voit, l’héritage de l’iconologie a bel et bien traversé le 20e siècle pour s’ancrer dans le contemporain et ses nouveaux thèmes transversaux de prédilection. Les thèmes de l’expérience et de l’agentivité des images sont de ceux qui redéfinissent les contours de la réflexion sur le sujet en lui permettant de nuancer certains des épistémès qui lui ont préexisté. Désamorçant ainsi le partage épistémologique d’un savoir sur les images, qui témoignerait des représentations véhiculées par les artefacts visuels, et d’un savoir avec les images, qui les concevrait comme partenaires de recherche, on parle désormais de plus en plus d’agir des images aussi bien du côté de l’interprétation culturelle que l’on peut en faire, que du travail des chercheurs qui les captent et les mettent en récit. Par ailleurs, le fait que l’image est « le reflet et l’expression de son expérience et de sa pratique dans une culture donnée [et qu’à] ce titre, discourir sur les images n’est qu’une autre façon de jeter un regard sur les images qu’on a déjà intériorisées (Belting 2004 : 74) », relativise également cet autre partage historique entre image intérieure (mentale) et image extérieure (représentationnelle), image individuelle (idiosyncrasique) et image publique (collective) qui s’enracine dans une généalogie intellectuelle occidentale, non pas universelle, mais construite et située. L’agir des images est alors tout aussi bien l’expression de leur force auratique, autrement dit de leur capacité à présenter une réalité sensible, à faire percevoir une situation sociale, un prisme culturel ou un vécu singulier, mais aussi, celle de leur agentivité comme artefact dans l’espace public. Dans le premier ordre d’idées, l’historienne et artiste Safia Belmenouar, en collectant et en assemblant des centaines de cartes postales coloniales, qui étaient le support médiatique vernaculaire en vogue de 1900 à 1930, montre, à travers un livre (2007) et une exposition (2014), comment les stéréotypes féminins réduisant les femmes des pays colonisés en attributs exotiques de leur culture se construisent socialement, tout en questionnant le regard que l’on porte aujourd’hui sur ces images de femmes anonymes dénudées répondant au statut « d’indigène ». La performance de l’image est ici celle du dessillement que sa seule présentation, en nombre et ordonnée, induit. Dans le deuxième ordre d’idées, l’ethnologue Cécile Boëx (2013) n’hésite pas, dans ses contributions sur la révolte syrienne, à montrer de quelle manière les personnes en lutte contre le pouvoir se servent des représentations visuelles comme support de leur cause en s’appropriant et en utilisant les nouvelles technologies de l’image et l’espace virtuel d’Internet. Les images sont ici entendues comme les actrices des conflits auxquels elles prennent part. L’expérience des images, comme le montre Belting (2004) ou Laplantine (2013), est donc aussi celle dont nous faisons l’épreuve en tant que corps. Cette plongée somatique est, par exemple, au cœur du film expérimental Leviathan (2012), réalisé par les anthropologues Lucien Castaing-Taylor et Véréna Paravel. Partant des images d’une douzaine de caméras GoPro fixées sur le corps de marins de haute mer partis pêcher au large des côtes américaines de Cape Cod, le documentaire immersif fait vivre l’âpre expérience de ce métier ancestral. À l’ère des pratiques photographiques et filmiques amateures (selfies, captations filmiques et montages par téléphones cellulaires) et de l’explosion des environnements numériques de partage (Instagram, Snapchat) et de stockage des données (big data), le potentiel immersif de l’image passe désormais par des pratiques réinventées du quotidien où captation et diffusion sont devenues affaire de tous les corps, indépendamment de leur position dans le champ social et culturel. Critiquées pour leur ambiguïté, leur capacité de falsification et de manipulation, les images ont aussi ce potentiel de remise en cause des normes hégémoniques de genre, de classe et d’ethnicité. Prises, partagées et diffusées de manière de plus en plus massive, elles invitent à l’activité critique afin de concevoir la visualité dans la diversité de ses formes et de ses enjeux contemporains (Mirzoeff 2016). Si aujourd’hui, dans un monde traversé de part en part par les images, l’anthropologie de l’image est un domaine de recherche à part entière dont l’attention plus vive à l’expérience sensible et sensorielle qui la singularise est le prérequis (Uhl 2015), l’iconologie comme méthode anthropologique spécifique répondant aux nouveaux terrains et aux nouvelles altérités a encore du chemin à parcourir et des concepts à inventer afin de ne pas s’enfermer dans le registre instrumental auquel elle est trop souvent réduite. Pour penser l’image dans le contexte actuel de sa prolifération et de la potentielle désorientation qu’elle induit, la tentative d’une iconologie radicale, telle qu’initiée par Warburg, demeure d’une évidente actualité. <