I think there are some interesting theories around photography and the way that he addresses what he feels is madness in photography. This started addressing some of the concerns that I have felt over the years and I thought it was an interesting read.
"...Because once you've begun," he would preach, "there is no reason why you should stop. The line between the reality that is photographed because it seems beautiful to us and the reality that seems beautiful because it has been photographed is very narrow. If you take a picture of Pierluca because he's building a sand castle, there is no reason not to take his picture while he's crying because the castle has collapsed, and then while the nurse consoles him by helping him find a sea shell in the sand. The minute you start saying something, 'Ah, how beautiful! We must photograph it!' you are already close to the view of the person who thinks that everything that is not photographed is lost, as if it had never existed, and that therefore, in order really to live, you must photograph as much as you can, and to photograph as much as you can you must either live in the most photographable way possible, or else consider photographable every moment of your life. The first course leads to stupidity; the second to madness."
"For the person who wants to capture everything that passes before his eyes," Antonio would explain, even if nobody was listening to him anymore, " the only coherent way to act is to snap at least one picture a minute, from the instant he opens his eyes in the morning to when he goes to sleep. This is the only way that the rolls of exposed film will represent a faithful diary of our days, with nothing left out. If I were to start taking pictures, I'd see this thing through, even if it meant losing my mind. But the rest of you still insist on making a choice. What sort of choice? A choice in the idyllic sense, apologetic, consolatory, at peace with nature, the fatherland, the family. Your choice isn't only photographic; it is a choice of life, which leads you to exclude dramatic conflicts, the knots of contradiction, the great tensions of will, passion, aversion. So you think you are saving yourselves from madness, but you are falling into mediocrity, into hebetude."
This passage has impact on me because I have a lot of issues around when I should take photos vs when I want to take photos.
When somewhere new for instance, I feel this need to document everything I see, as if should I not, then would the trip exist?
It has at times felt like a madness to have to 'capture' everything that I see.
I was recently told that at these times, it was better to take pictures of your friends as 'you can always buy the postcard'.
The word 'capture' is also another interesting debate. The concept that you would feel the need to capture what is in front of you, when in fact all you have gained is your understanding of the moment. Nothing can be captured and it is an illusion to believe that you 'own' that moment because you photographed it. It is bigger than you are.
This idea of 'madness' resonated with me as it began to make me debate the difference between being in the moment and 'living' your photos as opposed to being present as the photographer.
This section from the same text helped to express this view.
When Spring comes, the city's inhabitants, by the hundreds of thousands, go out on Sundays with leather cases over their shoulders. And they photograph one another. They come back as happy as hunters with bulging game bags; they spend days waiting, with sweet anxiety , to see the developed pictures (anxiety to which some add the subtle pleasure of alchemistic manipulations in the darkroom, forbidding any intrusion by members of the family, relishing the acid smell that is harsh to the nostrils).
It is only when they have the photos before their eyes that they seem to take tangible possession of the day they've spent, only then that the mountain stream, the movement of the child with his pail, the glint of sun on the wife's legs take on an irrevocability of what has been and can no longer be doubted. Everything else can drown in the unreliable shadow of memory.
This extract really nails for me how it feels when I photograph sometimes. It isn't until I have the solid proof of the day in all its photographic glory that I enjoy the day that was had. And there have been instances when I wanted to enjoy the moment as the moment, and have been overcome with guilt.
It is a strange process. I think that it's completely intuitive and maybe the learning is that when you are in the moment, this becomes almost a meditative state and the photos flow, and when you feel like you are part of the moment - you should be.
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