For a long time I have been curious about photography. My partner is a photographer and because of this, the camera has a presence in my daily life. While I enjoy taking photos of children as a way to document in my centre, I feel myself asking questions about what it is that I am doing when I photograph. Because I was not able to do an inquiry with children for this project, and I have recently been thinking with Deleuze, I began thinking more broadly about what it is the camera does. Through this inquiry I will engage predominately with the text Art and Creativity in Reggio Emilia written by Vea Vecchi, and specifically with the chapter entitled, ‘Visable Listening’ (Vecchi, 2010). There are however, other readings that bring further insight into my inquiry that will be referenced as well.
A previous project that I had engaged with included a photographic mini-story that revolved around my grandfather. As explained by Vea Vecchi, a mini-story is a type of observation and documentation done through photographs based on brief episodes (Vecchi, 2010). Although Vecchi uses the mini-story within a pedagogical context, I believe that this is a medium that is used by photographers in many contexts outside of pedagogy. In my case, I was troubled when re-looking at this mini-story because of the way in which it was meant to convey truth. When I put it together, I changed the order of the photos so that they told the story that I wanted to tell. For the viewer, this was the truth of the story. However, the troubling part for me was that this seemingly objective story had been subjectified by my arrangement. It made me question the subjectivity of the stories and documentations that we contrive for families and children. Although there is no contesting that photos are a subjective view, in child centres, we tend to ‘sell’ them as truth. We put up photos and tell families or even children that this is what happened. I believe that we do not always account for our own selection and interpretation. As Vecchi says, “What we call documenting of children’s processes are only conscious fragments (it could not be otherwise) of the process we are interrupting.” (Vecchi, 2010).
I started off this inquiry with many questions. I was thinking a lot about the ethics of a photo, and of the act of photography. It is clear that photos are subjective, and only have the ability to tell a single story, but is that truly the way we represent photography when we use it in documentation? Do we recognize the power of photography to shift the potential truth of a story? So with this thought, one of my questions was: what becomes ‘real’ through the act of photography? To continue on this theme, I was thinking about a similar idea but asked in a different way: how do the lines between perception and reality blur when I look through a camera lens?
These were all interesting questions for me, genuine ideas that I have been pondering, thinking about and having difficulty with. I decided that the only way to explore these questions would be through the act of photography itself.
I started off one morning, camera in hand, notebook and pen tucked into my jacket pocket. I was wondering how I could explore these ideas within the context of my neighbourhood, without the aid of children and without the partner who I usually work with. As I started walking, I photographed what I saw. At first, because of where I was, I took photos of objects; spray paint on cement, the trunk of a mossy tree, a ladder in a window.
As I neared the busier streets I found myself drawn to taking photos of people. From across the street I was able to capture their walk or their stance without changing what they were doing. I began thinking of another question: how do I see differently through the camera lens? When I got to the main street, I decided to experiment with sitting still. I chose a bench at a street corner and sat down. From this vantage point, and with only slight movements, I took many photos. It was an interesting juxtaposition between moving towards things to take a photo, and now letting those things come to me.
When that stage of the inquiry felt finished, I started to walk again. I was beginning to feel what I always feel when I go take photos; a sense of stepping outside of who I am. Casting off my shy, introverted way of being, and letting the camera take me where it needs to go. While I was sitting on the bench, I had a strong urge to continue the journey of photographing people, the subject I always find myself coming back to. While I walked, I stopped many people, asking them if I could take their photo. Many said no, but some obliged. Another question came to me, and I began thinking: what changes in me when I photograph?
As the research of my inquiry project came to a close, I began to reflect on my journey and my wonderings. I realized that my questions changed as I went through the inquiry, and although the original questions were the foundation, the new wonderings were also of importance. Because of this, in the body of this paper, I will reflect not only on the original questions, but also on those that came from the journey.
To begin, we can think about the first question; what becomes ‘real’ thorough the act of photography? When I look back on my photographs, I can see that the way in which I photograph a subject can change and inform that subject for the viewer. Point of view, placement of my body, or even the order in which I display the photos can change the reality of the story that I tell. Vecchi explains another way in which photos can be altered to change the story. “Precisely because documentation makes it possible for us to reflect more deeply, there is a phase of documentary post-production where we sometimes feel the need to add to our live accounts. These are generally details of documented processes being reconstructed at a later date to give greater completeness to an analyzed topic. For example, it might happen that we re-photograph an object to frame it in such a way that it communicates the concept we want to express with greater force.” (Vecchi, 2010). With this example, Vecchi is illustrating the way in which we are able to reframe a photo to convey a different message. When doing so, we are able to adjust the image and therefore tell a different truth. I experienced this in my inquiry through taking multiple photos of the same subject. If I look at each photo, I can see a different story. My difficulty with this idea is not however that the photo is a subjective form, but that we do not always represent the photograph in this light. The problem for me is when we use photography to tell the truth of a story without acknowledging the great subjectivity of this form of documentation or story telling. How then, can we ensure that we are communicating with children, families and colleagues the value of the photo but also the subjectivity of its truth? How can we confront the ethical battle of the use of photography as a means to tell the whole story?
This brings me to my next question: how do the lines between perception and reality blur when I look through a camera lens? As this question has connections with the first question, I will move directly to the context of the early childhood environment. To illustrate this idea, I will use an anecdote from my own experience.
Over the course of a few hours, the children and one of the educators built a river that ran through the outdoor sandbox. They used shovels to dig the trench, a garbage bag to line it and then filled the trench with water. The project was an involved one, and although the children seemed to enjoy it, the person who was leading the project was the educator. He had the ideas, instructed the children in the process and gathered the tools and materials for the project. Through the event, the children had many confrontations, both with each other and with the educator. They often became unengaged and were convinced to return by the educator. A few days later when I saw the documentation of the project, the photos and the writings left out the difficulties of the project. If one was to read the ‘truth’ of the story told by the documentation, it was quite a different depiction from the project that I witnessed.
I believe that this type of ‘blurring’ of the reality of projects happens often within centres. Educators are reluctant to share the difficulties that they encounter when working with children, and instead frame photos in a way that only shows parts of the story. I understand this need that educators feel to avoid sharing the whole story, as well as the possibility for multiple ‘truths’, however, I am troubled by the ease in which a photographic mini-story can shift perception so that an event can be altered in such a drastic way, and then is told as the single ‘truth’. In the study Listening to Young Children, The Mosaic Approach, Clark and Moss assert, “Documentation is about communication. It is a framework for laying out in the open ideas, perspectives, and attitudes held by young children and adults in a way that promotes lively exchange and increased understanding: interpretation is acknowledged as an essential part of documentation.” (Clark & Moss, 2001). I wonder then, what are the ethics behind representing a story through photography? What are the possible dangers when we diminish the act of interpretation and represent a photo as truth? Is it possible for educators to become comfortable with the idea of the photographic story as an interpretation? How can we not only allow for, but also respect interpretation in documentation without cloaking it in the falsity of an objective story?
The next question that I entered into came from the inquiry itself, a wondering that emerged through the investigative process: how do I see differently through the camera lens? I can see the parallel between taking photos of children in the centre, and taking these photos in the streets and alleys of my neighbourhood. I was seeing through the lens of the camera, and I was finding that simply by looking through the lens, something changed in the way that I was seeing. Not only was my physical vision obstructed by the limitations of the lens’ field of view, but my internal focus was also narrowed. When I take photos of children, I focus more closely on their acts, and what they are representing or exploring becomes clearer. Instead of seeing the whole room, I begin to see the small things. Vecchi speaks of Carla Rinaldi’s ideas in that, “documentation is a kind of evaluation in process, in the sense that we gather and pause on things to which we give value.” (Vecchi, 2010). In my inquiry investigation, I noticed that simply through holding the camera, I was looking more carefully, more thoughtfully at my environment, but also, I was giving value to certain subjects and leaving out others. This way of choosing focus is something that happens naturally through photography; however, this selection process is an important aspect to consider when we investigate the power of seeing through the camera lens.
Communication is an undeniably crucial part of understanding in early childhood education. As the ideas of Loris Malaguzzi assert, “Meaningful and effective communication is now consciously perceived as a way of determining and measuring the quality of social and educational experiences. Today however, there is an urgent need to reach a deeper understanding and a clearer definition of the strategies for putting into practice this ‘pedegogy of communication’” (Edwards, Gandini & Forman, 1998). If we think about this, in combination with the ideas from The Mosaic Approach which attests to the act and interpretation of photography as a mode of pedegogical listening (Clark & Moss, 2001), we could say that this process of seeing differently through the camera lens engages an alternate ‘language’ and therefore, perhaps is another way for communication to occur. I wonder then, what becomes possible for the photographer and for the subject when the camera is used as a tool to see differently? How is language, listening and communication affected or even heightened through the use of this artistic mode?
The final question that I engaged with and that came from the inquiry investigation was: what changes in me when I photograph? This question came about because through the inquiry, I began to notice that the presence of the camera had an effect on my way of being in the world. I noticed that I became more assertive and brave in my investigation due to the act of photography. What interests me in this is two-fold. First, it makes me wonder about what injustices I might do to children when I step outside myself and ‘become’ the photographer. As Clark and Moss write, “Listening is not a right. There needs to be a space to respect children’s need for privacy” (Clark & Moss, 2001). When an educator uses the camera to document children’s processes, there is not necessarily thought for the privacy of the child and their work. We document to give permanency to what we see, but is there a space for the child to accept or deny the documentation? As Vecchi says, “Documentation can lift us from anonymity, on the other hand it can bring excessive visibility, which is not always judged positively by the person being observed.” (Vecchi, 2010). Is the thing that changes in us when we photograph actually denying children their right to their own space, time and experience?
Secondly, I wonder what might happen to children when they go from being subject to photographer. What changes in their ways of being when they look through the lens? In The Mosaic Approach, the children were asked to photograph the things that they found important in the nursery. They took photos of many items around the room, but also photographed classroom teachers, parents and the head teacher (Clark & Moss, 2001). Although the study doesn’t address my question directly, it makes me wonder how the presence of the camera, and the ability to look through an alternate view might have affected the children’s willingness to approach subjects in a different way than they might have without the use of that tool. How then does the camera affect children’s modes of representation? What changes in the language and identity of the child when they photograph?
To conclude, although this inquiry did not directly involve children, it opened up great possibilities and wonderings for me around the use of the camera in pedagogical environments and situations. The idea of what a camera does connects with the ethics of a photograph in a way that continues to puzzle me. As Vecchi ponders and rightly hopes, “it is true that from our documentation we have learned to listen a little more to the world of children…and perhaps we can learn to betray them a little less” (Vecchi 2010).
Clark, A., Moss, P. (2001). Listening to Young Children: The Mosaic Approach.
London, UK: National Children’s Bureau Enterprises Ltd.
Edwards, C., Gandini, L., Forman, G. (1998). The Hundred Languages of Children. Westport, CT:
Ablex Publishing Corporation.
Vecchi, V. (2010). Art and Creativity in Reggio Emilia. New York, NY: Routledge.
