Image as embodiment?

My very good friend Bradley Garrett takes very good pictures. Very good, intriguing pictures. I have one of them on my wall at home.  An ancient, since long abandoned, reappropriated-by-nature toilet, complete with dirt, mud and ivy coming out of it. But sorry, that should be in parenthesis.

He has now taken the step of announcing a picture for sale on Etsy.com. It is a picture of the abandoned Paris Metro station Croix Rouge.

Croix Rouge Metro Station by Bradley L. Garrett

This is how he writes: “For me, it embodies Baudelaire’s poem The Swan, where he laments the Paris that is being cut through by regeneration, never to return to what it once was.”

That made me think:  Can an image actually embody something? I know that is a common thing to express, but think about it. A picture is a two-dimensional, non-flesh, fairly stable over time representation of something. A moment frozen in time. I guess another, much flatter, and more boring way of expressing it would be blah blah the picture blah, blah is a visual expression of the blah blah. Flatter indeed, but then a picture is flat. Or is it? I guess it depends on our idea of the image as medium. What do you think?

Bodies in my title

“Negotiated borders and undocumented bodies” is the working title of my thesis. Sure, but what what does it mean? What is a body? In relation to what, and to whom? Profound questions indeed, and i think that they have to be posed in order for me to continue.

Doing a research project on health care access for undocumented migrants, such things as broken bones, aching teeth, heightened blood pressure, tumours, repetitive strains, psychosomatic pain, and other health related body issues are inescapable parts of my material, my daily discussions and thoughts. I have been accused by fellow geographers for having a medicalized idea of what the body is, and these themes however fit badly into any of the discussions of bodies, embodiment or other bodyisms in the social sciences of our era.

But let me take an example:

Henry Ascher at Rosengrenska stiftelsen tells me that many undocumented migrants that he meets in his volunteer work have bad teeth. The Rosengrenska clinic for undocumented migrants have volunteering dentists come screen the undocumented patients, and offer free dental care to those that are in need of it. These dentists claim that, apart from helping persons with no access to dental care, these screenings are important learning experiences for dentists. Within the undocumented group, they find cavities and deteriorated teeth in a state very seldom seen in the Swedish population. So, what does this mean?

In terms of inscription on the body, we can surely talk about “bad teeth” as having no access to dental care (due to certain political/legal/social/economic or other discriminatory features of society) inscribed on the body. This inscription can then be read by others:  ”bad teeth” as a mark of “no access to dental care” or “poor” or “undocumented”. Bad teeth is not only the result of discrimination, but may also lead to discrimination, on the labour market or in society in general.

These two strands of research paying attention to the body are much preoccupied with text and discourse, and I can’t but think that there is more to it worth discussing. What about the pain of having bad teeth? What about other health risks related to bad teeth?

Phenomenology comes some distance with this, by situating the body in the centre of our lives, the lived body as a veichle for emotion, empathy and intersubjectivity. There is also some stuff on phenomenology of pain that i haven had time to look closer at yet. Here then, I should be able to think about pain and suffering (due to bad teeth) as experiences individuals endure as products of discrimination (political/social/economic or what have you). Taking a phenomenological point of view will permit me to talk of the experience of bad teeth as something important.

Fine, but still, there is more to it. How about high blood pressure? Is that stress inscribed in the body? Is that something that can be read on the body? No I’m not sure I’m posing this question right. Lets rephrase: The high prevalence of heightened blood pressure among, often very young undoumented migrants, and the threat that that poses to these persons very lives, how do I discuss that in a way that the important elements in this come to the fore? It seems all to often forgotten or obscured by theoretizations of inscription and body as text, that what that text consists of may snuff the life out of these persons. This can be contrasted with the bluntness of the medical professions.

With all this said, I am absolutely able and willing to see these health issues risks as a legal or political situation manifest and/or inscribed in undocumented bodies, and include other issues otherwise discussed under the headline of embodiment such as viscerality and other stuff i also, to be honest havent read much about.

I’ll end here, because I have to go move my car to avoid getting more parking tickets.

Pay attention!

Hm, to starting writing scares me to death. I suppose it is because of that door in my brain that has to be opened in order to pay attention and produce some text. If I open it, I’m positive all of those monster thoughts lurking in there’s gonna want to come out, and I would rather they didn’t.

After a couple of disease- and death- infested years in my family, I sort of shut down for a while. Not as in “I’m sorry, I haven’t been blogging for a while”, but as in, “I haven’t written a word nor read a book in months”. It was as if my whole system’s hung itself, as if my OS suddenly was running to many emotionally laden programs at once, and that innocent-looking, colourful wait-a-moment-wheel started spinning, and just wouldn’t stop.

But I have such a privileged situation at the moment! How is it even possible to throw that away? Why haven’t I tried harder to take advantage of living on a new exciting continent, with grant money, with super interesting people, options and projects all around me? Why? Well, the disturbingly simple answer is that I didn’t care much. I could sort of think that I should care, but then that thought fell out of my mind too, as everything else. From being quite wound up and stressed about my parents health, about not working enough, about not getting out enough or getting enough sleep, I fell into a languid apathetic attitude where I couldn’t care less about anything. I got five (five!) parking tickets in a month; I missed or was late to basically every appointment – those I didn’t cancel that is. I even became a sloppy driver, ending up in two potentially quite bad situations. Not that I wanted anything to happen, I just wasn’t paying attention. That felt kind of bad though, and my uncle had me promise to wake up and slow down. And to pay attention! Time flew by without me noticing, and I bought a wristwatch that would beep every hour, to remind me of the flow of time. It was quite a smart thing actually, but then I lost it, as I wasn’t paying much attention to my things either.

In hindsight it is difficult to say how or when it started – I don’t remember much of it to be honest- or how come I succeed in breaking my silence today. But I’ll be sure to find out. And when I do, that knowledge, in combination with some sharp deadlines, some rewards for success and dreadful punishment for fails, I’ll be on the right track. 2011 is supposed to be the year of initiative (or the Nike year – just do it!) and here and now, I promise to do it; to pay attention, reboot – several times a day if necessary, to pay attention, and start writing. I’ll get back to you as soon as I have anything more to contribute with, even if only a knitting pattern.