One Black & White Photographer Noelani Likes

*Note*

I’ve blogged about Diane Arbus and the following images on the VCU Digital Photography I blog, but this is not a “copy & paste” of that post (I’m not going to BS you, or waste your time in that manner). Here I focus on my connection to her work instead of her technique. Enjoy!

Diane Arbus

                I’m moved by Diane Arbus’ work because she made American society see that which we did not wish to see. It’s easy to disregard marginalized groups of people when we’re not forced to look them in the face. We’re all pros at code-switching; we know what to say and what not to say in front of certain people, and political correctness and fear keeps us from honestly confronting and exploring our prejudices. I don’t want to go into a hegemonic dissertation, but I can’t overemphasize the social significance and relevance of her work even today. I don’t think I’m an overtly prejudiced person, but when I’m confronted by the young man in hair curlers I don’t know how to relate to him. He defies the gender roles my culture has instilled in me since birth. From birth, American culture is compelled to differentiate male and female even if that means stinking a pink or blue blanket on them. What gender is this man? Is he a man? What is a man? Man and woman, feminine and masculine, we understand these identities as being either or, and if you’re not one or the other something’s wrong with you. I understand that this way of thinking is a false binary. Family members hassle me because I don’t dress femininely enough for them; I disregard them because I know who I am and I’ll wear men’s t-shirts if I want to. Yet, in spite of understanding the error of society’s gender roles, and even having experienced criticism for not fitting the feminine cookie-cutter ideal, I’m still met with confusion when I see the young man in the hair curlers. For all my knowledge and experience I’m still tainted with false norms and I think that’s why Diane Arbus’ work is so important; the viewer is forced to face their ignorance. I’m forced to face my ignorance.

A young man in curlers at home on West 20th Street, N.Y.C., 1966, Black & White Print

Topless dancer in her dressing room, San Francisco, CA, 1968, Black & White Print

A Family One Evening in a Nudist Camp, PA, 1965, Black & White Print