Vol. XIX No. 5
February 2004

Only Skin Deep: Changing Visions of the American Self

Since its inception, most have regarded the medium of photography as a tool for recording reality and truth. However, because the eye of the photographer informs this so-called "truth," it can by no means be thought of as simple objectivity.

Receiving Dolls Donated by the American Friends Society, c. 1943, by Toyo Miyatake, Gelatin silver print. (Photo © Toyo Miyatake, Toyo Miyatake Collection)
Addressing this subject, the show continuing through the end of February at the International Center of Photography includes more than 300 photos and videos, which challenge the notion of race in America. Through these examples, the curators make the important point that our views of what we consider a "typical American" have been compromised and formed by photographic images. They make the distinction that this exhibition deals not with racism per se (although there are included numbers of appalling examples of lynchings and other hate crimes) but with how photography shapes our very perceptions of race and ethnicity.

Upon entering the gallery, we are confronted with a huge, 8-by-10-foot image by photographer Vanessa Beecraft, of a dozen or so "white" men, U.S. Navy SEALs, clad identically in white uniforms, standing in military position, with a leader in a dominant position at the front of the configuration. Looking closer, we notice that not all the men are white—but because of their conformity, and the white-on-white effect of uniforms and background, we automatically make that assumption.

If you turn right, you will see a six-panel series called Evolucion del Hombre (Evolution of Man), by Miguel Calderon, depicting one Latino man in a parody of "evolution" from nudity to punk attire, and holding weapons evolving from a stone to an automatic rifle. These two works belong to the first of five sub-themes making up the show. In this one, titled Looking Up/Looking Down, we are shown how "truth" or parody idealize or denigrate specific racial types. Other examples in this section include black maids or nannies, clearly looked down upon because of the position they take in contrast to their always superior-seeming white employers or charges.

Indian Man on the Bus, 1994, by Zig Jackson, Gelatin silver print. (Photo © Zig Jackson, courtesy of the artist)
The second theme, All for One/One for All, presents stereotypically "ideal" Americans, as opposed to specific racial or ethnic types. These photos imply that certain people can stand for all Americans, while others must be viewed as marginal and outsiders. The third section, Humanized/Fetishized, contrasts sympathetic photos of various ethnic groups with those making them into objects, such as monsters, dolls, or toys. The fourth theme, Assimilate/ Impersonate, includes photos of individuals attempting to fit into America's "melting pot," as contrasted with people purposely wearing costumes or using gestures considered "savage" or "wild." The fifth, titled Progress/Regress, extends beyond human beings into landscape and the notion of "Social Darwinism."

As I went through the exhibition, I noticed that themes invariably bled from one category into another. It became harder and harder to differentiate one sub-theme from another—but maybe that is inevitable in a show of this magnitude, with its pervading, larger theme.

Images etched into my memory include the famous Diane Arbus Jewish Giant, a preternaturally tall young man, dwarfing his parents, and Gordon Parks's 1942 American Gothic . In this photo, Parks parodies the iconic Grant Wood painting by posing a black charwoman, who stands proudly but exhaustedly, holding a mop and a broom, in front of a large American flag. Another image of cute, little Shirley Temple performing in a hula skirt rankles in my mind, especially contrasted with several real Hawaiian women, bare-breasted—their images exploited, even cannibalized, by presumably less "exotic" photographers.

I had already seen in other exhibitions several "holier-than-thou," before-and-after photos of Native Americans, shown first in native outfits and poverty, and then contrasted with their "Americanization" into suits and ties, "proper" dresses and hairdos. But these never fail to shock, in the changed perceptions of today's viewers.

Self-Portrait Exaggerating My Black Features/Self-Portrait Exaggerating My White Features, 1998, by Glenn Ligon, Silkscreen on canvas. (Photo © Glenn Ligon, courtesy of the artist)
The single most unforgettable image for me, though, was one by Pat Ward Williams, titled Accused/Blowtorch/Padlock (1986), a photographic reproduction with three enlarged details of the photo, surrounded by tarpaper with handwritten text. It shows a black man, accused of murdering a Mississippi white in 1937, chained to a tree, being tortured with a blowtorch. We know, through the text, that he was subsequently lynched. Part of the handwritten text asks, "Oh, God, who took this picture? Life answers—p. 141—no credit. Somebody do something." It is the question I always ask myself upon seeing photos of lynchings, of bodies piled up in Nazi extermination camps. How can someone take pictures of such horrors? What was the photographer thinking?

For me, this puts the whole exhibition into perspective. It reminds us to ask ourselves how an individual photographer perceives the world, and what he or she wants us to conclude from the image presented. In this case, the show asks, over and over again, how we as Americans have been shaped by photographs. Is there, indeed, any such thing as a "typical American?" In fact, is there such a thing as "race" at all? And if so, what does it mean, and how can we reinterpret images in order to better understand our country and ourselves? As Brian Wallis, co-curator of the exhibition (with Coco Fusco) has said, "Race and nation—and, indeed, photography itself—are fictions … If photographs are not inherently truthful representations of identity, but must be read to find their meaning, can a different reading of these images break down their distorting stereotypes?"

If there ever was a patriotic show in the true sense of the word, this is it. It is particularly timely in the current environment of fear, suspicion, and paranoia so pervasive not only in this nation, but also much of the world.

"Only Skin Deep: Changing Visions of the American Self" is on view through February 29. The International Center of Photography is at 1133 Avenue of the Americas (at 43rd Street). Hours are Tuesday-Thursday, 10 a.m.-5 p.m.; Friday, 10 a.m.-8 p.m.; and Saturday and Sunday, 10 a.m.-6 p.m. The Center is closed on Monday.

Art historian Greta Berman has been on the liberal arts faculty since 1979.

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