It's easy for an artist to make a piece of artwork from their own perspective, since he or she is the one physically creating the piece. However, an artist can achieve a greater level of empathy when taking into account the perspective of the subject, manipulating the relationship between creator, subject, and viewer and inextricably weaving the audience's emotional reaction into the presentation of the piece through the gateway of the subject.
An example of contemporary work that uses this framework is the series of portraits photographer Seiichi Furuya took of his late wife Christine throughout their marriage. The three photos that stuck out in my mind from a viewing months ago at the SFMOMA are from three very different emotional periods in Christine's life, chronicling her journey from happy new wife, to quiet introspection, to outright depression. The photos are intimate in their depiction of Christine, and you can't help but empathize with both her joy and pain.
Izu, 1978 from the series Portrait of Christine by Seiichi Furuya
The first photo, taken in Izu is almost cliché in its resemblance to a casual snapshot; but that casualness is what draws the viewer in. You can almost see the moment beforehand, husband and wife walking along the beach, him stopping to take a snapshot so they can remember this happy moment. His happiness is reflected in her stance, her face, her smile, and he in turn reflects joy back at her. They're like a pair of mirrors facing each other, repeating the emotion between them into infinity; and by stepping in front of the print, we in take Furuya's place and are caught in the same infinite web of joy that was captured on film so long ago.
Graz, 1979 from the series Portrait of Christine by Seiichi Furuya
This second photo might be the best example of embodying the perspective of the subject. Much more intimate and introspective than the first photo, here we have Christine fully submerged in the bath with only her face showing. The black and white print also lends to the intimate feel of the photo. Looking into her eyes and contemplating the multi-faceted look on her face, it's easy to lose oneself in the emotion of the moment. With no human connection except this close up view of Christine's face to tie us to the portrait, we're all but forced to experience the photo from her perspective; and to experience the range of emotions she must have been feeling at the time this photo was taken.
Venice, 1985 from the series Portrait of Christine by Seiichi Furuya
This last photo by Furuya is the most powerful of the three. Taken the year Christine threw herself to her death, it is a stark look at her depression. Again, the photo is cropped close with only Christine to focus on. With no other point of reference, we can't help but curl up with her, feeling the darkness pushing in on all sides while her surrounding box of light gets smaller and smaller. Out of the three photos mentioned here, this is the only one where Christine is not looking out at the viewer. In a way that dismissal of her audience--and her dismissal of Furuya, who photographed her--reinforces her dismissal of all things good in the world. There's nothing posed, false, or contrived about this shot. There's only raw emotion, which coupled with the minimal accessories, leads one to fall into this specific moment of Christine's misery.
I think in order to create a piece of art which can be viewed from the perspective of the subject rather than the artist, the artist must be willing (and skilled enough) to let go of the more assertive aspects of themselves and embody the subject they're trying to depict. In the case of Furuya, he let go of himself in his love for Christine, and managed to capture her beautiful essence on film, sharing her life with us in a very matter-of-fact manner after her tragic end. It is in this simple presentation where we as audience members can also be free to lose ourselves in this woman--what she saw, what she felt--for the moment letting go of objectivity, and experiencing each photograph from her unique perspective.
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