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2024, “On the Outside Looking In?”
T.S. Eliot’s claim that “genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood,” could just as easily be made about photography. After all, even without the title, you somehow know, don’t you, both that the man in the dirt isn’t dead and that this isn’t the first time he’s ended up like this. Even the humblest filing clerk is some mother’s son, but perhaps there’s a symmetry, here. Maybe the man has given up on life, and the locals have given up on him, in turn? Does that explain why the marketgoers seem more interested in the photographer, a different kind of outsider?