Being new to the technical side of capturing images, to me it equates to novelty. Changing the settings on a camera knowing why I’m changing those settings feels affirming, like I know exactly what parameters are needed to capture a given image. I’ve always taken images though. For as long as I’ve been alive, cameras, whether they be digital or disposable, have always been available to me. The purpose always being to freeze a moment in time that one may look at as memorable.
In her essay, Sontag says that “Each still photograph is a privileged moment, turned into a slim object that one can keep and look at again” (Sontag, 18). Throughout her piece, Sontag asserts the stillness of a captured image, not exclusively physically but chronologically. Photos are precious because of their ability to capture the mortality of a given subject. As Sontag says, “All photographs are memento mori” (Sontag, 15), reinforcing this idea of an image’s precious quality.
To me, capturing images inadvertently becomes about adding subjectivity to an objective. Photos are a physical manifestation of differing perspectives; 100 photographers could all take the same exact photo and yet they all come out differently when all is said and done.
Perspective can be shared, but I don’t think it can be replicated, even when taking a photo. You are replicating your perspective when aiming and shooting a picture. A literal snapshot. The resulting photo is unique because your perspective, your vantage point (and all of your varying factors) is unique. In fact, perspective is so unique that it’s quite difficult to get the same photo twice outside of a studio setting and barring tripod photos, even if you’re the person who took the first photo.
To photograph is to capture the elusive, the fleeting. I think there is a level of responsibility one must take when photographing. In this digital age, it is almost impossible to avoid being in the background of someone’s selfie or vlog or TikTok, and that can be reconciled, given this usually occurs in a public space. But we still have to respect people’s desires to be off camera when that request is made.
Like many of my peers, I could represent the notions of our world as it currently stands through various social media platforms. I could photograph moments of my life and take the opportunity to practice self-expression. I could seek out and photograph moments that could be culturally significant.
I would like to know what Sontag would have thought of my generation being thrust into the world of producing, having constant and unmonitored internet access and the implications of that access on media today—how our phones have become extremities for some of us, extensions of self, and how our ability to freeze a moment in time at any moment saturates our population’s collection of media.
AI has rapidly become a pervasive phenomenon over the past several years. From social media to the classroom, it seems that AI has nestled itself into the population quite seamlessly, and without very much pushback (depending on who you ask). Overall, it's a mixed bag of opinions that span across all age ranges. Among the younger gen z and gen alpha population, I've observed a general raving and enthusiasm over this revolutionary technology. (No one has to think anymore, yayy!?) And among older demographics, there are shared sentiments of reluctance, weariness, apprehension, and a glaring ignorance.
I don't say this to propose that it's a moral failing to be unfamiliar with new technology, or new anything for that matter. The important factor to keep in mind is that this ignorance is what leaves our older generations more vulnerable than most when it comes to things like AI-supported phishing scams, political propaganda, and many more risks that can yield real-life consequences. The emergence of AI then only further stresses the importance of media literacy in the digital information age.
With each advancement in the AI world comes more difficulty in our ability to distinguish verifiable content from “AI slop.” This becomes dangerous when people use AI for dishonest and malicious purposes. Deepfakes, voice cloning, and fabricated images can easily be used to spread misinformation, and once the seed is planted, confirmation bias does the rest.
Back in 1938, before the vast digital landscape existed, Orson Welles’ fictional radio broadcast War of the Worlds fooled a handful of people. Today, we are far more media-literate, yet AI still fools people on a much larger scale.
AI also poses a significant environmental threat. Server farms dedicated to running large models consume massive amounts of water and electricity, and the current infrastructure is not sustainable long-term. If we can regulate AI politically, environmentally, and intellectually, then perhaps its cultural influence and potential benefits will be worth exploring. Until then, we need to seriously examine our resource use, and think twice about the prompts we send.
Initially, what I find most emotionally striking is not the use of imagery but the lack thereof in the opening panel of Heela’s story. This is a serious and sensitive topic; the use of a simple black screen with only information overlaying it shows that the author and illustrator understand the sensitivity and handle it with care.
Although the prompt prefaced the graphic novel with the use of photography, I still found myself more alert when the photos of Neneh Conteh appeared. The illustrations depict/convey trauma without getting too detailed, and the photos add a human presence that our instincts naturally latch onto.
Conceptually, the illustrations look like rough sketches that were colored in—less detailed than the photographs, and flatter. But illustration can be incredibly powerful. Photography is limited to what physically exists in front of the camera. Illustration is only limited by imagination.
Illustration can reach audiences who may not have strong literacy skills, just as visual journalism did in publications like Joseph Pulitzer’s New York World. It becomes a bridge, increasing accessibility to complex topics. Given the sensitivity of this subject, illustration feels appropriate and intentional.
There exists a rising nucler threat that no one seems to be aware of, or maybe even care about. Use of things like thermobaric weapons has become more prevalent in conflicts around the world. Although not nuclear, there have been claims of certain thermobaric bombs having a similar effect to that of a nuclear weapon. The Biden administratoin, in response to the Russia/Ukraine conflict, had outdated and lacking information on modern nuclear weapons. So, they assembled a "Tiger Team" to develop a new set of contingency plans should Russia strike Ukraine. Said outdated info can be attributed to the fact that no one has actively thought about the threat of nuclear conflict since the Cold War.
Military powers with nuclear weapons are reported to have reduced their supply, so the threat appeared to "reduce" along with it, which I find hard to wrap my head around. How does one get rid of a nuclear weapon safely? Is that something that can be truly disposed of? We've seen the effects and devastating aftermath of Hiroshima, and the fallout of Chernobyl - which wasn't even bombed, but suffered nuclear radioactivity due to a core reactor meltdown. Radioactivity is terrifying, and too many governments have too much access to these weapons that can so easily devastate not only a population but a geographical area - and its ecology - for years thereafter. Putin is an agent of chaos who has made brazen threats about nuclear strikes in the Ukraine, and no one seems to be able to rein this guy in. If the United Nations can't step in on something so obviously transgressive of human rights, why is it even here?
Personally, I think I consider the reality of the nuclear threat more often than my peers, like it's something that I think about here and there as far as weapons that places like China and North Korea may have. But I don't say this to fault or judge my peers. My loved ones and I very consistently deliberate over the toxic work and "grindset" culture that American late-stage capitalism encourages. And oftentimes, the sentiment is that this culture doesn't allow us to think about things like global or international threats, nuclear or otherwise, because there are so many more pressing threats to us here at home built right into our government system. There are millions of Americans who don't have the time to worry about weapons of mass destruction when an emergency hospital bill could turn their finances nuclear at the drop of a dime.
I'm skeptical that there is a single mother out there in this country more worried about a nuclear strike than whether or not she'll be able to afford to feed her kids this month, or pay for their cold medicine and school supplies. And maybe this is an issue that more Americans should zoom in on; the nuclear threat is very real - living in the heart of New York, I wonder if this city could be a main target. It's off the East coast...a city-state of our country, but I digress. At risk of sounding bleak: maybe there are people who might welcome the idea of a nuclear strike. Because for some, that might be their only escape from national threats like rising debt and health insurance premiums, things that can destroy a person's life in an instant. So, I implore you, dear reader, to consider the following: which is more of an immediate threat to the average American?