Sometime during the day I picked up the news that an Air France airliner had disappeared in the mid-Atlantic. Dropping from 35,0000 feet, hope for a heroic water landing seemed remote. As I checked periodically, the lack of news became increasingly ominous. Along with that, another form of unease began to make itself felt. Where was the plane–or at least the wreckage? Had it completely disappeared without a trace? Would there be nothing to mark the loss? No twisted fuselage, or crumpled wing–of course not, they sink–but not even objects floating on the water? A pillow, a suitcase, something, anything that could provide a sense of personal connection, of continuity between before and after, some cushion against complete annihilation?
If such a photograph can be taken, I’m sure it will be circulated widely. Until then, the press is having to make do with images of officials, machines, maps, and relatives or friends facing the news. This one is the best so far:
The caption at the New York Times says that “a woman . . . reacted while being taken to a private room at Tom Jobim Airport in Rio de Janeiro.” That doesn’t tell you much, and in fact the photograph doesn’t tell you much. Without the context of the disaster and the information and emotional cuing provided by the caption, the photo could be completely banal. They could be tourists on a bus.
My first reaction was that this photo, like all the initial photos, were merely place holders–images temporarily standing in for the images of the crash that were not available. The disaster could not yet be seen–no one even knew where the plane went down–but it was too disquieting to allow a complete absence of images. That absence would have been an apt representation of the gaping loss created by a catastrophic disappearance, but who wants that?
As I let the photo assert its own quiet presence, however, something happened. It seems to know how difficult it is to comprehend the event of which it is a small part. The darkness dominating the interior space suggests how all are enveloped in ignorance and foreboding. The hazy bright space (water and sky?) outside suggests the vast emptiness into which the plane has vanished. The photo provides a portrait of not knowing, of not being able to see what really matters.
Like the passengers on Flight 447 before them, the two people in this photograph don’t know what is out there. They can’t see the disaster that is engulfing them. Nor can we.
Photograph by Ricardo Moraes/Associated Press.
Cross-posted at BAGnewsNotes.
You’re good, nice approach to this image.