{"id":125010,"date":"2018-05-04T11:00:43","date_gmt":"2018-05-04T15:00:43","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=125010"},"modified":"2018-05-04T13:27:24","modified_gmt":"2018-05-04T17:27:24","slug":"forging-intimacy","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2018\/05\/04\/forging-intimacy\/","title":{"rendered":"Forging Intimacy"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

\u00a9 Marie Hyld<\/p><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

My friend sent me an article about a young Danish photographer, Marie Hyld<\/a>, who takes photos of herself with strangers she meets on Tinder, attractive men and women approximately her own age. Each photograph is staged to look like a candid moment of intimacy caught within an established romantic relationship and, as with many long-term relationships, reflects a range of shifting moods: sexy, playful, sleepy, bored. At first, I was drawn to one of the sexy ones\u2014Hyld and her partner standing in a green-tiled shower, embracing under the spray. Although the man\u2019s face is partially concealed by Hyld\u2019s head, her cheek pressed into the curve of his neck, from what I could discern of his profile and body, he so closely resembles a former lover of mine that for a few minutes I was nearly certain it was him. That man was an aesthete; he was handsome and vain and seemed to love feeling desired, but avoided attachments. It was not difficult to imagine him volunteering for a project like Hyld\u2019s, an artistic inquiry into make-believe intimacy. (This was before I learned that the photographer finds her collaborators in Denmark, a place I\u2019ve never been.) The resemblance also probably had to do with the photograph being staged in the shower. The man I knew would get up in the morning and take lengthy luxuriant showers while I lay in bed, showers that went on so long I\u2019d sometimes wonder if he\u2019d passed out or left the building with the water still running. Invariably, I\u2019d grow bored and climb out of bed to wander through his rooms, taking inventory of his things: his books and paintings, his soft dark sweaters folded on the shelf, his pile of boots behind the bedroom door, his stacks of mail and his blender and the bowl of tangerines on the kitchen counter. I never touched anything, except once his phone, to check what time it was and also to see if other women had called him in the night. But mostly to check the time. I would\u2019ve liked to shower with him, but he never invited me, and I was too shy to ask. I thought it might be time and space he needed for himself. I\u2019d picture him in there, raking his fingers through his wet hair, with his eyes closed as steam lifted off his skin. I wondered if he ever thought of me while he was in the shower\u2014the woman he\u2019d left in bed, now creeping around his apartment in her underwear. Maybe he did; maybe he didn\u2019t.\u00a0<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

\u00a9 Marie Hyld<\/p><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

I like Hyld\u2019s pictures best when they capture moments of absolute banality. My favorite in the series is a shot framed by a bathroom\u2019s pale-blue doorway. Inside the room, the photographer and a different man are brushing their teeth. She\u2019s standing at the sink with her back to the camera, naked except for a lacy bra and a towel wrapped like a turban around her hair. He\u2019s sitting on the toilet next to her in a light-gray undershirt, pants around his ankles, elbows propped on his knees. His lips are pursed around his toothbrush; he looks like he\u2019s about to make some garbled comment to her through the foam of toothpaste. And she, mouth open, eyes fixed on her own reflection in the mirror, eyebrows slightly raised, looks like she knows exactly what he\u2019s going to say, like anything they could possibly say to each other they\u2019ve already said a thousand times before.<\/p>\n

There\u2019s a time stamp in the bottom left corner of each photograph in the series. Hyld explains that the time stamps reveal exactly how much time has elapsed between meeting her subject for the first time and taking the photograph in question. They range from ten to thirty-five minutes. The time stamp on the toothbrushing picture reads, \u201c16 min.\u201d<\/p>\n

I found Hyld\u2019s Instagram account and read about how she\u2019d made the image:<\/p>\n

He opened the door at the end of the hall and smiled at me \u2026 We spent 1-2 minutes giggling like two schoolgirls and then quickly fell into the whole relationship scene. \u201cGod damn it, didn\u2019t I tell you to turn around the toilet paper roll?! You\u2019re making me so fucking old and bitter.\u201d \u201cShut up! You\u2019re tiring me with all your negative shit, I can\u2019t stand you!\u201d we yelled across the apartment while I peed with an open door and he brought me some water. It was hilarious. I felt so alive.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

\u00a9 Marie Hyld<\/p><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

In the opening pages of Camera Lucida<\/em>, the\u00a0critic Roland Barthes asks: \u201cWhat does my body know of Photography?\u201d The text that follows tracks his attempt to approach an answer. \u201cAt the moment of reaching the essence of Photography in general, I branched off,\u201d Barthes writes.\u00a0\u201cInstead of following the path of formal ontology (of a Logic), I stopped, keeping with me, like a treasure, my desire or my grief.\u201d<\/p>\n

I love Barthes for his insistence that feelings can be marshaled as tools of intellect, that we might rely on these\u2014\u201cmy desire or my grief\u201d\u2014as readily as anything else to make sense of art or the world. Barthes says he wants to think about photography as a \u201cwound,\u201d not in the sense that it causes hurt necessarily but that it gets under the skin, it affects you at the molecular level, it leaves a trace. Led by his desire or grief, he distinguishes the images that provoke his general interest (those characterized by what he calls the \u201cstudium: that very wide field of unconcerned desire, of various interest, of inconsequential taste\u201d) from the photographs he loves: the ones that contain an \u201celement which rises from the scene, shoots out of it like an arrow, and pierces me.\u201d He calls this element the \u201cpunctum: that accident which pricks me (but also bruises me, is poignant to me).\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

\u00a9 Marie Hyld<\/p><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

On her website, Marie Hyld writes: \u201cTo get under the skin of people. It\u2019s my drive in photography\u2014to hit.\u201d Maybe she\u2019d read Barthes; maybe she hadn\u2019t. In any case, I located the punctum in the photograph of the toothbrushing couple right away: it\u2019s the twist in her bra strap, just above the clasp. \u201cHowever lightning-like it may be, the punctum has, more or less potentially, the power of expansion,\u201d Barthes writes. \u201cWhile remaining a \u2018detail,\u2019 it fills the whole picture.\u201d In an image that\u2019s been carefully composed to reflect the bodily intimacy of a long-term relationship\u2014she\u2019s bare-assed; he\u2019s taking a shit\u2014the twisted bra strap strikes me as unintentional\u2014\u201cthat accident which pricks me.\u201d It\u2019s the realest thing in the scene, the detail that radiates out to make the whole picture feel real.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s not<\/em> real, I know. The couple isn\u2019t a couple, just two strangers who met for the first time sixteen minutes ago. But I think of Marie Hyld describing how she felt setting up the photo: \u201cso alive.\u201d How long does it take to forge intimacy that\u2019s authentic? Does it have to last to matter? If you capture it on film, can you hold onto it longer? For a while when I was newly single and first getting used to the notion of sleeping around, I had this idea to take photographs of all the people I woke up with. Not in any formal way, not with their knowledge or consent\u2014just sneaky shots of their backs as they lay facing away from me in bed. It would be my own private accounting. But it was tricky to execute: I\u2019d have to use the camera on my phone, and my phone was often dead or in another room, or in reaching for it, I\u2019d wake the person sleeping beside me. They\u2019d roll over to face me, and I\u2019d miss my shot. I think I ended up taking only two of these photos, and they were both bad: blurred, indeterminate, the light and angles all wrong. You could hardly tell what you were looking at if I showed you, which I wouldn\u2019t because they were only for me. I wanted some kind of souvenir from all of the people who\u2019d moved their bodies alongside or inside my body, who\u2019d held me like they loved me or at the very least like they desired to know me. (Barthes again: \u201cThe Photograph does not necessarily say what is no longer<\/u>, but only and for certain what has been<\/u>.\u201d) If I\u2019d given them time stamps, they might\u2019ve read: \u201c3 hr 21 min\u201d; \u201c7 hr\u201d; \u201c4 mo, 1 wk, 5 days.\u201d With few exceptions, I always felt there was at least a moment during these encounters when we revealed our real selves to one another, or close to it\u2014an unguarded expression moving across the face, a dusty family photograph knocked over and then set carefully back in place, a fingertip tracing the line of the jaw, a chipped mug of water offered like a gift. Sometimes there was nothing to see. Sometimes it was just a sound. Maybe we\u2019d never know anything more about each other; still, here we were together in this moment, so alive. Whenever I\u2019d wake up to find the other person still sleeping, I\u2019d feel as though they\u2019d given me something\u2014their body stripped of artifice, moving a little with their breath. I\u2019d watch for as long as I could. That was enough; it had to be. It was all there was.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ariel Lown Lewiton is a writer and editor in New York.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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Each photograph is staged to look like a candid moment of intimacy caught within an established romantic relationship and, as with many […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":473,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[30918],"tags":[33970,4055,10911,33969,33971],"class_list":["post-125010","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-on-photography","tag-barthes","tag-camera-lucida","tag-instagram","tag-marie-hyld","tag-punctum"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nForging Intimacy<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"In the work of Marie Hyld, a young Danish photographer who stages intimate scenes with strangers she has met online, Ariel Lown Lewiton recognizes something of Barthes\u2014and of herself.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" 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