The US is the US and France is France. We understand each other in appearance but we can never truly understand one another. So many cultural nuances, I ask myself, why try to decipher it all? The answer becomes clearer as I learn another language; my inability to fully express myself with words has made me return to the most basic language- the language of body and blood. This visceral world is that which photography captures and I can only breathe the air of this world. With each click of the shutter I hope to reveal the simple beauty of life that is deeply entwined with suffering. I want to whisper into your eyes all my stories and my most ephemeral memories. It is my vain attempt to make you understand my uncontrollable need to capture the space behind the black of the eyes of the man I met in the desert who told me all his secrets but recounted only lies… I want to tell you about when living was the key and I searched no longer… I pull back the red curtain….

Les États-Unis sont les États-Unis et la France est la France. Nous nous comprenons en apparence mais nous ne pouvons pas véritablement nous comprendre en profondeur. Les nuances culturelles sont innombrables et de fait, je me demande pourquoi essayer de toutes les déchiffrer ? La réponse m’apparaît de plus en plus claire au fur et à mesure que je tente d’apprendre le français. Mon incapacité à m’exprimer totalement avec des mots m’a obligée à revenir vers le langage le plus basique qui soit – celui du corps et du sang. C’est précisément ce monde que la photographie capture et c’est l’unique air que je puisse respirer. Avec chaque clic de mon obturateur j’espère montrer la beauté simple de la vie, cette vie qui est profondément entrelacée avec la souffrance. Je veux murmurer dans vos yeux toutes mes histoires et mes souvenirs les plus éphémères. Voici ma vaine tentative de vous faire comprendre mon irrésistible besoin de capturer l’espace derrière le noir des yeux de l’homme que j’ai rencontré dans le désert, et qui m’a raconté tous ses secrets qui s’avérèrent n’être au final que des mensonges… Je veux vous raconter ce moment où la vie était la clé de tout et où je ne ressentais pas le besoin de chercher plus loin…  Je lève à présent le rideau rouge…

-Dani Bogenhagen

LIKE A FLASH OF INSPIRATION, punctums descend. Viewers suddenly find themselves fixated on a photograph. Roland Barthes defines the punctum as that indefinable element that grabs the viewer, striking her/him unexpectedly in the heart.

The punctum may be be any number of things; a photograph without it provokes nothing more than mild, passing interest. In Camera Lucida, Barthes describes the punctum as marginal, incidental; the punctum cannot be the main subject of a photograph. Therefore, making the punctum the subject of a body of photographic work, as I have done, is contradictory, quixotic.

The difficulty of consciously attempting to create a punctum lies in its singularity and intimacy. Connections such as this are often the work of chance- and opportune mistake, an accidental context. It is a communication between photograph and viewer. For these unexpected moments, reality breaks through the composition.

In this body of work, the punctum’s unpredictability is balanced by shots. Cinematic elements, such as lighting and actors, allow for the development of a fictive world. The punctum’s effect is mirrored by banal emotions that have become alien and unsettling. The experience of objects and empty rooms speaks of those who have left them.

Though it is still, the air stirs.

-Dani Bogenhagen