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Semiotics is the study of the social, cultural, and historical processes through which signs such as photographs acquire and circulate meaning. It is a useful critical approach with which to challenge simplistic beliefs in the realism of the photographic image; and as a critique of humanist and modernist concepts of artistic expression which place the photographer in a central position; where the work's success is measured against the author's intentions, and understanding these intentions means understanding the work. In this view, meaning is created by individuals and communicated using a transparent language. By contrast, a semiotic approach emphasizes how in all signs the relationship between signified (the meaning or content) and signifier (the form of the message) is arbitrary, based on social and cultural consensus; and how all meaning is context determined. Meaning does not preexist language, as the author's ideas or feelings, but is created by and through it. Ferdinand de Saussure (1857-1913), who developed structural linguistics in the early 20th century, first proposed that meaning is generated by the difference between signs within a system, rather than by the correspondence between signs and a pre-existing reality. His ideas were then extended to the study of all types of sign systems, including visual ones, and refined by including psychoanalytical ideas and issues relating to reception. Barthes analysed how realist sign systems, such as photography, disguise their own conventionality by presenting themselves as natural. This naturalness is then used by dominant cultural groups to make their own values and ideologies appear natural, thereby imposing them as common sense on marginalized or disempowered groups. He also argued that the meaning of any given work is not fixed, but a process only temporarily arrested by the reader. Different contexts and audiences bring to a work a different network of intertextualities (references to, or knowledge of, other texts, images, and ideas) and thereby change its meaning. Other writers, such as Rosalind Krauss, have re-evaluated the early model of semiotics proposed by the American philosopher Charles Sanders Peirce (1839-1914), who categorized signs as iconic, indexical, or symbolic, as being more useful to understanding visual signs.

Read more: http://www.answers.com/topic/semiotics-and-photography#ixzz1Eb7OGpD0

SIGNS AND LANGUAGE Human beings recognize patterns of information and organize them to generate meaning. Collections of these organized patterns form the languages that humans use when they communicate. We use certain "signs" among ourselves that do not point to anything in our actual surroundings. Instead of announcers of things, they are reminders ... they take the place of things that we have perceived in the past, or even things that we can merely imagine by combining memories, things that might be in the past or future experience. They serve to let us develop a characteristic attitude toward objects in absentia, which is called "thinking of" or "referring to" what is not here. --Suzzane Langer 1016 Human beings possess the ability to notice patterns in their environments. When the perception of these patterns leads to the interpretation of new information in the context of previous knowledge, we might say that meaning occurs. The notion of meaning, or the making sense out of one's information, is an important aspect of human communication. There is little agreement as to how the term "meaning" should be defined, nor is there agreement as to how meaning is created, preserved and destroyed in the midst of the communication process. However, attempts to reconcile these disagreements have led to the development of a number of differing points-of-view. Important among these are the following: that meaning is contained in the patterns themselves, that meaning is created entirely in the minds of the individual senders and receivers, that meaning arises from the social interactions of the communicators.

One widely used approach to the study of the relationships among patterns of perception and meaning is called semiotics. Central to semiotics is the notion of the sign.

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Such a statement as "The word 'cat' stand for a certain small mammal" is not either true or false. Its truth depends upon agreement between the speakers that it be true. In terms of such agreement they understand each other; or where disagreement occurs they will meet with misunderstanding. -Gregory Bateson A sign is a pattern of data which, when perceived, brings to mind something other than itself. Although this definition appears simple on the surface, it has complex implications. Please pause to look at Figure 1 for a moment or two.

Figure 1 Now, briefly, and to yourself describe the thoughts that Figure 1 brought to your mind. It may help if you write these down. ...........waiting............. ... please look at the picture and form your

thoughts before you continue ... .................................. This situation illustrates the three fundamental building blocks which, together with the rules that describe how they relate to one another, will be used to construct the Semiotic Model of Communication. The first of these building blocks is the data, or the perceived pattern of dark-on-light, that to an observer "is" Figure 1. This will be called the sign. The second building block is the real-world animal that Figure 1 resembles. This will be called the object. In the terminology of the semiotic model the sign is said to "refer to" its object -similarly, the object is sometimes called the "referent" of the sign. The third building block is the thought that forms in the mind of a reader as he or she gazes at Figure 1. This will be called the concept.

These three elements relate to one another as a semiotic system.

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At the beginning of the exercise, did this sign: , bring to mind a large, African or Indian animal? Or memories of a trip to the zoo? Or images recalled from a favorite book read as a child, or a television show, or a movie...? Perhaps it brings to mind an American political party; or perhaps the notion of memory (as in: "a large animal with a trunk and big ears that never forgets ..."). Notice that whatever the sign brings to mind, the concept is related to the reader's past experience with the object. This is always the case with signs, and one of the advantages of the semiotic model lies in its ability to highlight relationships among the sign, the concepts the sign brings to mind and the experience of the reader. The next picture illustrates this relationship.

ICON, INDEX AND SYMBOL

Why does a particular sign bring to mind a particular concept? For example, why does to mind an animal, while resemblance of the sign to the object.

bring

does not? In this case, the connection lies in the 1004

It might be that one day during a trip to the zoo, the reader saw a large animal -- and so later when he or she sees a printed image that resembles the animal, that earlier experience is brought to mind. Connection-by-resemblance is one of the three fundamental ways that signs, concepts and experiences relate. This particular kind of sign is called an icon. If a sign is a perception that refers to,

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or brings to mind, something other than itself, an icon is a type of sign that resembles the thing that it

refers to. Thus,

is an icon because it resembles the animal that it brings to mind.

1020

You may have noticed that in our discussion of , we have carefully refrained from using the word elephant. The reason for this is that the word #elephant# is itself a sign, though a different kind of

sign than

Note: what do the #s mean in the last paragraph? This second type of sign is called a symbol. Symbols and the objects that they bring to mind are related in an arbitrary manner. This means that there is no known reason why the symbol and the object are related. For example, there is no reason why the large animal under discussion might not be tagged by a different word -- #nordnet#, for example, or #frindlemat#, or perhaps #barracuda#. #Elephant# is used simply because over the years, it has come to be used -- no one knows why.

#Elephant# Used As A Symbol arbitrary A third kind of sign brings a concept to mind by means of a direct, physical connection between itself and its object. For example, if someone is walking down a street and suddenly encounters the smell of freshly baking bread, he or she might find the concept of a bakery coming to mind. This kind of sign is called an index.

The Smell of Baking Bread As An Index

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To summarize -- there are three basic types of signs: the icon, the index, and the symbol. Each brings to mind concepts that are related to the perceiver's previous experience with objects in the world. Each operates in a different way: Icon -a sign that resembles its object

If this brings to mind a kind of fruit, it is acting as an icon. Index -a sign that is

1006 connected to its object

physically

If the rain touching your face brings to mind the nearby storm, it is acting as an index. Symbol -a sign whose relationship to its object

1005 is arbitrary

If this brings to mind an interstate highway in the United States, it is acting as a symbol. icon symbol index 1007 1008 1009 1019

THE SEMIOTIC MODEL The Semiotic Model provides a coordinated way of talking about how the thoughts in our minds can be expressed in terms of the world outside of our minds. The model contains three basic entities: the sign: something which is perceived, but which stands for something else, the concept: the thoughts or images that are brought to mind by the perception of the sign,

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the object: the "something else" in the world to which the sign refers.

The model is most often represented as the semiotic triangle.

This version of the semiotic model is adapted from the work of the American philosopher Charles S. Pierce. Pierce is generally acknowledged as an important pioneer in the study of signs. Notice that the sign and the concept are connected by the person's perception, the concept and the object are connected by the person's experience, the sign and the object are connected by the conventions, or the culture, of the social group within which the person lives.

These connections are important to the study of how meaning arises during the daily encounters with the many signs that fill the human environment. The remaining sections of this tutorial investigate some of the ways that meaning arises as people make use of signs during the process of communication.

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Art and the Semiotics of Images: Three Questions About Visual Meaning (Please note: this page has many inline graphics and takes some time for a full load. It is not broken! It also uses a good bit of JavaScript and Java.) George University July 1999 L. of Dillon Washington

In the last five years, the Internet has vastly enhanced our ability to display images to each other, and we can now think of ourselves not just as viewers and consumers of images but as makers and users of them ourselves. Indeed, if on the Internet we do not use images, we appear stuck in print culture and oblivious to the possibilities of the new medium. We can of course avoid giving these impressions by including some wallpaper and a few bits of eye candy, without thereby getting very far at all into graphics as a mode of conveying meaning. Schools and colleges certainly offer very little guidance outside of the area of technical communication. At present we have more questions than answers, among which three seem quite fundamental: 1. how language-like are images? 2. how do images and words work when they are both present? 3. how do scenes of people gazing and posing convey visual meaning? I will expand briefly on each of these questions and then take them in order. So Kress and van Leeuwen declare: Reading Images: The Grammar of Visual Design Routledge, 1996: p. 17. Suzanne K. Langer is also often quoted. Some say that images work via a second communicative system, one fully as expressive as natural language, but separate and structured independently of it. Others find visual and verbal meanings more dissimilar than similar, with the visual lacking a kind of determinacy for which verbal language seems better suited. So Paul Messaris, Visual Literacy: Image, Mind, and Reality Westview, 1994 and Visual Persuasion: The Role of Images in Advertising, & Sage Publications, 1997; so also Michael Titzmann, cited in photo text text photo , ed. Andreas Hapkemeyer and Peter Weiermair, Edition Stemmle,1996, p. 10. This question of the nature and indeterminacy of visual meaning will be the first point we will take up. The second question is obviously related, namely, how do the two signalling systems work when they are placed together? In principle, visual meanings may be entirely separate from verbal ones, but as a practical matter, we rarely find pure images with no text attaching to them. Some 35 years ago, Roland Barthes wrote of our very common practices of surrounding images with words which help to specify and stabilize the interpretations of particular images: Roland Barthes, "The Rhetoric of the Image" in Image, Music, Text , trans. Stephen Heath, Hill and Wang, 1977: pp. 38-39. The original date of publication was 1964. all images are polysemous; they imply, underlying their signifiers, a 'floating chain' of signifieds, the reader able to choose some and ignore others. Polysemy poses a question of meaning and this question always comes through as a dysfunction....Hence in every society various techniques are developed intended to fix the floating chain of signifieds in such a way as to counter the terror of uncertain signs; the linguistic message is one of those techniques. Among these "linguistic messages" are captions, labels, placards, guidebooks, brochures, and fliers-all bits of institutional apparatuses which select and present texts and images for the public. But see Shane Cooper's random captioner and the "random2" phase of Jody Zellen's All the News That's Fit to Print They are the tools of curators, teachers, and editors. They in turn are parts of an even larger body of institutions and practices which stabilize how images are to be interpreted and used. That is, when an image is used in a textbook or a treatise, we assume it is there to illustrate and support the meanings and information provided by the text. When an image occurs in an advertisement, we assume that it is there to help sell a product, as by depicting an instance of someone enjoying possession and consumption of the product. Thus we have in these standard deployments of text and image the harmonious relations of explication (by text) and illustration (by image).

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For that reason, many who have dealt with the semiotics of images have based their discussions on images in textbooks and above all in advertising. Barthes did in "Rhetoric of the Image" saying that the intention of the advertising image is anything but elusive or problematic. Gunther Kress and Theo van Leeuwen build their semiotics of the visual on such a stable corpus of adverts and texts, and it is an entirely reasonable way to proceed --except that in studying the fenced-in image, some of the signifying potentials suppressed by the standard cases will go unrecognised. Conceptualist artists in recent decades have worked to foreground and overturn the standard canons and to explore possibilities of tension and struggle between images and text.

The combination is not only "archtypal" for Godfrey; he eventually takes it as a norm for engagement with the world, and questions whether artists who did text and image and have more more recently done just image are retreating into a bygone formalism and estheticism. "It could be argued that the heart of Conceptual art in the late 1960s was not, as is often stated, the notion of the artwork being essentially linguistic, but rather the notion that it was simultaneously linguistic and visual. It is certain true that the combination of text and photograph became increasingly its archetypal form" (Godfrey, pp. 301-2).

Even the process of labelling itself, which was foregrounded rather lightheartedly by Rene Magritte, has been pushed in disturbingly directions, as Willie Doherty (see Godfrey: pp. 367-72). Relations between text and image--whether contentious or harmonious-- will be the second question we will take up.

the Gaze. The standard scriptings of instruction and advertising also allow the viewer to place herself outside the human scenes that may be depicted. Kress and van Leeuwen describe a two-valued relation to people depicted: either they look at the viewer, and so make a "demand" for recognition, acknowledgement, response, or they are not looking at the viewer, and in a sense "offer" themselves for viewing as "third persons" ( Reading Images, pp 121-130.) But artists and critics of recent decades have questioned the innocence of the beholder and for that matter of the subject and artist as well. Once we begin to think in terms of gaze and pose, demand/offer gets complicated in a hurry. Looking, then, is the third question to be taken up.

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The Reconfigured Eye: This little survey of graphic signification will draw on painting, Visual Truth in the Post- photography, and digital graphics, there being no sharp line Photographic Era (MIT Press, 1992); distinguishing the latter two and all three appearing via Mitchell is well answered by Lev reproductions, on the Web. To be sure, some (the "post Manovich in "The Paradoxes of photography" folks like William J. Mitchell) have argued that the Digital Photography," Photography case is quite altered with digitally manipulated images which After Photography , Hubertus v. give up the claim or even appearance of representing some part Amelunxen, Stefan Iglhaut, Florian, of the material world, and J. David Bolter and Richard A. Grusin Rtzer, eds., G+B Arts, 1996, pp. argue for a line of development in Western graphic culture 57-65 and also available online toward pure presentation (unmediated by a representer artist) which culminates in contemporary Net graphics. There is some point to this--digital artists take their images where they find them, http://muse.jhu.edu/journals/con figurations/v004/4.3bolter.html whether in a box of old photographs, scans of objects sitting on top of the scanner, stock photos, their browsers' caches--and we may imagine the gaze of digital taking/making as directed not through a viewfinder or past an easel, but at a monitor screen. But just as we imagine ourselves in scenes of seeing (though at one remove from the photographer's or painter's seeing) we can continue to do so at two removes, perhaps more. One set of very substantial differences remains in the sheer torrent of unvetted images that pour down through the Net neither selected by editors nor labelled and explained by curators nor "shown" and reviewed in galleries. The mass media have already filled our lives with a vast eclectic profusion of styles and meanings, and now even amateurs can display their images on monitors around the world. The danger is not so much of an anarchy of signifying practices, however, as much as a vastly lowered expectation of signification in web graphics. If we do not pause and look and reflect along some of the lines traced here, all the great effort to build bandwidth to disseminate graphics and hardware to display them will have been for naught. 1. The (relative) indeterminacy of image meanings For Barthes and for our discussion, language functions as a medium with relatively explicit, determinate meanings to which the "meanings" of images may on the whole be contrasted. Images "say" nothing--they are mute, they make no propositions about the world--and for that reason have been valued by modernist poets as a mode of meaning or apprehension that does not use discursive reason. Victor Burgin, ed. Talking Photography (1982) To articulate this difference, I will develop a point suggested by Barthes and noted as well by Victor Burgin, namely that images, like texts, have a rhetoric of arrangements which signify, but there is no syntax that articulates their parts and binds them into a whole. Though pictures are quite different from texts of natural language, they are not wholly different, and many have sought parallels between the two media. Like texts, most pictures are composed of parts, though the parts are bits of image (and perhaps words) arranged on a surface. When the various shapes in a picture wash and flow and blend into each other and the background, they do not seem very much like words, but when they have crisp edges, as for example in the Dada photomontage introduced here, they have attracted the term "word" and their arrangement likened to a syntax.

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Hannah Hch: "Cut with a Kitchen Knife through the Beer Belly of the current Weimar Republic" (1920) For example, Dawn Ades, in her overview Photomontage (Thames and Hudson, revised and enlarged edition, 1996) says of this famous piece by Hannah Hch "disparate elements, photographs and scraps of text are thickly scattered over the surface, but still remain legible, like words on a page" (p. 30)--but a page, crucially, with words arranged on it, not placed in sentences. Further such montage is, as they say, flat, which means that there is no topography of concepts, no arranging into a space ordered by perspective, but only a topology of relatedness conveyed by touching and separation and spatial order. (See John Willats, Art and Representation, Princeton University Press, 1997, p. 13 and c.3.) It is hard to tell what relative size or overlapping indicates. Nonetheless, these placements signify--here by contrast, oxymoron, antithesis, and incongruity (catechresis) principally-but not by virtue of their grammatical role in sentences. That is, there is arrangement and composition of the parts, and these arrangements signify after the fashion of the artful patterning of words (the figures of words of classical rhetoric) rather than the constructions of grammar or the formulae of logic. Rhetorical signifying is also notoriously polysemous: words arranged in a list, for example, can convey plenitude even to the point of overflowing (epitrochasm), or equivalence, or precise, detailed attention, or hierarchical ordering. And so, we may say, can images. But for language, these rhetorical figures of arrangement are a secondary signifying system; for images, they're all we've got. As long as the meanings we have to convey pertain to objects in space, a graphic display is fully as adequate, perhaps superior to, a verbal description (we often draw diagrams to clarify such meanings). But, as Paul Messaris argues (using syntax metaphorically): as soon as we go beyond spatiotemporal interpretations, the meaning of visual syntax becomes fluid, indeterminate, and more subject to the viewer's interpretational predispositions than is the case with a communicational mode such as verbal language, which possesses an elaborate set of explicit indicators of analogy, causality, and other kinds of connections between two or more concepts ( Visual Literacy (1994): p. xiii).

El Lissitsky: The Constructor" (1924) When the edges of the parts are blurry, or they are overlaid and merge one into the other, then figures of identity, duality (amphibole), and metaphor come more to mind. Graphics that do this sort of thing move away from representation of objects in a physical space (with defined light source) toward what Kress and van Leeuwen call "lowered" or less realistic modality--they ask to be taken more abstractly as a schematic diagram of the way the world might be or ought to be ideally or is in a certain underlying aspect). Of this well-known self-portrait by the Russian Constructivist El Lissitsky (1924) Edward Tufte says:

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Overlapping images express a multiplicity of links and metaphors: the mind's eye, the hand of creation, the coordination of hand and eye, the hand and tool, the integration of person and work, the wholeness of artistic creation--and, possibly, even a halo for its saintly constructor. ( Visual Explanations (1997): p. 140.) One can only agree with this, but Tufte plunges forward into syntactic metaphor: By showing steps between the ideas in the mind to the reality of the paper, Lissitsky illustrates the process of graphic thinking and creation. Each visual bridge acts as a verb to link up the nouns (mind, eye, hand, compass, image, type, grid, paper) of artistic work. That work on paper then reflects back (via the pointing arrow) to eye and thought. The grid of the graph paper orders both worlds. (p. 141) Note that the metaphor "the mind's eye" has now sprouted "mind" as a separate object "in" the picture. If the visual bridges are verbs, what verbs are they? "ISA"? "Flows forth?" Tufte's flight of syntactic metaphor obscures the difference between images and words and suggests a precision of articulation that the picture does not have. (Note that it only suggests that articulation: he doesn't spell the sentences out; language, we are reminded, can be used to intimate as well as to declare, and often is in art criticism.) To be sure, Tufte's words are as much enthusiastic celebration of the picture as shrewd analysis of it, but they do illustrate one of society's techniques of fencing in the image, namely, by critical commentary, here specifically by turning the image into a quasi-statement. And it is to these techniques and institutional arrangements that we now turn. 2. Text and/versus Image Whether or not images are inherently more polysemous than words, it is very common to find (and seek) words around exhibited or published images--titles, labels, placards, guides, "the artist's words" and so on. Classically, however, the words are peripheral to the work and confined to background information and perhaps a few interpretive hints and pointers to notable features of the work. Artists are notoriously sparing of words, preferring to let the image "speak for itself." In mass media, however, as Barthes noted, words are everywhere, from speech bubbles to voice over to writing overlaid on the image (poster or slogan fashion), and when conceptualist artists started writing extensive commentaries next to or on their images, they simultaneously broke down the image/text and High/Mass culture dividers. To see how much energy and interest can be generated from splitting of placard and image, consider the "Statuary" series by Jacqueline Hayden on www.zonezero.com; the first one of 10 is here in the margin. These pictures are presented one by one in a highlighted oval (museum lighting) against a rich dark maroon field; each comes with a little placard button that when pressed opens a window, as here, with the placard. (The picture also can be enlarged.) The placard text in each case seems utterly unaware of the modification Hayden has made to the antique torso and thus enacts the obliviousness of the Western fine arts tradition to the look of bodies past the age of fifty. The images are rather small platinum prints done with great care and fine finish, and the exhibition is not a joke or mockery of age by youth or of museum culture by the realities of the aging body or preposterous vanity of those past their physical prime. These tensions are evoked but not resolved (since images don't say anything); rather the gaze they call forth is a compassionate one seeking and finding a certain kind of beauty. But that is getting ahead of the story, which begins with the standard arrangement whereby text may discreetly assist us in getting the image to float in the right directions. To begin with the simple determining function of text, compare the following two images from an exhibit catalog from which superimposed words have been removed so that you can experience their "float" without words; you can then add the words by clicking the "Add Text" button. This first is an abundant display of supermarket prepared food, and one could

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imagine several possible lines of intention (they are all Kraft food products, they run heavily to cheese and preserves, they are a riot of color, shape and detail that severely challenges computer resolution, they are unbounded in all directions) but (you've clicked it already, haven't you?) the words (enlarged for legibility) anchor the display to a very conventional dismissal of "American processed food."

Catalog piece #1 In this second graphic, the words"Post Human" seem to point to some kind of future world or tendency; it echoes the other "posts" --certainly poststructualism is post humanist--but what part of the "post human" world are we contemplating, and with what attitude? The image is also a bit hard to make out because of the angles; the woman may be partially submerged (but upside down?) and the light is no help either. Is this some kind of cryosleep in zero gravity? There are a lot of things that might be called post human . . . . There are better clues available than the words on the image: this graphic, like the preceding one, comes from an exhibition catalog for a show sponsored by the Deste Foundation for Contemporary Art in Athens, USA (Ohio?) in 1990. Called "Artificial Nature," the catalog pursues the phrase post human through many pictures of the artificial replacing, altering, and glossing over traditional human limits. It even provides another view of the striped lady, who apparently is lying in a few inches Catalog piece #2 of water at the bottom of a whirlpool bath. Clearly the text does not close down interpretation here, or even give it much assistance. In these first, rather simple cases, one has the impression that If text completely gives way to the image came first, and the words were added to interpret image, it becomes typography, what was already there. When we speak of illustration, visual shape, Lettrist textile design, however, we are usually thinking of adding an image to an texture (as in faded adverts on old already existing text, and this relation too would seem to anchor urban brick walls), or ascii-art. A the image. At times, however, the image seems to interpret the good place to explore "turning text quite broadly or even undermine it. Consider for example visual" is The End of Print: the the following work from Wired magazine. Graphic Design of David Carson , ed. Lewis Blackwell and David Each issue of Wired includes a 4 page (2 double) spread before Carson, Chronicle Books, 1995. the Contents page which cites a line or two from a featured article later in the magazine and functions as a teaser (or highly graphic "abstract") for the article. The sentence to be quoted and graphicked is usually long enough to support the two stage setup (double page one followed by double page two), as for example additive or contrastive pairings, or cause and effect. The "Data" set of pages is built on lines from an article about a Seattle company that recovers old email, even deleted email. The lines seem rewritten over themselves. The line in "Data 1," "Backups containing millions of email messages are the digital equivalent of formaldehyde," offers a simile which is the basis of the green liquid look with its bit of magnified mosquito or crane fly in it. Data 1

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Turning the page, the color changes to fiery red and hotter yellow, to a lake of fire or furnace with old disks, a key, some more cranefly wing, numbers and labels. The text says explicates the simile: "a medium where nothing decays." The fire could be taken as what puts companies in the hot seat, but it can also attract traditional connotations of Hell, the place where nothing is forgotten or forgiven. For me, seeing a sort of doll's face or mask in the fire invites this human association with the digital eternally unforgotten. This I should add carries the significance of the graphic far into a spiritual dimension that has little to do with the content of the article, which mostly turns on CYA for corporations. If the reader turns to the indicated page and begins to read the article, she likely will be disappointed by the absence of metaphysical grandeur. Which is to say that the artist takes the lines out of context and composes a visual meditation upon them; the graphic, however, is still an illustration of what the words propose. Usually Wired's graphic serves the bit of quoted text; the next example is unusual in its relation to the quoted words. Gary Wolf's featured article in June 1999 Wired profiles Sir John Templeton and his investments in religion, specifically in showing that good religion is good business. The two doublepage spread is built on lines from one of Templeton's operatives and is neither explicitly endorsed nor derided in the text of the piece. In context, it both celebrates the triumph of world capitalism and outlines the next area for it to annex, namely the realm of moral values. On the first two pages, the two spray cleanser containers on the right margin seem to express the result of the end of the struggle for markets. Photographed in hard focus and bright light against dead black with nothing but the text to support them, they illustrate what Kress and van Leeuwen call "hyperreal" modality, which in this case links to sensual pleasure focussing on the consumer object typical of food and drink adverts (p. 169). (see also John Berger, Ways of Seeing , pp. 140-141) When we match these pages with their text declaring the settling of the fundamental battle over the free market, it is hard to avoid the effect of severe understatement (or underrepresentation) amounting to ironic deflation ("the late consumer capitalist market economy as epitomized by the choice of cleansers now dominates the scene"--with Bruce Springsteen's "57 channels and nothin' on" in the background). In the second pair of pages, the two packs of cigarettes (on sale in Japan, I hear) fill the position of the cleansers and would appear to represent the not yet realized victory of the market in the sphere of morals. (And here they bear their own texts ("Peace" and "Hope") which push even beyond "Fantastic" and "Fabulous" as Orwellian perversions of the words.) The graphics thus mock the words from Templeton's agent by reducing the grand phrases to their practical consequences in daily life: "capitalist marketing of morality would offer us immoral commodity choices packaged with positive words"--how backward can people be to withhold assent! In this display from Wired , graphics comes as close as it can to making a counter statement.

Data 2

Market 1

Market 2

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This degree of distance between graphic and text is typical of political cartoons and demonstration placards. The graphic style, however, is usually not realistic but exaggerated and parodic, which is to say of lower (less realistic) modality (as if: "this is the way the world would be if these views were real"--conditional if not irrealis, one might say, not indicative). John Heartfield's "The Butter is Gone" (1935) is a famous exemplar. The text is a quotation from a speech of Hermann Gring's, "Bronze has always made a nation strong; butter and fat at best make a people plump." And so, the butter being gone, the family is dining on metal. Although the graphic is a montage of photos, the swastika wallpaper and general absurdity of the actions lower the modality. "The Butter is Gone" Victor Burgin developed exactly the opposite relation of text and graphic in his political work of the 1970s: here the image is "appropriated" from an advert and the text written on it is social critique or theory. One quite well-known one ("Possession") was done at the time of an exhibit of contemporary artists in Newcastle. The Arts Council asked for some publicity posters, and Burgin responded with "Possession" 200 copies of which were pasted up on the streets of Newcastle. Burgin intended for the diametrical opposition of text and image to catch the gaze and trigger thought. Follow-up research indicated that not many passersby remembered what the posters said, much less what they implied. For a few more years, Burgin continued to exhibit large photographs with substantial text (often over 100 words) at odds in various ways with the image. The effect is sometimes a rather professorial and preachy enumeration of the "contradictions" of late capitalist consumer society, but at other times it is more suggestive, enigmatic, or tensely ironic, as when he quotes Foucault's description of the Panopticon in a picture of a Berlin peep show with circular stage. "What does Possession Mean to You?" In "Life Demands a Little Give and Take" text and image are in the opposite relation to "Possession," namely, the text is from the commercial advert and the image is from the street. I am not sure how readily the image would make sense with no context, but in a collection of pictures that deal with the contradiction between manipulative, obfuscating culture (ideology) and real material conditions, it is not hard to see this picture as an exposure of the racist overtones of pale=beautiful. That is, we have ordinary people waiting for a bus on a nondescript street Victor Burgin: " Life Demands a Little corner in modern Britain, among whom the camera's gaze falls Give and Take" (1974) on a woman who is distinctly not pale and who does not qualify as one of the targeted audience of the fashion magazine spiel. Burgin was certainly not alone making text+image displays in the 1970s; much conceptualist art would fall under this rubric. Keith Arnatt, for example, exhibited a similar display, this time with a philosophic theme. Tony Godfrey, who cites this work, says, "It is uncertain whether the photograph acted as a critique of the philosophy or was merely the pretext for quoting it" ( Conceptual Art, p, 172), which is a way of saying he is not sure Keith Arnatt: "Trouser-Word Piece" whether the image illustrates or undermines the text. He finds (1972) the text unmemorable and finally unnecessary, saying that it serves "ultimately only to underline what is implicit." In a sense

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you can always say that, even when you don't say what is implicit, but for me it does highlight certain themes inherent in the situation ("the contradictoriness of all self-authenticating gestures," "uncertainty (a la Austin) of what accusation is being denied," "the making of such a photograph declaring oneself to be a real artist--is it real art?" "is the art more real with the accompanying text?" The photo might in itself cast the viewer into its reflexive abyss, but the text certainly does help. This is art that makes you think. Not all Conceptualist artists played the big discourses of politics See Knorr's work in Hapkemeyer and philosophy off against images; some, like Karen Knorr and Weiermair and also in Other played bits of self description or art cliches off against exquisitely then Itself: Writing Photography eds. photographed interiors to engage the viewer in reflection. John X. Berger and Olivier Richon, Berger's and Richon's own contributions to the collection are Cornerhouse Publications, 1989. even more oblique in the relation of text to image, as if the textual material is slipping out of alignment with the visual. The texts certainly do not dominate over these images, and this may partly have to do with the extreme degree of deliberation and high degree of technical finish the images exhibit. Without the texts, however, I am not sure we would have much of a clue as to what context to place the images in (they do appear in sets in these publications.) (Victor Burgin, Between, Blackwell, 1986) 3. The scene of looking

sual Appreciation

Victor Burgin: "Graffitication" (1977) Natalie Bookchin and Lev Manovich: "Porno_Pictorialism" (1995) from "Digital Snapshots"

Chim): "Bernard ed art critic c works such as ainters of 894), The Study of Italian Art ) and Essays in at the age e Gallery, Rome"

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The first image depicts looking as the classic scene of "art appreciation" which authorizes among other things the refined and learned connoisseur Mr. Berenson to gaze upon the statue of a largely unclad woman. We are safely at a second remove, standing behind the statue watching Mr. Berenson gaze (with "yearning" the Chim memorial website has it) at the figure that does not meet his gaze (this is Antonio Canova's Paola Borghese as Venus and she is staring off down the length of her couch). The second image, which has been digitally manipulated, has us once again gazing upon a scene of gazing, though this time we infer the gazer's view from her legs. The oval framing the scene suggests either a peephole or a classic oval frame. We do not see her expression to tell us what she makes of her collection of images of women. The title suggests erotic reverie. The third image we owe to Victor Burgin, complete with a lecture upon the voyeur as fetishist. It is unmistakably the scene of guilty viewing, unauthorized by anything. Photographs, even manipulated ones, give us very strongly the impression that we are seeing some part of the world and sharing the view of it with the photographer who saw it in his viewfinder. We can very easily be drawn in to imagined scenes of picture making, and a good bit of the meaning these pictures hold for us has to do with how we play out the roles they cast us in. These enterings into the scene are by no means confined to photographs; the art critic Michael Fried has developed extensive and detailed theories about it in relation to nineteenth century French painting (and hence in relation to modernism gnerally); but camera's automatic vanishing point perspective offers us a familiar world in which our own viewing point is always readily apparent. Photography offers us two stories about the making of photographs. One, call it the "frozen moment of life," is associated with photojournalism, street photography, candids, and snapshots. It capitalizes on modern photography's ability to capture some part of the way the world looks in a given place and instant ("modern" because you need decently fast emulsions and sometimes good flash). The photographer may take many exposures from numerous angles and lens settings, but she will look for and try to seize "the decisive moment" in which the fullest significance of the scene is manifest. There can thus be only limited planning; graininess, high contrast,cropping which breaks objects, and blur give authenticating testimony to the unplanned "catching" of the unstaged life of the moment. Michael Fried also describes two temporalities in painting as well (see Manet's Modernism , University of Chicago Press, 1996, pp. 290ff. The alternate story of the scene of taking photos contrasts on most of these points, bringing it closer to studio-composed oil painting. Here nothing is left to chance--nothing occurs by chance--and the viewer may ponder as long as he wishes why this or that detail is exactly as it is. It is a tableau vivant . There is still the difference from painting that all objects are seen in the camera's eye in one exposure, none in the artist's imagination only, so that the "actual moment of time" assumption is still maintained . This is perhaps why photography is so effective as a medium of pornography: the photographer must have been just a few feet away from the subjects who were doing exactly what you see to each other (or to themselves). (It is sometimes suggested that as people begin to realize what digital manipulation of photos can do--that the participants may never have been together in one place, exchanged looks, or bodily fluids--they will lose their appeal as a focus for fantasizing.) On either version of the basic story, then, there was a moment when the photographer looked into the viewfinder and saw the scene that ultimately appeared in a print or transparency. The photographer is thus the first viewer of the scene, and we as viewers imagine ourselves with our eyes at the place of the taking lens--where, that is, we infer the lens to be. This positioning in the scene is not just physical, however, but moral as well: that is, we can easily put on what we think to be the artistic (or salacious, or reportorial ...) attitude of the photographer--his or her gaze. This line of thought seems to be heading toward suggesting that there is something dubious, at least in plenty of cases, about looking and freezing the appearance of someone or ones for public distribution. Didn't your mother teach you not to stare? Above all, not to stare at cripples, wounds, beggars, deformities, private parts, rotting food, tubes protruding from the body, and people talking with no listener in sight--as if looking (so the psychoanalytic story goes) for what is wrong, what is missing, or for reassurance that it isn't really missing ("the fetish"). Victor Burgin, Between, 1977 So Victor Burgin gives us one image of the scene of seeing--the voyeur's peek into the lighted room of an adjacent dwelling--(along with a little lecture about the paradox of the photographic image as fetish). This is the classical viewer/voyeur scene of unlicensed, transgressive seeing--the subject is exposed to our gaze unbeknownst to them. We assume they would not want us to be looking at them this way, and the exposure is all on one side. There is something transgressive here. A border is being crossed.

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But, so the argument goes, are we not being too hard on ourselves? Art is not a quarter a minute peep show, and anyway, aren't they supposed to know to pull down the blinds (and put some up!)? If they don't do it, and wander around at night naked with the lights on, are they not exhibiting their nakedness? Are they not perhaps even posing for us? Thus we come to Michael Fried's rich and celebrated discussions of absorption: the idea gained some currency in France from the time of Diderot that the viewer's pleasure in a painting with human figures, its ability to wholely engross the viewer, depends on the assumption that the subjects are not posing for us; rather, they are absorbed in whatever they are about, and this absorption is a condition for our absorption in viewing them. Since painters have always used models, this absorption effect is essentially an illusion, the conjuring of which posed a continuing problem for painters which they dealt with in various ways. Among the most inventive were Gustav Courbet, Fried argues, and douard Manet, whose most famous paintings are radical and modern precisely because they overturn the whole absorption game; Olympia and his famous picnicker are naked and do not merely vaguely look toward the viewer (is this "demand" or "offer"?); rather, they stare back in a fashion usually felt to be challenging or socially amused. Suddenly the old, stable arrangement of viewer and object is up for renegotiation, and has never been settled since. Indeed, a great deal of art photography and commentary in the last thirty years has worked over and upon this theme. See for example Kaja Silverman, On One way for a photographer to work these themes is to revisit the Threshold of the Visible World, the key paintings, especially those of Manet, and remake them Routledge, 1996 (so we overlap the topic of intertextuality here). Here I will look a some photographs by Jeff Wall, who seems to have set himself the goal of becoming the portrayer of modern life in late twentieth century Vancouver that Manet was in mid-nineteenth century Paris. Jeff Wall has been working mainly in large transparencies (which indicate a strong liking for the translumination that we are now used to in Net display of graphics). Stereo (here shown as installed/exhibited and also closer up) alludes doubtless to many of the nude ladies of the great oil tradition, and strikingly by way of contrast to Manet's Olympia, who as noted breaks out of the tradition to engage the viewer. Here we have the new absorption of the Walkman which disengages the young man from any sense of being viewed. The couch too contrasts with Olympia's--it is a $50 Salvation Army special with hairoil stains, Jeff Wall: Stereo, 1982 tattered piping and a nice, prominent stain. He doesn't need anybody or anything as long as he has his head space.

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Walkman-induced neoabsorption also caught the eye of Jan Saudek, who gave Velasquez's Rokeby Venus a similar makeover. The Velasquez original fits nicely into this theme of absorption and gaze. In it, Venus turns her back toward us and appears to be entirely absorbed in her own image in the mirror held by Cupid. But wait, if we can see her image, then she cannot: she sees our image, and so, more indirectly and discreetly than Olympia, she gazes back. (Click on the thumbnails--the filiation between the pictures is not evident otherwise.) Velasquez's "The Toilet of Venus" Clearly Saudek's take on the irruption of Walkmans into modern life is similar to Wall's: once again, a gaze that existed in the original is absorbed by the black hole of the "personal listening device." The idea of these images spoke so much to Saudek that he did a second "Walkman" version with a classical Narcissus image. Note here the very close attention to replicating the inner and outer fabrics and the position of the feet, which is just different enough to make it clear the whole assembly was photographed anew. Jan Saudek's "Walkman" Another of Jeff Wall's depictions of modern life (in particular, modern life in the Pacific Northwest) turns on a remaking of Manet's famous "Dejeuner sur la Herbe" (which keeps peeping throught the moving "reader" slit in the online version of this paper) as the very large transparency "The Storyteller" (229 x 437 cm). Here too we have gatherings in public park spaces, though the setting on the landscaped banks of a freeway overpass is a far cry from the Paris "herb" and the temperature is cooler, judging by the clothes of the figures and their little fire. Clearly, it is Vancouver (Wall taught Art History at Simon Fraser University for many years). The principle point of contact with Manet's Dejeuner is the group of three, most particularly the posture of the man, elbow on knee. Manet's grouping is directly lifted from Marcantonio Raimondi's The Judgment of Paris (--see Fried, Manet's Modernism , p. 56). But the relations are strikingly different: the three members of the group are engaged in the woman's story, and no one, naked or otherwise, has any awareness of or interest in us. I find this a salutary treatment for those who might yearn to go to Paris and live in the Impressionist period. (We should perhaps note that Manet's "Dejeuner" is a very strange painting--very hard to make narrative sense of (why is she sitting there nekid, the men clothed, and no one paying the slightest attention, except us?). At least one reader, namely the Barbie parodist Dean Brown, has visually shown another story painted over in the picture as we have it today.

Jeff Wall's "The Storyteller"

3.2 including the shooter The set of engagements (and non-engagements) is further enriched when the photographer includes himself or herself in

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the scene. I am not thinking primarily of Cindy Sherman, who includes herself as the main subject, but of photographers who depict themselves depicting. Such acts require mirrors and break the conventional twining of viewer's and photographer's eyes. That is, the viewer cannot be the "implicit photographer" when she sees the photographer represented behind the camera (assuming it is the camera that took the picture, shooting into a mirror). If she sees the photographer viewing through the taking lens, where is she viewing from? The classical precedents for such pictures are the grand canvases of Velasquez ( Los Meninas may it rest in peace) and Courbet ( The Painter's Studio ), but as paintings, the "viewer as painter" is less compelling. That is, we know that the painter can paint himself into the scene any day he pleases, but the sense of "shared instant of time" is so much stronger that these reflexive pictures are disorienting. The one resolution, I think, is to back the viewer away from imagining himself as interacting in a scene of photographing and promoting a kind of detached analysis (and perhaps admiration) of the artifice--or amusement at what can easily come off as self-deprecating. Jonathan Miller's On Reflection includes a couple of pages (pp. 184-5) of photographer's self-portraits with taking camera; one, by Andreas Kertesz uses a distorting lens and model to suggest the queerness of the situation. But perhaps the most copious and now well-discussed body of such self-portraits is by Helmut Newton. An introductionary essay by Urs Stahel to Helmut Newton: Selections from his Photographic Work ("Participating without Consequences: Rules and Patterns of Newton's Voyeurism, " pp. 19-30) discusses a number of Newton's pictures of himself at work photographing nudes. Among these is one ("Self Portrait with Wife June and Models," Paris, 1981) upon which Victor Burgin has lavished much semiotic and psychoanalytic attention. (see In/Different Spaces , University of California Press, 1996, cc. 2 and 3). Although Burgin begins with a textbook application of Barthesian semiotic analysis (first denotation--the non-codified description of the scene and then connotation--the cultural codes and associations of raincoats, FM spiked heels, pinup posture, followed by "rhetorical" patterning of antithesis and repetition), he moves toward explication of the feminist psychoanalytic Helmet Newton, "Self Portrait with argument of Laura Mulvey's work (and toward personal themes Wife June and Models (1981)" engaged by the picture). What both Burgin and Stahel ignore is Newton's opening up of the scene of the work and the consequences of glamour photography. This is a scene for dramatic imagining: what can the model be thinking as Newton's wife sits watching like a casting director? Is she turning toward him to receive instructions? What can Newton be thinking as he positions people (and make no mistake, they are all positioned) and dons a raincoat? Why does he make himself so short? What exactly might June be thinking? Is this a proper use of the Vogue Paris studio? Who's paying the model? and when we have finished all that, what about the other model? It seems to me this picture works exactly against Stahel's title: it drops the screens and baffles to expose relations that do have consequences-personal and material--that visual eroticism attempts to bracket and conceal.

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The last of these pictures thematizing the acts of viewing, making, and seeing is a near contemporary of Newton's "Self Portrait," namely, Jeff Wall's equally wellknown "Picture for Women." Like many other Walls, it has a precursor in Manet, namely "The Bar at the Folies Bergre." This too appears to have a mirror, this time behind the subject, in which her reflection, along with that of a patron, appears. The geometry, as has been noted by a number of critics, does not seem to be quite right: if we are standing more or less directly in front of her (though not meeting her gaze), then it is hard to know where Eduoard Manet: The Bar at the the other customer is located, or else where we are. (One Folies Berg" critical cartoon of the times drew the scene up supplying what M. Manet had "forgotten" to put it, namely the figure of the other customer standing to the right, back to our view. In a sketch for the painting, Manet posed the girl looking sharply to her left across the viewer's gaze to the customer.) It is above all the woman's posture that echoes Manet. Here we note a bit of illusionism even in classic realism--it is hard to imagine, given the scene Manet wants to evoke, where he would set his easel, or how it would look if he chose to paint it in. Wall, however, drops the illusion of being anywhere but his studio and also opens up the full apparatus of enhanced warehouse lighting and wiring, all of which set up superb parallel line grids to assist the eye in perspective. The light stands partition the composition into a triptych rather classically occupied by the the three principle persons: the subject, the photographer, and the camera eye/I (but the light favors her). The woman, once again reversing Manet, is looking directly at the viewer in as level a gaze as one could imagine--not Jeff Wall "Picture for Women, 1979" challenging, or flirtatious, or submissive, supplicating, the list goes on. Well, of course she isn't looking at you, she's looking at the camera, but Wall stands a good distance away from the camera and farther forward (that is a very long cable release he has there). He appears to be looking, off the mirror, at her. But the effect of moving away from the camera is to vacate the space of the viewing eye, which is then free for the viewer to fill. The central protagonist is the camera, and the camera is you. In his "Survey: The Mainstream and the Crooked Path" to Jeff Jeff Wall, eds. Thierry de Duve, Wall, (ed. Thierry de Duve, Arielle Pelenc, and Boris Groys, Arielle Pelenc, and Boris Groys, Phaidon, 1996) Thierry Duve celebrates this photograph as a Phaidon Press, Ltd., 1996. breakthrough modernist photograph. For him this means broadly "self-critical and self-referential" and narrowly "conscious of the medium," which in this case is the transparency of the picture's surface (p. 29). But I do not think we are made aware of the materiality of the photograph's (or transparency's) surface; rather, I think that our awareness that we are looking at a photograph collapses. Our brain tells us the woman is posed in an utterly contrived position with her hands resting on the edge of a plywood sheet not more than 4 feet wide facing directly into a large plate glass mirror. But perceptually one or two (incompatible) conclusions seem evident: either she and her assistant Mr. Wall are waiting for you to come to the camera to take the shot, or they are about to take your picture. This completes the turning of the tables on the viewer, who becomes, finally, the viewee. Surely the title, "Picture for Women" is some sort of pointer. Then her remarkable gaze becomes The Gaze, the regard classically directed from the male observor toward the female object, now here reversed.

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Conclusions Throughout we have been working with the modern notion of art as de-automatization--as making conscious and evident the grounds of normal day to day viewing--through the violation of conventions, some of them conventions of practical graphics and some of them conventions of classical art appreciation. On the issues of rhetorical signfication, tension between text and image, and the scene of viewing, we have been able to tease out interpretations according to regular and one hopes transportable principles, using text and figures of rhetorical form, though with no hope of a syntax-semantics mapping strings of images onto logical forms. The general point seems fairly evident that insofar as a certain image does deautomatize, it obtrudes its own making and functioning in ways that would interfere with its use in advertising or instruction. Hence these are not the images and ways of signifying that will be found in your basic corpus of practical working images. Over and over Tony Godfrey says of conceptualist art that its purpose is not to be beautiful but to make you think. Such art should resist adaptation to advertizing or instructional uses, especially the former, since the purpose of advertising is to focus your thoughts on the object for sale, not to make you think beneath the surface. But of course the industry employs many very clever people and its appetite for a new look is insatiable. Even locating the viewer as the maker of the image can be brought off, say, in a camera ad. Here is one last image--an advert for Agfa's digital camera from the August 1999 edition of Wired. In broad outline, of course, this is conventional to and beyond the hackneyed point, selling the camera as a sex-appeal-enhancing possession. But there is a special twist--this happy encounter occurs as the camera is being used, not just displayed. Assuming the picture is what "you" see, "you look up" seems to refer to the moment when you look up through the camera's viewfinder to shoot the woman in the second story window (this is why the window casement is appears so tipped inward at the top); "she sees you" in the act of shooting , approves of your somewhat cyborgian mien (which of course is not depicted), and blows you a kiss. The crucial clue for this interpretation is the slight vertical pinching in the middle of the picture (i.e., the top and bottom edges are not straight but curve inward, then outward again). This gives "viewfinder" look. So you want us to think about the scene of shooting? OK, we can use that to sell cameras too! "incredibly easy to use ePhoto digital cameras."

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SRB Archives This article appeared in Volume 6 (2) of The Semiotic Review of Books. SRB Insights: Can Pictures Lie? Winfred Noth Pictures have for a long time served as scapegoats to the apocalyptists in the domain of media studies. The apocalyptic scenario of the power which pictures exert in manipulating and deceiving the masses appears as early as 1895, when Gustave LeBon, in his Psychology of the Masses, describes the picture as a medium for manipulating the minds of the primitive ones: "The masses," he writes, "can only think in images and can only be influenced by means of pictures. Only pictures can frighten or persuade them and become the causes of their actions... To them, the unreal is almost as important as the real. They have a striking tendency not to make any difference" (Lebon 1895: S 3.2).

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In a less elitist vein, some modern critics of the mass media continue to deplore the decline of the age of verbal reasoning in the face of our present-day immersion in visual media from advertising to the computer screen. According to their scenario, the tyranny of the viewers' pictorial immersion results in uncontrolled emotional involvement with, - and the resultant lack of critical distance from - the pictorial message (Buddemeier 1993; 20). Whatever foundations such warnings against the manipulative power of pictures may have, we can only focus on one of its aspects, namely the question whether the alleged manipulative power of pictorial messages could also derive from an inherent semiotic potential to lie, that is, the creation of untrue pictorial statements with the intent to deceive. According to Umberto Eco's Theory of Semiotics, the question of whether phenomena can be used to convey a lie should be considered as crucial evidence of their sign nature. On the contrary, something that cannot be used to lie, should not be considered as an object of semiotic investigation. Eco (1976: 7) states these ideas in the following much quoted passage: Semiotics is concerned with everything that can be taken as a sign. A sign is everything which can be taken as significantly substituting for something else. This something else does not necessarily have to exist or to actually be somewhere at the moment in which a sign stands in for it.Thus semiotics is in principle the discipline studying everything which can be used in order to lie. If something cannot be used to tell a lie, conversely it cannot be used to tell the truth; it cannot in fact be used 'to tell' at all. I think that the definition of a 'theory of the lie' should be taken as a pretty comprehensive program for a general semiotics. There is little doubt that pictures can refer to something that does not exist or has even never existed, but do such pictures therefore lie?Surrealism has given ample evidence of paintings referring to mere imaginary objects.Consider, for example, Salvadore Dali's Burning Giraffe (1935), which shows a strange woman with open drawers protruding from her legs. We are hardly inclined to call the painter of this work a liar, but even the category of truth, at least in the positivist sense does not seem applicable. Although it is clear that pictures can refer to factual reality and to the unreal, the question whether they can convey a truth or a lie remains disputed. What is the semiotic potential of pictures? Can they express ideas that correspond to verbal messages at all, as the proverbial saying which states that "Pictures can tell a thousand words", suggests, or is the semiotic potential of a picture inferior to the one of language insofar as a picture is necessarily vague and in principle unable to depict any truth about the world, as some logocentric semioticians claim? If pictures cannot tell the truth it should also be impossible to use them in order to convey a lie. The question of truth or lie in pictures has a semantic, a syntactic, and a pragmatic aspect. From a semantic point of view, a true picture must be one which corresponds to the facts it depicts. From a syntactic point of view, it must be one which represents an object and conveys a predication about this object, and from the pragmatic point of view there must be an intention to deceive on the part of the addresser of the pictorial message. Let us begin with the semantic dimension of our topic. Photographs seem to be prototype of visual messages which are true because they fulfil the semantic criterion of correspondence to the facts. Under certain circumstances, photographs are even recognized by the courts as documentary evidence, which may replace evidence by ocular inspection or by verbal testimony (Robert 1974; 17). A pertinent example is the legal status of a passport photo as a document for establishing the real identity of the person presenting the passport to the authorities. From the legal point of view, truth, in the sense of correspondence between a signifier and its referential object, can thus be derived from photographic pictures. Semiotically, the correspondence of the photographic signifier with the object it depicts is grounded in what Peirce described as the indexical and the iconic nature of photography. Photographs correspond to the depicted world by their iconic nature because, as Peirce (CP 2.281), puts it, "we know that they

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are in certain respects exactly like the objects they represent." In addition to this correspondence by similarity, photographs also correspond to reality by their contiguity with the depicted object at the moment of their production. There is a "physical connection" between the signifier and its referential object since, as Peirce (CP 2,281) argues "photographs have been produced under such circumstances that they were physically forced to correspond point by point to nature." By this relation of productive causality, the photographic picture is defined as an indexical sign. It is primarily because of this indexical signature that we tend to see in the photographic signifier an affirmation of the existence of the depicted object. A semiotician who emphasized various aspects of this indexical nature of photography is Roland Barthes. In his words, the photograph is "an emanation of past reality" (Barthes 1980: 88), "one could think that photography always carries its referent with itself" (1980: 5), and the "noema of photography"is its message "this is the way it has been" (1980:77). Family photos, which remind us of real situations lived in the past, press photos, which document a historical event, such as the Stalin-Roosevelt-Churchill meeting of Teheran in 1943, or scientific photos, which show a real world object in all its details, are typical examples of indexical photographic reference and iconic correspondence between the photographic signifier and its object which testify to the truth potential of the photograph. Nevertheless, everyone knows that photographic correspondence can be manipulated. The referential object may be transformed in the picture, and its viewers arrive at the illusive or deceptive impression of a nonexisting object. This deceptive potential of the medium was recognized early in the history of photography and made use of in techniques, such as retouch, colour filtering, solarization, double exposure. By retouching, the signifier referring to an existing object could be made to disappear. By montage, a nonexisting object could make its appearance on the scene. Thus photography became a medium which lent itself to manipulation, deception, fakes, and forgeries. The more recent developments in computer graphics, with the new possibilities of shape blending, distortion, simulation, and other modes of digital image manipulation have greatly increased this deceptive potential of the medium. Manipulations of the photographic image provide a rationale for Umberto Eco's (1984: 223) argument that "photographs can lie". However, instead of a lie, these are mere visual metaphor, hyperbols not to be taken seriously. The difference between a really deceptive fake, a genuine visual lie, and our topic is in the pragmatic dimension of the photographic message. From the semantic point of view, our examples do exemplify the pictorial potential of lying. Just like fakes, manipulated photos are visual messages which depict, but do not correspond to the reality depicted. But before further specifying the pragmatic differences between lying and other modes of visual communication, we have to examine the syntactic dimension of truth and falsehood in pictorial messages. In language, only sentences, and not individual words, can be true or false. The statement The cat is on the mat may be true or false, but not the individual words cat and mat. Truth values can only be derived from sentences or propositions in which a subject or argument is in a syntactic relation to a predicate. Is it possible to discover similar syntactic conjunctions of visual signs in pictures? Since there are no words nor verbal propositions in pictures, let us use the more general semiotic terminology which Peirce introduced in the framework of his theory of signs: rheme, as the more general semiotic equivalent of words, and dicent, as the general equivalent of propositions. The question is then, can pictures function as autonomous dicentic signs, or do they only consist of rhematic signs? Do pictures only represent objects, or can they represent objects together with predications about these objects? For three very different reasons, the answers which the theory of pictorial representation has given to this question have been negative. These three arguments may be called contextual incompleteness, non-segmentability, and dicentic vagueness. The argument of contextual incompleteness was first exposed by Gombrich (1960: 58-59). In his view, pictures alone can never function like true or false statements. Only when a picture is accompanied by a caption or label can the resulting text-picture message convey a true or false proposition. Captions below press photos or a name below the picture of an object are his examples. The logician Bennett

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(1974: 263) interprets the picture in such text-picture combinations as "predicates in schemes of predication". According to this view, the photo of a Siberian Husky above the caption "Siberian Husky" functions as the pictorial predicate which combines with the written name as its verbal argument to form a true verbal-pictorial statement. An example of a false message of this kind would be one of Rene Magritte's paintings of objects with deceiving labels, for example, his work La Table, I'Ocan, le Fruit (1927),where the label "table" is attached to the picture of a green leaf and the label "fruit" to the picture of a jug. In such verbal-visual messages, it is not the picture alone which forms the proposition, and therefore Bennett (1974: 259) concludes: "Pictures are not themselves true or false, but only parts of things that can be true or false." Muckenhaupt (1984:88), in his book Text and Picture, basically agrees with Bennett with respect to this general argument of contextual incompleteness of pictures, but believes that the image in the textpicture context does not function like a predicate, but rather like the argument of a proposition. According to this interpretation, the picture of a car in a police photo functions as the pictorial argument of a dicentic message whose predicates are verbally expressed in the numbers on the license plate and on the speedometer. Whether the picture functions like an argument or as a predicate, what these interpretations have in common is that they consider the picture as an incomplete rhematic message which can function only as part of a larger dicentic whole when it appears in conjunction with a verbal message. Against this logocentric thesis of the dicentic incompleteness of pictures, I would like to argue that the function of pictures in text-picture combinations says nothing about the semiotic potential of pictures seen without labels or captions. The thesis that pictorial messages can only be completed by their verbal anchorage is rather an indicator of the logocentric bias to be found in the current theory of pictorial representation. In fact, although pictures without verbal anchorage may have become rare in our age of multimedia communication, such pictorial messages are by no means uncommon. In pictorial genres such a paintings, family photos, or touristic slides, the lack of verbal anchorage is even the rule. Nevertheless, we still have to decide whether we can expect to find anything like the dicentic duality of verbal argument-predicate structures in such pictorial messages, and this brings us to the second argument against the assumption of the dicentic structure of pictures, the argument of nonsegmentability. This argument is nicely developed in a paper by Jerry A. Fodor entitled "Imagistic Representation." Fodor (1981: 64-66) considers the possibility of a language, called, for the sake of argument, Iconic English, in which pictures might take the role that words play in a natural language. He concludes that no such pictorial language could exist because the linearization of arguments and predicates would prevent such pictorial words from being interpreted as a propositional whole. Fodor's example is: "Suppose that, in Iconic English, the word 'John' is replaced by a picture of John and the word 'green' is replaced by a green patch. Then the sentence 'John is green' comes out as (say) a picture of John followed by a green picture. But that doesn't look like John's being green; it doesn't much look like anything." In his search for a pictorial equivalent to verbal propositions, Fodor commits the error of projecting the linearity of verbal language onto the visual domain where simultaneity is the structural principle relating the rhematic elements in question. Against Fodor's logocentric bias, we have to raise the question why the mere picture of green-skinned John should not suffice to derive the holistic pictorial propositional message "John is green"? Would not the photo of our green John testify to his unusual colour in an even much more convincing way than the verbal statement "John is green"? We claim that the argument "John" and the predicate "is green" must thus be sought in pictorial simultaneity and not in contiguity; or, if the linguistic analogy is preferred: the visual predicate is suprasegmental to the segmental visual argument. The thesis of such a propositional structure in pictorial messages has actually been suggested earlier, namely in the semiotic theory of codes of the 1960's when the search for analogies between verbal and nonverbal messages was on the agenda of semiotic studies. Eco (1968: 236), e.g., following Prieto (1966), argues that pictures always have a propositional structure since "even the roughest silhouette of a horse does not correspond to the verbal sign 'horse', but to a series of possible propositions of the type 'standing horse in profile', 'the horse has four legs', 'this is a horse' etc." This early idea of a propositional structure in pictures, however, was not pursued very systematically since the discussion at the time was focused too much on the search for visual equivalents to the structural

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dividing line between the levels of first and second articulation in language, i.e., to words and phonemes. Nowadays, in the era of cognitive approaches to pictorial perception, since new evidence for the interrelation between visual cognition and propositional coding in our mental representation of pictures has been found (cf., e.g., Jorna 1990), the topic deserves to be resumed and further explored. After concluding that pictures do have the potential of fulfilling the criterion of propositional structure, let us turn to the third syntactic argument against the possibility of assigning truth values to pictures, the argument of dicentic vagueness. This argument claims that pictorial messages are so ambiguous, vague, and polysemous that they cannot serve to prove any truth or falseness. Both Gombrich and Fodor have defended this point of view. As far as ambiguity is concerned, Wittgenstein(1953: 140b) is quoted as a witness, who once remarked that a man walking up a hill forward corresponds equally, and in the same way, to a man sliding down the hill backward. This may well be so, but there is ambiguity in language, too, which cannot testify against the truth potential of sentences either. Even the classical example of an unambiguous sentence, The cat is on the mat, may have an ambiguity to it since "being on the mat" is a slang metaphor which can make the sentence mean "The cat is in trouble". Furthermore, the same picture of Wittgenstein's man which may be ambiguous in one respect may well convey other truths about this man, e.g., facts about his face, figure, clothing or age. Gombrich develops two arguments to prove that pictures cannot convey anything like a statement, and hence no true or false messages. The first argument is that pictures are vague, while sentences are not. Gombrich (1972: 82) explains: The sentence from the prime: "The cat sits on the mat" is certainly not abstract, but although the primer may show a picture of a cat sitting on a mat, a moment's reflection will show that the picture is not the equivalent of the statement. We cannot express pictorially whether we mean "the" cat (an individual) or "a cat" (a member of a class). This argument is clearly logocentric. It does not ask whether pictures can convey statements, but asks whether it can convey the same statement as a given sentence. The answer would be different if the picture were the point of departure in the comparison with verbal statements. A particular photograph of a cat on a mat, being an indexical sign, is certainly in the first place about an individual cat and not about a member of a class. Furthermore, the sentence The cat is on the mat is in many respects much vaguer than a photo. While the hearer of the sentence has to rely on many supplementary pieces of knowledge in order to ascertain the truth value of the verbal statement - e.g., which cat? or which mat? - the viewers of the photo have many more visual signifiers at their disposal to ascertain the truth of this pictorial statement. The individuality of the cat and the mat an be easily identified in many details. The logocentric bias behind Gombrich's argument is even clearer when he continues to discuss pictorial polysemy as a reason to contest the assertive potential of pictures. In his view, "although the sentence may be one possible description of the picture, there are an infinite number of other true descriptive statements you could make such as 'There is a cat seen from behind,' or for that matter 'There is no elephant on the mat' " (Gombrich 1972: 82). Fodor (1981: 66-67) derives the same argument from a different example: Suppose that the picture that corresponds to "John is fat" is a picture of John with a bulging tummy. But then, what picture are we going to assign to "John is tall"? The same picture? If so, the representational system does not distinguish the thought that John is tall from the thought that John is fat. (...) The trouble is precisely that icons are insufficiently abstract to be the vehicles of truth. Against Gombrich's and Fodor's view that pictorial polysemy prevents pictures from being vehicles of truth, I would like to argue that a message which conveys a plurality of facts about the world must not therefore be less true than a message that conveys only a single true statement. Neither polysemy nor ambiguity can thus be accepted as general arguments against the truth potential of pictures.

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Incidentally, the degree of pictorial polysemy and ambiguity tends to be greatly overestimated. Just like the polysemy of language, the plurality of pictorial meanings is restricted by contextual, cotextual and cultural knowledge. It is therefore absurd to conclude, as Fodor (1981: 68) does, that the picture of fat John "corresponds equally to John's being pregnant since, if that is the way that John does look when he is fat, it is also, I suppose, the way that he would look if he were pregnant." Turning to the pragmatic aspect of pictorial truth, we come back to the question whether pictures can assert at all. This question has to be considered because only those false messages count as a lie which are expressed in the assertive modality (cf. Kjerup 1974, 1978; Eaton1980; Korsmeyer 1985). Any lie implies a statement or assertion since the liar has the intention to deceive and pursues the goal to make the addressee believe in the truth of his or her proposition. Nothing can be judged as true of false if it is only expressed in the modality of possibility, fictionality, imagination, exemplification or as a mere question. This is why we could see no deceptive intention in the photo of our Man Without Qualities, in the manipulated photo of the buses in the soccer stadium, or in our distorted portrait. But can pictures assert at all? Is not their function restricted to the mere showing of the real or the imaginary? At this point we have to consider one of the most serious arguments against the assertive potential of pictures, which is the argument of their pragmatic indeterminacy. It was Wittgenstein (1953: 22) who developed it with the following example: Imagine a picture representing a boxer in a particular stance. Now, this picture can be used to tell someone how he should stand, should hold himself; or how he should not hold himself; or how a particular man did stand in such-and-such a place; and so on. One might (using the language of chemistry) call this picture a proposition-radical. According to Wittgenstein, the pragmatic function of pictures is thus open and undetermined. (Notice that Wittgenstein explicitly acknowledges the propositional potential of pictorial signs by calling it a propositional-radical.) This idea of pragmatic openness of pictures is one which Peirce ascribed in particular to the pictorial genre of photography, by defining photos as indexical signs. Insofar as they function as indices, photos are characterized by the criteria which Peirce (CP 3.361) specified for indexicality in general, namely: "The index asserts nothing; it only says 'There!' It takes hold of our eyes, as it were, and forcibly directs them to a particular object, and there it stops." And yet, pictures are used for assertive purposes in situations which exclude other pragmatic functions. In language, the speech act of asserting is effected by means of a proposition which represents an actual state of affairs. Police photos and scientific illustrations are equally used to represent, and hence to assert, an actual state of affairs. Only because they assert, and not for any other pragmatic function, can they serve as legal or scientific documents of truth. The assertive potential is even inherent in the genre of photography. Only a photo, and not a painting of a crime will be accented as a document of truth in court. Whenever signs can be used for asserting the truth they can also be used to deceive. If they assert they will be used as lies. A daily newspaper which publishes a photo in its news section asserts the reality of the scene in question. A manipulated photo of an honest politician shown in a scene toasting notorious gangsters whom he has never seen in reality (cf. Worth 1975: 100) is thus a photographic lie. Because of the documentary nature of this pictorial genre we take the photo as an assertion of the false scene as long as we are unaware of the manipulation. A painting of the same scene could only serve as a lie if accompanied by the statement of a witness testifying to its truth. A final question to be considered is whether the assertive function of pictures can be derived from pictures alone or whether nonpictorial signs are required as indicators of their truth claim. The answer is that pictures and sentences in this respect, are both alike and different. They are alike because sentences in isolation cannot be judged for their truth either. The cat is on the mat is a sentence whose function may be to assert, but it may also be used with a poetic or a metalingual purpose because it rhymes or because it exemplifies a particular way of using language. Thus, both verbal and pictorial messages have to be interpreted within their larger context. The difference between verbal and pictorial assertions is that the contextual indicators of an assertion in the medium of language can be expressed in the same medium, while those of pictorial messages

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cannot. While we can verbally reinforce the credibility of our claims by illocutionary verbs such as "I assert that", "I declare that", or "I swear that", and similar metalingual devices, pictures have no such metasemiotic means of asserting their truth (cf. Kjerup 1978: 65), unless the inherent assertive force of photographs is counted as such a metasemiotic device. Notice, however, that the explicit contextual use of an illocutionary label of assertion in language is rather the exception than the rule (cf. Wittgenstein 1953: 22) and that there are also many contextual indicators of truth or lies which are nonverbal, e.g., the nonverbal reaction of blushing and similar reactions of interest in a lie detector test. Other nonlinguistic determinants of the assertive power of verbal utterances include the credibility of the witness or the situational probability of the truth of the verbal claim. Questioning the truth value of pictures has had a long philosophical tradition. A logocentric bias against the truth potential of pictures can be found as early as with Plato, who wrote: "Painting is far from truth, and therefore, apparently, painting has the effect of reaching only little of everything, and that only in a shadow image" (Politeia X, 598b). The galactic evolution of pictures from Plato's shadow images to documentary and computer manipulated photographs has made a reconsideration of the topic necessary. Semiotics, although not immune against logocentrism, has provided tools for analyzing the topic of truth or lie in pictures without the logocentric bias. Sebeok (1986), e.g., has shown that lying is by no means restricted to verbal semiosis since it can be found with animals, and the semiotic of pictures has made advances in investigating pictures as a system of signs autonomous with respect of verbal language. The result of our study was that pictures can be used to assert or to deceive about facts from the semantic, syntactic, and with certain reserves, also from the pragmatic dimension. This does not mean that asserting and lying are very typical modes of pictorial information. Most of the manipulative strategies of pictorial information in the media are not direct falsifications of reality expressed in the assertive mood, but manipulations by means of a plurality of indirect modes of conveying meanings. References Barthes Roland. Camera lucida: Reflections on photography. London: Cape, (1980) 1982. Bennett, John G. "Depiction and convention." In The Monist 58, pp255-268, 1974. Buddemeier, Heinz. Leben in kunstlichen welten: Cyberspace, Videoclips und das tagliche Fernsehen. Stuttgart: Urachhaus, 1993. Eaton, Marcia. "Truth in pictures." Journal of aesthetics and art criticism 39,15-26, 1980. Eco, Umberto. (La struttura assente, trans.) Einfuhrung in die Semiotik. Muchen: Fink, (1968) 1972. --- A theory of semiotics. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1976. --- Semiotics and the philosophy of language. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1984. Fodor, Jerry A. "Imagistic representation." In: Ned Block, ed. Imagery. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 6386, 1981. Gombrich. Ernst H. Art and illusion. London: Phaidon, (1960) 1968. ---Symbolic images. Edinburgh: Phaidon, (1972) 1975. Jorna, Rene J. Knowledge representation and symbols in the mind. Tubingen: Stauffenburg, 1990. Kjerup, Seren. "Doing things with pictures." In The Monist 2, 216-235, 1974. --- "Pictorial speech acts." Erkenntnis 12 55-71, 1978.

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Korsmeyer, Carolyn. "Pictorial assertion." Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 43 257-265, 1985. LeBon, Gustave. Psychologie des foules, dt. Psychologie der Massen. Stuttgart: Kroner, (1895) 1973. Muckenhaupt, Manfred. Text and Bild. Tugingen: Narr, 1986. Peirce, Charles S. Collected papers. Vols. 1-6 ed. Hartshorne, Charles, and Weiss, Paul; vols. 7-8 ed. Burks, Arthur W. Cambridge, Mass." Harvard University Press, 1931-58. Prieto, Luis J. Messages et signaux. Paris: Presses Universitaires, 1966. Robert, Oliver. Der Augenschein im Strafprozelss. Zurich: Schulthess, 1974. Searle, John R. Speech acts. Cambridge: University Press, 1969. Sebeok, Thomas A. "Can animals lie?" In T.A. Sebeok I think I am a verb. New York: Plenum, 126130, 1986. Wahner, Matthias. Mann ohne Eigenschaften - Man without qualities. Munchen: Stadtmuseum, 1994. Wittgenstein, Ludwig. Philosophische Untersuchungen - Philosophical Investigations. Oxford: Blackwell, 1953. Worth, Sol. "Pictures can't say ain't." Versus 12,85-108, 1975. Winfried Soth is Professor of English Linguistics at the University of Kassel, Germany. He is the author of several books and numerous articles in linguistics and the semiotics of art, literature and the media. His Handbook of Semiotics appeared in English in 1990 (Indiana University Press).