Acknowledgments I am grateful to my colleague Rebecca Zurier for generous guidance; to Alan Fern—who worked with Edgar Breitenbach at the Library of Congress for twelve years and succeeded him in —for illuminating conversations and a read-through of the text; to Lois Fern for edits; and to Jennifer B. Article Metrics Views. Article metrics information Disclaimer for citing articles. Login options Log in. Username Password Forgot password? Shibboleth OpenAthens. Restore content access Restore content access for purchases made as guest. Article Purchase - Online Checkout.
Issue Purchase - Online Checkout. People also read Article. The mothers range from Hispanic to Asian, sometimes their children are nursing on the left breast, as the child in the iconic photo had done earlier and sometimes they are just being held as in the icon. The template also may be at work in a Time cover that places a woman carrying her child at the front of a migration of civilians during the war in Kosovo. It also may be reinforced by the circulation of a lesser known image taken during the same year of a nursing mother looking upward anxiously amidst a crowd in Estremadura, Spain.
In the late s and early s the photograph was featured once again in a way that underscored its ideological significance, this time as a point of articulation between American liberal democracy and late capitalism. In the unnamed women in the photograph was identified in an Associated Press AP story published initially in the Los Angeles Times and then syndicated across the nation.
The story is not subtle in its contrast between the unnamed woman in the photograph and Thompson herself. The woman in the photograph is contemplative, apparently concerned about her children and family; Thompson is bitter, angry, alienated not so much by her past as a migrant worker but by the commodification of her image that completely divorced the woman in the photograph from the living Thompson. She never did. Here, of course, we see what happens when the living, named subject of the photograph speaks back in a way that undermines the structure of feeling that the photograph has conventionally evoked.
In the original photograph the viewer is invited to identify with and act upon the victimage and despair of an anonymous migrant mother as a duty of family and community. When she speaks back and demands compensation, the aura of the original—or at least the presumed authenticity of the original structure of feeling—is destroyed, and underneath is revealed a harsh and corrupting world of alienated labor and commercial exploitation. The expectation created by the iconic image is that one should feel concern and commitment, a willingness to help those worthy of public support; instead, the AP article portrays greed and ingratitude.
This article is particularly troubling because it cuts in two directions. On the one hand, it questions the motives of Lange and those who subsequently have profited financially and otherwise from the photograph. The closing line of the article is poignantly ironic in this regard.
The story, however, does not end here. Five years later Thompson, now a victim of cancer, suffered a stroke that rendered her speechless.
Her grown children, now voiced, explained that their mother lived on Social Security and that she had no medical insurance; she was a victim of circumstances. They thus pleaded for funds to help cover her medical costs. Florence Thompson died shortly thereafter, but not before experiencing the impact of her own disembodied iconicity on U.
The story continues to circulate but not as the full story. It has been neatly edited to feature only the shift from poverty then to prosperity now, a change illustrated by a picture of mom with her three daughters from the photo, who now are beaming, healthy adults. What more does one need to know? Dad is still absent—not in the picture, and never mentioned—and perhaps that erasure schools the viewer not to ask too many questions. Yet despite the journey to Happyville, the second photo still contains a haunting echo of the original.
Thompson does not look happy. Indeed, she looks beaten, with downcast eyes and a sagging body that is tilting sideways as if she might fall. More tellingly, her hands again speak volumes. The right hand is, after all those years, still touching her cheek in a gesture of self-consciousness or anxiety. Whereas her daughters look directly at the viewer with snapshot smiles, Thompson still is being offered for view. She remains passive, dependent on others for help, intimately tied to her family but an object rather than agent of public opinion. The narrative explains away this possible dissonance by saying that she felt more at home in the trailer than in the suburban tract house her children had provided her.
Still a migrant, Thompson remains trapped in her past, unable to participate fully in the new culture of consumption. Her daughters have no such handicaps, however, and in any case the contradiction between individual self-assertion and collective identity has been artfully erased.
Dorothea Lange FSA Photographs Book Series: olinefunin.ga
Although Thompson and each of her three daughters in the picture now are named, she can never achieve full individuality, while their individual lives stand as narrative fulfillment of and substitute for the political program that undergirded their lives and came to be symbolized by her image.
As with any icon, it has been altered for comic effect, although less so than some. Frankly, there is little to exploit in that regard, and perhaps it is significant that the most widely available instances treat gender ironically. It is worth noting also that the image appeared amidst shots of military action. What otherwise would be an incongruous association provides a leveling of the hierarchy of national service.
Dorothea Lange’s Censored Photographs of the Japanese American Internment
If antipoverty programs are as important as the army, then perhaps there was less reason to fault Clinton for his lack of a military record. And the beat goes on. I saw and approached the hungry and desperate mother, as if drawn by a magnet. I do not remember how I explained my presence or my camera to her, but I do remember she asked me no questions.
I made five exposures, working closer and closer from the same direction.
I did not ask her name or her history. She told me her age, that she was thirty-two. She said that they had been living on frozen vegetables from the surrounding fields, and birds that the children killed. She had just sold the tires from her car to buy food. There she sat in that lean-to tent with her children huddled around her, and seemed to know that my pictures might help her, and so she helped me. There was a sort of equality about it. After Lange returned home, she told the editor of a San Francisco newspaper about conditions at the camp and provided him with two of her photographs.
The editor informed federal authorities and published an article that included the images. In response, the government rushed aid to the camp to prevent starvation. According to Thompson's son, Lange got some details of this story wrong, but the impact of the picture was based on the image of the strength and need of migrant workers.
According to an essay by photographer, Martha Rosler , the photo became the most reproduced photograph in the world. In , Lange was awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship for achievement in photography. Much of her work focused on the waiting and uncertainty involved in the removal: piles of luggage waiting to be sorted, families wearing identification tags while awaiting transport. Her images were so obviously critical that the Army impounded most of them, and they were not seen publicly during the war.
Imogen Cunningham and Minor White also joined the faculty. In , Lange co-founded the photography magazine Aperture. In the mids, Life magazine commissioned Lange and Pirkle Jones to shoot a documentary about the death of Monticello, California and the subsequent displacement of its residents by the damming of Putah Creek to form Lake Berryessa. Because the magazine did not run the piece, Lange devoted an entire issue of Aperture to the work.
The collection was shown at the Art Institute of Chicago in In the last two decades of her life, Lange's health declined. Lange died of esophageal cancer on October 11, , in San Francisco, California, at age seventy. Three months later, the Museum of Modern Art in New York mounted a retrospective of her work, which Lange herself had helped to curate.
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. American photojournalist. Hoboken, New Jersey , U. San Francisco, California , U. Maynard Dixon m. Paul Schuster Taylor m. Sterling, Christopher H. Encyclopedia of Journalism.
Thousand Oaks, Calif. Encyclopedia of New Jersey. Encyclopedia of American Journalism. November 16, Archived from the original on August 25, Retrieved September 3, Dorothea Lange. Gordon, Linda, Second ed. New York City.