Introduction: Anthropology, Photography and the Archive

Introduction

Since the publication of Anthropology and Photography (Edwards 1992) almost two decades ago, there has been an explosion of anthropological interest in historical ethnographic photography and other photographic practices associated with the discipline. Of course there were contributions prior to 1992, significantly Scherer (1975; see also Scherer 1990 for a comprehensive overview) and Edwards and Williamson (1981), and of course the relationship between anthropology and photography is as old as the discipline. However, through their consideration of the anthropological photographic archive (in this case, the collections of the UK’s Royal Anthropological Institute) the various contributors brought photographs from the discipline’s past into the present in a series of new, and challenging, ways.

What the contributors to that volume spurred was a reconsideration of what to many were now devalued photographs: devalued by their artificiality (for example, the posed studio shots of J. W. Lindt—see Poignant 1992: 54), by their overtones of scientific racism (see Maxwell 2008) or simply by their presumed lack of relevance to the post‐war anthropological project, anxious as it was to avoid being seen as the discipline that studied primitive peoples. From the 1990s onwards, there was a growing sense that such images could be read in a way that went beyond or behind the photographers’ (presumed) intentions and instead provided access to historical traces of the peoples depicted. No matter how staged or seemingly artificial, these images recorded points in individual and collective lives in which the subjects were sutured into the anthropological project. One task since then has been to unpick those stitches and reconnect the subjects with their personal and collective biographies; another has been to attempt to recover the detail of the relationships through which their images came to be sutured into the anthropological project in the first place; yet another has been to examine further sutures, or the ways in which historic ethnographic photographs have been reinterpreted, and reused, in the period since their creation.

The contributors to that also spurred a reconsideration of another class of previously marginalized photographs, namely the “popular” ethnographic imagery of colonial‐era picture postcards, “ethnographic shows”, and colonial exhibition displays (see especially Poignant 1992, and Street 1992). Again, there had been significant contributions to the study of these forms before 1992 (for example, a renewed anthropological interest in ethnographic picture postcards dates from at least the mid 1980s; see Albers & James 1990; Alloula 1986; Geary & Webb 1998). Nevertheless, the contributors’ reconsideration of the relationship between these sorts of image and the more “professional” anthropological photographs held in institutional collections opened up their study in new ways. For example, it was now recognized that a certain degree of “cross‐fertilization” had gone on between the two types of picture, while a broader survey of the RAI’s own archive revealed that the collection was in fact made up of both types of imagery (Poignant 1992).

In these ways, then, the contributors to Anthropology and Photography introduced —or at least, helped to crystallize—a series of debates about the nature of the ethnographic archive (and about the movement of photographs through this); about the role of this archive in the ongoing construction of historical narratives (and in all forms of what Werbner has called “memory practice”, 1998); and about the value we attach to different sorts of historical ethnographic imagery. In so doing, they also spurred a similar questioning of photographic archives in general—be they official, personal, or even accidental (and for heuristic purposes here, we define “photographic archive” broadly, as a concept which refers to any set or collection of historical photographs, brought together with some purposeful intent, if only for storage). Thus, in the period since that volume’s publication, a similar set of debates has continued to shape anthropological studies of practically all forms of historical photography. So it is, then, that the papers which are collected in this issue address each of these debates as they have developed over the last two decades and—particularly taken together—attempt to advance these areas of concern in a number of ways.

In and Out of the Archive

Over the past two decades, ongoing attempts to “unstitch” photographic archives, by elucidating the relationships through which they have been brought together in the first place, and through which they may have later become connected to other archives, has led to an increased focus in visual anthropological studies upon the movement, or circulation, of images (Poole 2005: 162). In other words, an emphasis upon (different types of) photographic exchange in fact reveals all image collections to have been shaped by myriad flows, and all of them to be embedded within wider “visual economies” (to borrow Deborah Poole’s phrase, 1997), albeit in ones of varying scale. As Elizabeth Edwards puts it, an “exploration of the structuring forms of accession, the processes of collecting and description, contexts of collecting and use and the range of social practices associated with them at a historically specific level” in a sense reveals all archives to be nothing more than “an accumulation of micro‐relationships in which objects are involved” (rather than the outcome of some sort of a “universalizing desire” [2001: 7, 28–29]). The approach also reveals, for example, that all of the “great” anthropological archives that were created during the late nineteenth century (such as the RAI collection) were embedded in a wider visual economy of photographic “collecting clubs” (which had become increasingly popular in Britain, at least, from the 1860s onwards [2001: 29–33]).

All of the contributors to this collection share an interest in this theme of movement, or the way in which images circulate in and out of archival collections of various kinds (again, be these official or personal, planned or “evolved” over time). This movement, coupled with the notion of photographic performance—that is, each printing, publication or display of an image is akin to the performance of an intangible art object, such as a dance ² —allows us to see images as essentially labile and fluid artefacts, at once “at home” in any context, while at the same time in transit (albeit sometimes glacially slowly). Specifically, though, the papers collected here show a particular interest in those forms of circulation which result in photographic images “crossing” from one categorical domain into another, or from one set of material relations into another. In terms of the former, one major concern of all of the articles is the slippage that occurs when photographs move between realms of private and public. This transition may happen within an archive, as Zeitlyn demonstrates through his discussion of the ways in which self‐authored images of an African studio photographer have slipped between a myriad of other images of clients.

However, this slippage appears to be particularly pronounced when photographs transit into new social contexts. For example, James explores how the same set of images from her own archive came to take on very different meanings when they were “performed” (as slide shows) in different, private and public, contexts. So, too, Vokes shows how images taken by a range of private individuals in early colonial Uganda came to be differentially encoded within two public collections: an official album and a set of commercial postcards. Meanwhile, McKay demonstrates that this process can work in both directions, and that formerly public images may also become reworked in private collections. Thus, she explores how social networking sites such as Facebook allow for the creation and curation of personal archives, as Filipinos appropriate visual material from diverse sources to fulfil personal cultural projects. However, public images—such as those of old Filipino street scenes and buildings scanned from books and other publications—frequently become recoded as (semi‐)private on these web pages, as they are adopted as profile or album images. In contrast, Halvaksz describes just how hard it can be to gain access to images in more formal archives.

The movement of photographic objects between archival contexts, and, in particular, the movement back and forth between the private archive—the personal collections of studio portraits (Zeitlyn), the boxes of traveller’s slides (James), the jumble of photographs in a plastic bag (Bajorek)—and the public one—the official album, the series of commercial postcards (Vokes), the Internet website (McKay), the institutional archive (Bell, Halvaksz)—has a parallel with Kopytoff’s identification of the transit of objects between gift status and commodity status (Kopytoff 1986). The “value” here is largely cultural and social—for example, an image of “starving people” (James) has one kind of value when presented to family members, and quite another when presented to classroom of students. Moreover, the moral economies of the public and private archives are not only different but are themselves subject to change and reformulation. Thus, the students in the James example consume (we are sure) in an intellectually engaged way, but their concept of “here” (as in Barthes’ famous—“the there then becoming the here now” [Barthes 1977: 44]) is a disembedded “here”. For the same reason, previously overlooked images in the public archive can take on charged resonance while remaining in the archive, opening up the archive itself to much scrutiny, while images in the private archive can suddenly burst to fame. ³

Thus, the transit of an image between the private and public (and vice versa) has the potential to rework the meanings which attach to it. Yet more than this, it may do so in ways which obscure, even erase, the prior “social biography” of that image (defined in terms of the relations of its production, any exchange relations through which it has previously passed, and other collections in which it had been previously placed, and so on). In this way, images in transit may even be thought of as what Bruno Latour has called “circulating referents” (1999), mobile signs which through multiple acts of “translation”—in this case across the realms of public and private—become subject to multiple erasures (with the particular archives in question becoming, in a sense, the “mediators” of those multiple translations, see also Latour 2005: 106–109). The process is explored most fully by Zeitlyn, who uses an African studio photographer’s own images to construct his professional biography and thus to “see” the moments of photographic creation for other images in the collection, and by Vokes, who painstakingly unpicks the sorting and selection behind two corpora of images in order to uncover their raw, pre‐archival origins. However, its effects are central to many of the papers collected here. Thus, for example, an attempt to recover that which has been erased through previous circulations forms one of the primary motivations for both Bell and Halvaksz, in their own attempts to reconnect institutional archival images—in both cases sets of photographs taken by colonial patrol officers—with their “villages of origin”.

In addition, the transit of images either within or between archives may also alter the nature of their material relations. Again, to borrow a Latourian idiom, it may result in their becoming located within different sorts of material assemblage. In recent years, a range of theorists have emphasized the distinction between the photographic image and the material object upon which it is made manifest, not least to remind us that the same image can be reproduced across two different objects—for example, through reprinting—in a process which may significantly alter the meanings which attach to that image (Edwards & Hart 2004; see also Peffer 2009, and Vokes, this volume). However, the types of assemblage with which the contributors to this volume are most concerned are those which reveal meaning between different image‐objects. Thus, one key theme running through many of the papers here is the notion of photographic images in conversation or in dialogue with one another. Perhaps the largest corpus of photographs with which our contributors engage is the more than 40,000 negatives and prints produced by the Cameroonian studio photographer, Jacques Touselle, discussed by Zeitlyn. Of the many conversational threads running through this corpus (of which the most dominant is one about the identity and the state, as many of the images were created for identity cards) one into which Zeitlyn tunes is an unexpectedly playful discourse about the photographer’s own self, including his interventions in the photographs of others. Zeitlyn refers to this behaviour as “Hitchcock‐like” and, indeed, from the images themselves, there is clearly a strong element of fun and playfulness. However, there is also an element of agency exercised, of demonstrating mastery of the technology to the extent that Tousselle can be both within and without the images at the same time—he talks to himself about photography as much as he talks to his pupils, Chila and “Kondja”, through and with these images. In the same vein, the self‐images talk about negotiation and boundary crossing: the upward socio‐economic trajectory of the horse rider, the motorbike owner, the car owner, set against that of the “traditional elder”. ⁴

Time and Memory

It is a banality to note that photographs reference (the passing of) time and invoke memory in their viewing. What many of the contributors to this issue are able to do is to observe or infer the moments of production and the intentionalities or agency at work, allowing us to glimpse the sedimentation of memory and history down the years. In addition, many of the papers index the socio‐historical specificities that emerge from encounters with historical photographs.

Bell and Halvaksz both provide examples of the ways in which contemporary subjects become reacquainted with images of their forebears and ancestors and how in turn those ancestral images and biographies become resutured into living memory. In recent years, such photographic “repatriation” projects have boomed (see, for example, Peers and Brown 2006) and many museums have begun to open their image collections to members of the source communities whose images are contained therein. Moreover, the increasingly easy access to historical photographic collections, through the Internet for example, means that increasingly, individuals and groups can locate their own ancestral images without needing the visiting anthropologist to facilitate access (though Halvaksz provides a strong counter‐example). The relationships that descendants develop with their imaged ancestors are various, however; Bell notes how younger men laughed at the lack of clothing, while nonetheless appreciating the images, while older men recalled the former ritual system that had been swept away by economic and religious change.

Meanwhile, McKay shows how such resuturing can be driven by a conjunction of cultural reappropriation and psychological need. By drawing on images of “Old Philippines” or “Baguio Old Times” for their Facebook profiles and albums, McKay’s Filipino subjects filter their understandings of the presence of the past in the present through a modality of subjectivity that shows a correct sense of how others will respond to self‐presentation. A mixture of “humility and self‐expression” is required in one’s self‐presentation, such that when personal emotional trauma was experienced, one user chose to replace their normal profile image portrait with grainy historical images. These images were a delicate allusion to belonging and biographical time and to cultural embeddedness.

Images like these—of “Old Phillipines”, for example—can be located at one end of a spectrum of historical accessibility, one which allows for subsequent reappropriation. Precisely because they do not have any kin or other familial link to the contemporary Filipino Facebook users (as far as we know), they are open to all manner of uses; a link can be crafted, or merely inferred, that others within the same community of discourse will recognize. At the other end of the spectrum lie examples such as the memorial and mourning photographic jewellery objects discussed by Batchen (2004, and cited by Vokes). While heartbreakingly intimate at the time of their production, so precise are their representations of relationships that they remain locked in time, those relationships frozen at the time of death. Images such as these, tied down by hair, locked into broaches, are not only extremely private (Batchen provides several examples where the identity of the subject has been lost to the passing of years); they are also almost impossible to wrench from their context. The memory work they once did cannot be transferred more than one kin link or so, either vertically or laterally. They can, of course, be displayed, as Batchen did, ⁵ but there are few, if any, who might make any form of intimate engagement with them today. Even more sharply located at the end of this spectrum are the post‐mortem photographs favoured by certain sections of society in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (see Ruby 1995); today, once viewers realize that the photographic subjects were not alive at the time the image was made, they are extremely unlikely to wish to form any kind of association.

While none of the contributors to this issue is dealing with such images (although images of those recently deceased, albeit living at the time of production, can be troubling, for example in some Aboriginal societies; see, especially, the contributions to Smith & Vokes 2007), several discuss highly personal photographs, ones tied intimately to specific places, times and relationships. James, for example, describes her father’s photographs of East Africa and the West Indies as reference points for inter‐familial relations, as well as depictions of those persons he encountered overseas. Following our discussion of the fluidity of the archive above, and the trajectory of images from private to public, in this personal archive the private and public are fused, the nuances of difference being revealed in the context of slide‐show performances. Bajorek, too, in a discussion of otherwise very public photographs, describes a moment of familial intimacy, recognition and memory work as a woman she does not know is unexpectedly shown a photograph of her aunt taken many years before. The image was known but not seen for many years, yet instantiated an already known link between two persons and a place (the house) in the mind of the woman.

It is, of course, not merely personal subjectivity that is referenced through photographic production, photographic choice and photographic apperception. As Bajorek reminds us (via Andermann 2007) the state itself can deploy photography as a mechanism for the very manufacture of history, via the manufacture of citizens and their identity cards and other scoping practices (mentioned also by both Vokes and Zeitlyn). The state can also constrain images from, and of, history: Halvaksz describes the sense of “mystery and power” that Biangai people associated with the National Archives of Papua New Guinea, the home of documents and images that might settle land rights disputes, but which might also flood the present with unsettling reminders of past religious practices. As Edwards and Morton note: “If history is textured by archival patterns, the contestation of those histories also constitutes a contestation of the archive” (2009: 11).

While the modern state increasingly deploys technologies of surveillance, in the form of CCTV and the use of stills and video cameras by police and security forces at demonstrations and protests, the roots of such practices lie deep; indeed, from the time of Bertillon and his work with the Paris police in creating primitive databases of criminal mug shots in the 1880s, the camera has been allied to the disciplinary practices of the state. Yet in recent years there have been challenges to the earlier, perhaps easier Foucauldian approaches to such photographic enterprises. Pinney, Edwards and others have pointed out that colonial subjects can and did appropriate the technology of the camera (for example, Pinney 1997: 84–97ff.), or at least bend its representations to their own ends (for example, Edwards 2001: Ch. 5) while David Odo has shown how the state itself—in this case the Japanese state with regard to a distant island group—was not immune from doubt and could be uncertain about such mapping projects (for example, Odo 2009). But the state—colonial or post‐colonial—does not maintain a monopoly over image formation in the service of citizen identities. With practices ranging from the personal and sly (Zeitlyn’s description of the photographer Jacques Tousselle mischieviously photographing himself in the uniform of a police officer) to the collective carving out of new forms of social identity (such as “celebrities” or “men of science"—see Hamilton and Hargreaves 2001) citizens and subjects have exploited the polyvalent properties of photographic representation not merely to insert themselves into history, but to create new histories.

The Mundane and the Extraordinary

Recent attempts to “unstitch” colonial photographic archives, by elucidating the relationships through which they have been brought together, has also led to a general re‐evaluation of the relative analytical and theoretical weight we afford, as visual anthropologists, to different sorts of historical ethnographic imagery. Specifically, it has revealed that the sorts of exchange relationship with which we are concerned here were invariably sustained in and through circulations of not only “professional”, or official, types of ethnographic portraiture, but also through exchanges of “popular” and “vernacular” forms as well. This is equally true of the sorts of relations in which late nineteenth‐century academic anthropologists were engaged (see Edwards’ discussion of “collecting clubs”, above), as it is of the connections that were forged by the photographic curator of a public archive, El Hadj Adama Sylla, in late colonial Senegal (see Bajorek, this volume). Yet if this is the case, then it compels us once again to expand our very definitions for these archives (to include these popular and vernacular forms within them). In addition, it requires us to expand our study of these popular forms, to pay closer attention to the way in which they, too, may have been also generative of the kinds of idea and identity which now attach to these same archives.

Take, for example, ethnographic picture‐postcards. Writing in 1997, David MacDougall noted that anthropology was “beginning to pay attention to a range of cultural forms that have received only patchy anthropological attention before: historical photographs, news photography … postcards, stereographs … “ and so on (1997: 283, emphasis added). However, still by that time, many visual anthropologists, and others, continued to perceive a clear distinction between professional, or academic, ethnographic portraiture, and the type of imagery that was reproduced on these more “popular” forms (see, for example, Coombes 1994). Thus, items such as picture postcards—especially those which were commercially mass‐produced for an international market—continued to be interrogated primarily in terms of what they revealed about wider (Euro‐American) public discourses about Africa, the Pacific and so on. Certainly, this approach produced many important studies (for the best introduction, see Geary & Webb 1998; for an excellent example from the Pacific, see Quanchi & Shekleton 2001).

However, as the focus turned increasingly to the relationships through which all sorts of archival image have been circulated, it became increasingly clear that any neat distinction between the two categories of image could no longer be sustained. On the one hand, whereas “scientific and popular forms of representation [had been] commonly perceived as diffferent discursive modes”, it was now realized that “these modes of expression are not, however, as far apart as might be assumed since they both emanated from and shared common ideological ground” (Geary 1998: 150; see also Peterson 2005). On the other hand, and even more specifically, a focus on these relations of production revealed that scientific and popular archives frequently shared a common genealogy. We have already noted that the RAI’s collection is now recognized to be made up of both sorts of image (above). However, Geary’s work on colonial photography in the Bamum Kingdom—a former German possession in the present‐day Republic of Cameroon—reveals even more direct examples. Specifically, Geary’s work has highlighted how “academic” ethnographic portraits, such as those taken by missionaries of the Basel Mission, were frequently simply converted into popular formats, through a process of reprinting (1998: 154–155). In these instances, then, the “scientific” and the “popular” archives are in fact constituted of exactly the same images (see also Geary 1988; Vokes, this volume, explores a similar set of examples from early colonial Uganda).

The implication, then, is that image‐objects such as picture postcards may be interpreted as more than just metaphors of popular discourse. Indeed, we may even consider the ways in which such media provide an insight into colonial visual practices that allows us to look back and reconsider the photographic practices of anthropology at the time. In particular, the ways in which “there” was represented to those at home served not merely a representational, or an educational, function, but also enmeshed those “there” in the lives of metropolitan subjects “here”—some of the postcards Vokes considers have been used for their communicative function and therefore instantiate rather than merely represent the colonial experience. ⁶ Interestingly, Edwards develops a similar argument in relation to more recent ethnographic picture postcards, as are circulated as part of the contemporary international tourist experience. As she also argues,

the exoticism manifested in these postcards is not merely the outpouring of vaguely defined cultural baggage or regurgitation of stereotype on the one hand or, on the other, insignificant ephemera. Rather, and more importantly, this exoticism both influences and is influenced by the central motivating structures in the touristic process itself, conspiring to create and sustain tourist desire and fantasy. (1996: 197)

Similarly too, with the study of certain forms of “vernacular” photography, a distinction used to be made between those sorts of ethnographic photograph that had been produced for “scientific” purposes (that is, those which had been created for museum display, or for publication in a monograph), from those which were instead created in a more “vernacular” mode (that is, those which had been produced for primarily private, quotidian consumption). However, if the new focus on circulations has revealed just how potentially arbitrary, and fluid, is the boundary between public and private archives (above), then so too it has suggested that these other, more mundane, types of photography may also be worthy of more detailed investigation, not least as another set of media through which to explore the history of photographic practices in anthropology. Thus, for example, a range of studies have revisited Bronislaw Malinowski’s photographs from his 1915–1918 fieldwork in the Trobriand Islands (Young 1998), Isaac Schapera’s 1929–1940 photographs of “old” Botswana (Comaroff & Comaroff 2007) and Evans‐Pritchard’s images from his 1936 fieldwork in Southern Sudan (Morton 2009; for other examples, see also the various contributions in Morton & Edwards 2009). While all of these photographs were taken as part of fieldwork practice, all were in a sense produced in a “vernacular” mode, in that none appears to have been originally intended for anything other than private use. However, since transferred to various public archives, each of these sets is now revealed to be a particularly good body of material through which to study ethnographic practice in general during this crucial period in the development of the discipline. For example, among many other things, they reveal that photographic practices were central to anthropological endeavour during this period, at the very same time that these ethnographers were turning away from the use of photographs as a mode of representing their subjects within their written accounts (Grimshaw 2001).

Yet if these new approaches have opened up discussions about anthropology’s own vernacular modes, then so too the dynamic which informs them has also led to a much greater interest in other forms of mundane, quotidian photography, elsewhere in the world. In addition, this renewed interest in vernacular photographies has been further assisted by the fact that it can generally be done within anthropology’s favoured methodology of fieldwork, rather than requiring additional institutional archival research (after all, by definition, most vernacular photography is found in people’s living spaces, rather than in institutional archives). Moreover, in some instances, such methodological considerations may be borne of necessity—especially in those post‐colonial contexts in which national photographic archives have fallen into disrepair. For example, Liam Buckley has written about the difficulties of working in the Gambia’s decaying institutional archives (2005), in a paper which resonates with Vokes’ personal experiences of conducting archival photographic research in Uganda. Indeed, it is interesting to note that a renewed academic interest in the history of photography in Africa as a whole began at roughly the same time—about twenty‐five years ago (Schneider 2010)—that many national photographic archives on the continent in general were beginning to fall into disrepair (albeit for reasons which are complex, and beyond our scope here).

For these reasons, then, a growing range of studies have begun to explore a variety of “vernacular photographies”, across a range of ethnographic contexts (the key work here is Pinney & Peterson 2003). Again, each of these studies has developed multiple insights. However, central to all of them is the recognition that while these vernacular modes may not always be especially interesting from a strictly representational point of view, their study is invariably revealing of the wider social realities within and through which they are circulated. In addition, a key theme across all of these works has been the potential for such ordinary, mundane pictures to become, through circulations, marked as something else. This theme is examined in a number of contributions included here. For example, the theme is explored by the work of Zeitlyn on Cameroonian studio photography in the immediate post‐independence period, and Bajorek on “political” photography in Senegal before and after independence (both this volume). Ordinary images become extraordinary in new contexts: the recent surge of interest in African studio photography which has filled galleries and produced lavishly illustrated coffee‐table tomes is testimony to this. ⁷

Conclusions

None of the contributors to the original workshop was asked to write about archives, or even “the archive”, in either a broad or narrow sense. The only stimulus with which they were provided was the work of Gell on art and agency (1998). It is therefore surprising and pleasing that all of them did write, in one way or another, about archives and collections—formal and informal, personal and private. It was as if being asked to think about (photographic) object agency spurred the question of where these objects had come from, which in turn spurred the question, what did they do there? The answer would seem to be that these archives, some stable and rigidified by institutional structures, others personal and fluid, contain images that “are potentially destabilizing points of fracture within the archive itself” (Edwards and Morton 2009: 10); that is, beyond the moment of presence documented by the anthropologist at the moment of encounter, what antecedent and subsequent trajectories have the images followed which shape the very archive itself?

James explicitly links the movements of photographic objects with travel as (an aspect of) a career, such journeys being performatively re‐enacted with each slide show (just as, long before, missionaries and other travellers gave magic lantern shows). The same could be said of each viewing of a Facebook page, each exhibition of Jacques Tousselle’s photographs, each time a box of images is carefully removed from a state archive for a pre‐booked viewing by a scholar, or spontaneously tumbled from a plastic bag; and, of course, each of the images on the pages that follow. Some images, the latest in a long string of performances, will be very familiar to at least some of the readers. Others have never been published before and are arriving fresh before our eyes. All of them are performing in the context of the scholarly narratives that have drawn them into new assemblages, new conversations.

Notes

[1] Many of the papers in this special issue of History and Anthropology were first presented at a workshop entitled “The Image Relation” in Wolfson College, Oxford, November 2009; the workshop was co‐convened by Richard Vokes and Benjamin Smith and we are grateful to Benjamin for his continued input into this project, and to all the participants in the workshop for their insights and comments. We are indebted to Joanna Scherer, Smithsonian Institution, who very kindly reviewed all the articles in this volume, and gave us and our contributors many helpful suggestions.

[2] Over the course of her writing, Edwards has also used the idea of performance but in a rather different sense, that of the image affording cultural performance, including latterly the idea of photographs as “material performances” of—among other things—“historical desires” (for example, 2009).

[3] Examples of the former would include the seeking out of the work of photographers who—or types of images that—have become immensely collectable or fashionable, in archives such as that of the UK’s Royal Anthropological Institute. Examples of the latter would include journalists purchasing family photographs of mass murderers and other notorious criminals from family members to illustrate news stories: press stories around the arrest of the “Yorkshire Ripper” Peter Sutcliffe in 1981 were notoriously illustrated by one of his wedding photographs.

[4] “Props” (such as motorbikes and cars) are also referenced by Bajorek, who notes the “playful experimentation” that they afford in Senegalese studio photography. Bell further notes the relationship between objects and photography, this time in the intersection between photographic images and other objects such as “string [and] bodies” in the narrating and living of history in the Purari Delta.

[5] “Forget me not: photography and remembrance”, Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam, 26 March to 6 June 2004.

[6] See also Lêgene (2004) on the ludic element involved in teaching Dutch citizens about their colonies through illustrated playing cards; Vokes (this volume) provides an example of the reverse—the original intention of the Colonial Office’s Visual Instruction Committee in 1902 to use photographs to educate second‐generation British settlers about the motherland.

[7] This burst of enthusiasm has almost certainly had a profound economic consequence as well. While not a strong theme in the papers that follow, there are some points which could be drawn out concerning the commercial life of photographic objects, tying in even more neatly with Kopytoff’s discussion of commodity phases in an object’s career (Kopytoff 1986). See also Banks (2001: 57–61) for a discussion of the commodification of photographic objects in the art market.