[Unstagram] A Century-Old Woman's Photograph and Tteokbokki

The Radiance of the "Present" in Old Photographs
Even Vivid Videos Struggle to Surpass the Profound Story of Life

Very old photographs sometimes evoke a quiet, inexpressible intensity.

Even when it is neither a famous person nor a renowned image, the long-ago face of a stranger can move the heart. This is especially true when the photograph stands as evidence of life that transcends eras. Such was the case with the young woman, twenty years old, photographed at Kyungsung Photo Studio a hundred years ago-her cheeks reminiscent of plum blossoms, her eyes smiling like butterflies. A face containing every possible future. It was a white, youthful moment, uncertain whether it was shyness or vague fear or expectation, like a human flower bud about to bloom. I could find no word beyond “radiant” to describe it. The longing for what no longer exists was overtaken by a simple joy so poignant it made my nose tingle. The distance of time and the absence of the subject were gentle and wistful, leaving my heart quietly shaken for a long time.

Photo by Lee Honggyeong, Kyungsung Photo Studio (1920), Collection of the Korean American Photo Museum

As time passes, a photograph becomes both proof of existence and evidence of absence. Absence is an event that follows existence, serving to make the reality of the past even more solid. Whether the photograph is old and worn, the faith in its evidence of existence and the regret of absence are both profound. A photograph does more than record the present and consign every moment to the past. The past within a photograph serves as a monument to the collection of irrefutable existences and facts from vanished times.

These days, anyone can easily turn such photographs into vivid, high-definition color videos. It would be simple to create a scene of the twenty-year-old woman chatting with friends over tteokbokki at a snack shop in front of her school. And even if we call that vivid and moving, it is hard for it to surpass the emotional line of a single black-and-white photograph. Dazzling video technology has its own purpose and may open up new futures, but it cannot transcend the profound story contained in the reality of life. That is simply how it is. There is no need to lament that technology erodes human emotion or the value of life. Sometimes, value and technology meet; at other times, they exist as separate narratives in realms that cannot be infringed upon. Technical images and videos are now crossing the so-called “uncanny valley”-that unsettling feeling when a technological image mimicking a human form becomes eerily lifelike. Technology fills the depth of absence and the value of time as felt by humans. What we now call “part of a photograph” is almost reduced to the principle that both the photographer and the subject must move their bodies to be present together in the same place.

Perhaps the truthfulness of photography must borrow the power of myths we want to believe in, but that is enough. The debate is overdue, and as novelist Jang Kangmyung wrote in “The Future That Arrived First,” such debates mostly belong to those who have stepped aside from the front lines, making their words largely hollow. It has become difficult to define with a few words what should be called a photograph, but the role and spirit of photography have not changed. It still speaks to the rigorous facts of humanity and time, and aspires to the truth of the world. For now, at least, this remains true.