Hands, Feet, and Head

violence of the photograph does not stem solely from its high contrast—though the harsh clash of black and white assaults the eye. Its true violence lies in displacement and misplacement. It feels as though we are in a classroom (and by using being instead of seeing, we place ourselves contrast—though the harsh clash of black and white assaults the eye. Its true violence lies in displacement and misplacement. It feels as though we are in a classroom (and by using being instead of seeing, we place ourselves within the scene). Perhaps it is a military training period. We both see and do not see three soldiers—three soldiers who have fallen asleep amid training. The space is so cramped and stifling that the photographer has barely managed to squeeze into the frame two pairs of feet, one hand, and one head. The two pairs of feet seem to frame the face—or perhaps soon those same feet will come down upon that head and body—unless, of course, the photographer himself falls into this same suffocating confinement.

From this narrowness, questions emerge: what kind of place for sleep is this? What kind of training takes place within sleep? In that forbidden space, what kind of soldier is it that becomes a photographer?

And yet, despite all these questions, how fortunate we are that this photograph exists.