Duane Michals: Visual Storyteller

Duane Michals tells stories with photographic sequences, multiple exposures, and the combination of his images with handwritten text. His work is curious, existential, and contains an element of the surreal. He was born in Pennsylvania in 1932, and garnered fame for his work in the 1960s - riding out on the coattails of the Golden age of photojournalism. His use of text with image serves to embellish rather than explain, and his handwritten musings on life, love and death tend to scrawl their way across the page. 

For me, his 1994 piece ‘Who Am I?’ epitomises his work, featuring the topless torso of a young man staring into his mirror’s reflection that he holds with a clenched fist. The mirror is angled towards the viewer, and is distorted, showing us two reflections that in turn mirror each other, connecting in an elongated shared eye. Underneath the monochromatic photograph is a body of Michal’s handwritten text. The text begins with: ‘I am what is being experienced. The universe focused in the eye of the beholder…’ He questions his place in the universe, stating: ‘I am tethered to the absolute by the cord of consciousness’, and ends with the question: ‘But who falls asleep and dreams?’.

To Duane Michals, photography is about expression more than documentation. In the early 50s he moved to New York, where Smith commented that “Duane cut photography’s umbilical cord”. In the 60s Michals became interested in Buddhism and meditation, hence anticipating the existentialist strain that runs through his works. This train of thought is demonstrated particularly in his 1969 photo series ‘The Human Condition’, which depicts a man with wild hair and a suit standing amidst a busy train platform, staring directly into the camera. In the five subsequent shots, the composition remains while the figure becomes increasingly engulfed by a portal of light that transforms into a galaxy full of stars. 

On this, Philip Gefter comments: “In The Human Condition, his panel of six photographs from 1969 begins with a man standing on the 14th Street subway platform; the train arrives and he is bathed in a halo of light; the light becomes a swirl and in the last frame he is swept into a white disc the size of a galaxy passing through the night sky. From the immediate to the universal in six frames.”

Characteristic of Michals’ use of double exposures, this piece embodies his assurance that “the nature of consciousness is always the central question”. His unity of the galaxy with human form seems to suggest a Pantheistsic view of the universe, and shares themes of connection and identity with the writing in ‘Who Am I?’, although this sequence doesn’t need the accompanying text; the images speak for themselves. 

‘This Photograph is my Proof’ breaks my heart. It stands as a solitary image accompanied by handwritten text. The monochrome image is of a smiling couple embracing on a bed, looking over their shoulder to the camera. The surroundings are sparse so that there are no contextual indications except the private and intimate tone inferred by the bed. In a defensive tone, the text beneath reads: ‘‘This photograph is my proof. There was that afternoon, when things were still good between us, and she embraced me, and we were so happy. It did happen, she did love me. Look see for yourself!’ The photograph is the narrator’s tangible evidence of his past love, and there is an awkward contradiction between a sense of loss and nostalgia for how things once were. Again it is Michal’s text that gives this image its empathetic quality, and his messy handwriting that really tugs the heartstrings. 

Michals was closely acquainted with Andy Warhol, and saw him as a “artist - slash - personality - slash - PR” figure in the art world, as well as a friend. Having documented Warhol from every inch visually, Michals shared his archive in a digital booklet, ‘Fabulous’ that also documents some of their shared stories. Like many artists (and indeed Warhol himself), Michals is a problem solver, believing that “Creativity is a crisis of not knowing what’s next, and figuring it out.” His words take on a sort of rational, questioning tone that becomes a third voice separate from artist and audience in its own right. Michals’ exploration of photography with alternate formats and mediums defines himself as an artist, by acknowledging that they add dimension to what images alone could not necessarily convey. 

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