Power of the Portrait

There is probably no sight more evocative and mysterious than the human face. In a matter of milliseconds, each peculiar visage supplies our brain with a unique cognitive gestalt that is inundated with cryptic information. A slight tilt of the mouth, a furrow over the eyes, a crook in the nose, or a bump on the chin- every subtle detail, every faint gesture is a precious insight into an elusive foreign psyche.

Taken by Russian photographer Gleb Kosorukov, these images of modern-day Ukrainian coal miners demonstrate the rare power of the portrait to stimulate and engross the subconscious. What exactly do we "see" when we look at such photos? What mental imagery gets churned up each time our gaze falls on another? Perhaps, if we can come to understand how one brief snapshot of reality calls on our cache of memory and emotion, we may begin to unlock some of the latent complexities of our own thought. With extraordinary images such as these, sometimes it is both fun and instructive to explore the mystery further.

First off, the most striking aspect of this image has to be the dramatic irony. Amazingly, it seems totally conceivable that the same shot could have been captured almost 150 years ago with little to no alteration. It invades the mind like a relic from a bygone Age of Man.... an era of titanic industrial might and mass human drudgery. As your eye follows the coal-creased contours, it's hard not to choke on the festering plumes of particulate matter, to hear the metallic whine & clank of primitive manufacturing, or to sense the plight of a back-broken proletariat. Our plucky subject seems to know the bleak prohpecy of Orwell all to well: "If you want a vision of the future, imagine a boot stamping on the human face- forever."

Yet despite his grim circumstance, his expression projects an unmistakable brand of cheeky bravado- the origins of which we can only hazard a feeble guess. Is it the smirk of Faust after having double-crossed the devil, or just the puckish grin of a coal-cloaked Chesire cat on a long-awaited smoke break? Is he really mining coal, or is he piloting Death back and forth across the river Styx? Is he resurfacing after six-hours work or resurrecting from six-feet under?

For me, the real poignancy lies in a bizarre paradox: as tangibly close as I may feel to this near caricature of blue-collar, black-lung man, and no matter how psychologically suggestive and empathy-encouraging this portrait may be, it embodies a world of experience that I could not be further removed from... and one which I will never approach. Perhaps this is what he's grinning about......