The Analog Anthropocene exhibit consists of a collection of photographs, one from each participating photographer, meant to explore the concept of the project as well as accompanying texts intended to convey some of our findings so far. The exhibit, which is located in the atrium of the Wayne State University Undergraduate Library, officially opened on May 16, 2024 and will be up through the summer of 2024. All exhibit materials are also available here and in the virtual exhibit catalog. You can also visit our gallery page to see the full collection of photographs and our blog for further explorations of the concept. Enjoy!
Contents
Analog Anthropocene: the project
This is not the Anthropocene. So decreed the International Union of Geological Sciences in March 2024. The assembly of geologists voted against the recommendation that the Holocene, our current geological epoch, should be renamed to acknowledge vast, lasting, and often devastating human-caused impacts on the Earth’s various systems.
But as geologists debated the Anthropocene designation, artists, philosophers, photographers, writers, and filmmakers took up the idea, which became the subject of dispute, imagination, and artistic creation. Our project joined this chorus of thinkers and makers, proposing that analog in general, and analog film in particular, can help us understand the contemporary moment of climate catastrophe and environmental change.
What is the Analog Anthropocene?
Humanity’s impact on the planet can be understood through analog technology: this is what we call the Analog Anthropocene. Much as the analog process of imprinting light onto photosensitive film creates images, the imprint of human activity on the Earth creates a geological portrait of environmental change—and of cultural change, too, since the things accumulating beneath our feet include plastics, chicken bones, remnants of nuclear testing, and other traces of human culture.
Photochemical analog processes inspired us to think critically about touch, time, memory, and material limits. And the many subjects of analog photos, along with the imperfections, grain, framings, and fragility of this art form, recall that “humanity” is not one, monolithic category, but rather a complex mix of perspectives, desires, and vulnerabilities.
Community photography, Ferrania film
This project started when an Italian film professor who works in Detroit began investigating the environmental impacts of film manufacture. Her subject was the historic Ferrania Film manufacturing facility in northwest Italy. Some of Italy’s greatest film directors (most notably, Pier Paolo Pasolini) shot on Ferrania, and so did generations of Italians. Although the larger Italian factory closed in the early 2000s as analog film seemed to become obsolete, a Kickstarter-backed startup recently began producing black and white film again in Ferrania’s old research lab.
The Analog Anthropocene project is a public humanities endeavor, an experiment in crowd-sourcing a concept. We placed rolls of Ferrania P30 film, as well as expired color film manufactured before the large factory closed, into the hands of photographers, scholars, and friends. Some of the images are taken by photographers who have been passionate about analog film for years. Others are the work of generous volunteers who dusted off old cameras and re-learned the use of light meters, F-stops, and shutter speeds. Some were shooting on film for the first time. In a chorus of photographic voices, they articulate thoughtful perspectives on the Analog Anthropocene. (Elena Past)
My neighborhood in Astoria is well known for its Greek diaspora, with the national flag flying in front of houses, many tasty restaurants, and colorful murals painted all over. With the Analog Anthropocene in mind, I understand these murals differently, as an embodiment of the pinnacles of human triumph—in architecture, philosophy, athletics, government, and literature—but also of decay and decline. (Christopher Howard)
Hybridity
The Oxford English Dictionary defines hybrid as “the offspring of two animals or plants of different species, or (less strictly) varieties; a half-breed, cross-breed, or mongrel.” In another sense, it constitutes “anything derived from heterogeneous sources, or composed of different or incongruous elements,” which applies to things as disparate as rock formations, atomic particles, vehicles, and even computing. This latter category can refer to “utilizing or involving both analogue and digital methods.”
Hybridity, in its many senses, is both a formal and a conceptual preoccupation of this project. Formally, the Analog Anthropocene engages in the blending of analog and digital technologies—photos taken on physical film but displayed and circulated as both prints and digital copies—visual and written media—photographs as well as blog posts and texts such as this one—and fiction and non-fiction genres—analytical and exploratory writing as well as fictional short stories and poetry.
These photographs evoke visual and conceptual hybridity. Alina Cherry’s photograph, “Ribcaging into the Green,” depicts a metal, man-made bridge that, as the title suggests, appears to be made of bone, in effect blurring the boundaries between living/non-living and human/nature. Another photograph by Mark Keller depicts the number 42 in binary code printed on strips of paper and attached to a wooden fence, troubling the distinctions between nature/technology and analog/digital. In another sense, the peeling New York City mural depicted in Christopher Howard’s “Untitled (Astoria),” which appears to have been layered and distorted at some point in the development process, troubles the distinction between nature/civilization and reality/representation. Many other photographs in the collection, both displayed here and in the online gallery, grapple with the constructed boundaries between human/nature, analog/digital, and much more.
Finally, as a public humanities project, the Analog Anthropocene is always under construction, its meanings as fluid and porous as the boundaries it seeks to problematize. The ongoing process of construction works against the hierarchy between scholarly/popular knowledge through a purposeful engagement between and across communities. This ethos, rooted in the notion of hybridity, is the driving force of the project. The Analog Anthropocene works toward new forms of knowledge production that confront and challenge the structures that shape our relationships to both nature and society, in all the ambivalence of that binary, and of the world itself. (Maddie Henry)
Detroit’s terminated vistas have always been one of my favorite urban secrets. When you turn the corner onto Grand River and the skyline is shining like a jewel at the end of the world, it makes your heart skip a beat. I love the juxtaposition of this shot with the lower density development giving way to the high density of downtown and the construction of the Hudson tower showing the future growth of the city next to the classic skyline of the Renaissance Center, Penobscot, and others. This is my view of downtown from Woodbridge. (Ashley Flintoff)
Industry and Infrastructure
With many scholars tracing the Anthropocene’s origins back to the Industrial Revolution, it is perhaps unsurprising that industry and the infrastructure that enables it have emerged as significant visual themes in our photographers’ work. Industrial processes have been identified as leading sources of greenhouse gas emissions and are thus a driving force of climate change and—relatedly—the Anthropocene.
Our project’s home city of Detroit, well-known for its connection to the automobile industry, features prominently in the photographs, as illustrated by Ashley Flintoff’s “Grand [River] Vistas,” in which a road lined with streetlamps leads towards the city’s downtown district. Importantly, other industrialized urban settings also appear in the images—Mexico City and New York City, for example—which underscores the globalized nature of industry and the far-reaching causes of the Anthropocene.
Many of the images in this collection are especially interested in the ways in which the man-made apparatuses of industry have infiltrated the landscape. In Jack Cronin‘s photograph, “Transmission Tower,” the construction reaches above the viewer in a low-angle shot, stretching towards a sky in stark contrast with the structure’s dark appearance. Sometimes, the infrastructure in the images becomes part of its environment, and entanglements between human and non-human elements confuse the distinction between them. Julie Julison‘s featured photograph, “Draining: Sprouting Defiance,” for example, takes the ground as its focalized subject—here, weeds extend upwards through the grates of a sewer as distant telephone poles protrude from the landscape.
Infrastructure, then, both intrudes upon nature and fuses with it, much as the Anthropocene conceptualizes that human influence has altered the planet’s environmental course. As such, the photographs convey a sense of the imposition of humanity and its industrial and infrastructural technologies upon the earth, as well as nature’s persistence amidst such developments. (Bailey Meyerhoff)
Situated 7,300 feet above sea level in a valley wrapped around by mountains and volcanoes, Mexico City has long experienced thick layers of smog produced by cars, factories, and wildfires. More than five million vehicles are registered in Mexico City, resulting in dangerous pollution levels and, as a result, local government has activated an environmental contingency plan.
Today, Mexico City is ranked second among Latin America’s most sustainable cities. Based on the General Development Plan of Mexico City 2020-2040, the government proposes to achieve sustainability by restoring the limits of the natural environment of the Valley of Mexico, reducing social inequalities, and improving the quality of life of current and future generations.
Every Sunday in Mexico City, from 8:00 am to 2:00 pm, Paseo de la Reforma is closed to vehicle traffic, allowing walkers, joggers, and cyclists to move about freely. Launched in 2007, this government-backed initiative, Muevete en Bici, aims to promote a healthy and active lifestyle for residents of Mexico City, reduce traffic congestion, and reduce greenhouse gas emissions.
This photo was taken from inside a condo overlooking the Paseo de la Reforma, just before heading into the streets to enjoy Muevete en Bici and beautiful Mexico City. The artist used a 1981 Canon AE1 Program 35 mm camera. (Genevieve Rattray)
Depth and Distance
Depth and distance are critical tools for conveying meaning and focalization. Photographers use perspective to draw viewers into the scene and guide their gaze towards specific elements. In the context of the Anthropocene, these compositional techniques become powerful tools for highlighting, or at times de-emphasizing, the profound impacts of human activity on the planet.
Photographs like Emiliano Guaraldo’s “Bagni Lina, Celle Ligure” and Paolo Mastrogiacomo’s “Concrete Shores” use depth and distance as both physical and conceptual boundaries. They capture landscapes transformed by urbanization, showcasing the depth of human intervention in natural environments. Both photographs present images of the human-made against a non-human landscape, illustrating the subtle contrasts and continuities between the two.
In Kevin Piotrowski‘s “Blended Friends” we see depth and distance both in the literal and metaphorical sense. Each blender, with its worn surfaces and faded colors, becomes a symbol of a bygone era—a time when products were built to last and consumerism was not yet synonymous with disposability. As they fade into the distance, the receding rows seem to go on forever.
Genevieve Rattray’s “Sunday Morning, Mexico City” invites us to explore implications of environmental aesthetics. Through the window and its framing, the golden color, the distant city, and its horizon let us see the beauty of the enormous city, even as the haze reminds us of the environmental risks of life there. (Alamia Annous)
I like clusters and collections. They make me see things anew. (renee hoogland)
Contrast, Color, Expiration
The black and white photographs you see here were taken with new P30 film manufactured in the retooled Research & Development Lab of the old Ferrania factory. Ferrania’s black and white film was admired for its dramatic contrasts and wide range of gray shades, which factory lore attributes to the large amount of silver used in manufacturing the film. The new formula for P30 seems to respect this material-aesthetic history.
The color photographs were shot on rolls that expired in 2008 or 2009, according to the packages. This film was gifted to the project by the Ferrania Film Museum, having been rescued from the factory campus sometime after it closed. Film, organic in makeup because it contains gelatin, is alive. It comes with an expiration date and a theoretical shelf life, like other global commodities. The clusters of bananas in renee hoogland’s “Marcus Market” recall the finite lifespan of products.
The color rolls were recovered from unairconditioned buildings after nearly a decade, hardly ideal conditions for storing film. Yet prints like Alfonso Keller’s “Bridge Over Untroubled Waters (Cranbrook)” or Emiliano Guaraldo’s “Bagni Lina, Celle Ligure” suggest that the film resisted obsolescence-by-expiration. The brilliant reds of the bridge and the lifeguard stand signal the resilience of matter, and remind us that, however quickly we throw away expired goods and objects, they linger, for better or for worse.
The new Ferrania factory has not yet relearned the process of manufacturing color film. It’s not easy: the chemistry for manufacturing color film is far more complex (and more toxic), and the multiple layers of emulsion more finnicky. When technologies become obsolete, we don’t just lose things; we also risk losing the collective knowledge of how they are made.
Contrast, color, and expiration help focus important Anthropocene questions: what can be saved? What should we discard? What remains in spite of us? (Elena Past)
After viewing the exhibit, we’d love to hear (and maybe even see) what you think! We’ll share selections from your insights on our blog or social media. Scan the QR code below to share your answers.
- Which photograph stood out most to you and why?
- Do you think there is a meaningful difference between analog and digital photography?
- What kinds of connections do you see between environments, environmental crisis, and photography?
- Share an Analog Anthropocene photo of your own with us, if you like!
You can also tag us on social media @analoganthropocene or #analoganthropocene, or leave a comment below. If you would like to contribute a blog post, email us at analoganthropocene23@gmail.com or DM us on Instagram.
