Belton: Could you forgive the goddess who murdered your mother, if forgiving her made you immortal?
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They stop, briefly, only to seek Alms. The high-voltage, pulsating beats of Tamil war drums drown out the roar of waves on the rugged seashore.
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Days fill with euphoria. Nights Float with ecstasy. At the end of this festivity, people prepare for the holy dip in the sea. As their divine disguises wash off, their dreams perhaps come true.
Once a respected branch of anthropology, ethnography has fallen out of fashion, becoming entwined with notions of pseudo-scientific racism. In places such as India the mere mention of the word conjures up memories of the colonialist project, a project that relied heavily on an imperfect scientific categorization of peoples according to tribe, caste, dress, religious subsets, and even cranial features, all of which was designed to give the British Raj a database from which to structure means of control.
The modern India of urban Metro systems, grand new airports and ubiquitous cars and mobile phones has been excluded.
Instead, he gives us images that seem culled from ancient and exotic ritual, images that, except for minor clues, might have been made one hundred years earlier. And yet the clues exist: a toy gun, a boy wearing sunglasses, people in current dress, the corner of a modern-day home. These visual clues bring us into the contemporary, and we might think they transform the photographs from the ethnographic to the documentary.
But it is worth asking what is the difference between?mail.ruk-com.in.th/gotas-de-roco-autoayuda-n-1.php
Perhaps ethnography has merely changed its name, putting on a mask and renaming itself documentary? His approach is neither scientific not journalistic, though he does offer us brief annotations to satisfy our curious minds. His approach is aesthetic and poetic. If there is any subliminal ethnography in his work, it is akin to the ethnography of Edward Curtis, an ethnography tempered with a keen sense of empathy and an appreciation of beauty. His images are a quest for visual poetry; a personal poetry with a personal narrative.
Masquerade for the Gods is a manifestation of such archetypes as visible realities. It is not just about a particular people, enjoying a particular festival in a particular place and time. It is about the entire notion of hidden and complex identities and the equally complex surfaces of projected appearance.
To see one image is to see three: the costumed figure, the person beneath, and the archetype that hovers as a mystery. The first is a visual reality; the second, a subjective conjecture, and the third an enigma impossible to articulate.