Feeling What You Cannot See

This is Seeing., a newsletter for photography, writing, and explorations by Johanna Renoth. I created it because I wanted a calm place online to share beautiful things and everything I’m curious about.

If you’re new to Seeing., sign up for it here:

Enjoy! - Johanna.

First - On Leaving Substack & a Favor I’d Like to Ask

Before I get to today’s story and photo, first things first: The newsletter looks a bit different. It’s because I’ve moved platforms.

A couple of weeks ago, I decided to leave Substack. I had been growing more and more frustrated with the direction it’s been taking. It feels a lot like traditional social media, now, especially with how they’re handling Notes, their version of a feed. Every time I’ve logged on to see the feed, I’ve felt like my brain was melting. I hate that.

Here’s an in-depth look at why Substack is less of our friend than we might think.

I dislike sucking people into algorithmic chaos with my work. I like connecting with people with as few barriers as possible (sorryyy! I’m so slow sometimes with replying to your emails). Hence, a move was in order.

Your experience reading this will change very little. You’ll still get the newsletter in your inbox and can comment on it online.

What will change for me is how people will discover my writing and art. I’m relying entirely on people-to-people connections now. If you like what I do, please do me a favour and share it with others.

Now, onto the story of the day.

Feeling What You Cannot See

I have a flair for the absurd. I love places that are a little weird, where there is more going on than meets the eye. Case in point: Los Angeles, Havana.

I’ve loved photographing places more than people. I enjoy staying in a place, soaking up the vibes, and wandering around with my camera.

For a long time, I didn’t understand why I was drawn to taking photos that way. I liked it and there was little reason to it. [Did there have to be?!] I was told, several times, by a photo mentor, somebody with a lot of experience and industry clout, that I couldn’t just walk around and take photos of things. That just wasn’t how things worked. Supposedly.

Ultimately, I realized, it boils down to this one question for me with photography:

What can I feel, that I cannot see?

I’m quite sensitive, so usually I pick up on a lot. That’s why I like walking around, being in a place, and carrying a camera with me.

The prize question is: Can a photo transmit what I sense? Can I package it all in a still image? And, can you, as the viewer see what I’m sensing through my photographs?

There’s a philosopher, Walter Benjamin, who wrote and reflected deeply about photography. He had this idea that works of art, a photograph, had an aura - something that pierces, affects you. It’s a photograph’s aura that captures you. You may have felt it before, when you stand in front of a work of art or a photo and you feel…something. You may not be able to put your finger on it or name it. Yet, there is something.

That’s the aura.

To me, places have an aura as much as works of art do. Ha! And people if you subscribe to a holistic worldview.

Growing Up In a Weird Place & How It’s Shaped My Art

My hypothesis is that I’ve been drawn to this mode of photography because I grew up in a certifiably weird place. It’s eye-searingly beautiful with its technicolor meadows. So pretty, you have to pinch yourself to ensure you’re not hallucinating.

And, it has a dark undercurrent. A lot of history happened here, especially between 1933 and 1945*.

Growing up and to this date, I’m able to appreciate the beauty of the terrain. Nature here is truly gorgeous. At the same time, there’s a twisting sensation that lives in my stomach and soul that points to something else. Something more sinister.

Then, there’s also “nothing ever happened here”. The wilful obfuscation of the post-war years that lasted way past the turn of the millennium.

It’s this determination to maintain a seductively idyllic facade that I balk at.

I can feel what you don’t want me to see.

A Photo Project on a Complicated Legacy

I tried to capture all the above a couple of years ago with a photo project on the historical legacy of the place I grew up in. I found these photos again on an SD card a couple of days ago. And now, I don’t know what to do with them.

I feel tension around these works.

On the one hand, I want to show them to people and ask: “Do you feel it, too?”

On the other hand, I also feel a great responsibility. Showing the technicolor meadows where atrocities were decided is just…difficult. Visually, I want to stay far away from propaganda. This region and its vistas are interminably linked with the images from the time. It borders on impossible to break through this, because of the high level of familiarity people have with the imagery.

Nonetheless, I’m curious about your reaction. So, I’ve decided to show you one without one of the perspectives that are so well known. The rest will stay in my vault.

Tell me what you feel when you look at the photo below. I’m curious.

Look and feel first, then scroll on to read some context below.

I took this photo at the bus stop just below the Eagle’s Nest. During the summer months, it’s a popular tourism destination.

Observing and eavesdropping on people while there, it seems to me that it’s a place people go to be weirded out, to spook themselves a bit. It’s similar to a car crash you can’t turn your eyes from. Only, that it’s historical and people gawk at locks, cram into an elevator deep inside a mountain, and ooh and aah taking the bus up and down a very steep mountain road with, admittedly, hair-raising switchbacks.

It’s a house on a mountain hundreds of thousands of people visit and… whoaaaah, did they really build roads like that, back then? [Yes, forced labor, fear, and fanaticism will achieve that.]

Certainly, you can learn a lot about history by putting yourself in the place where it happened. Still, my perception is that for a lot of visitors, the place is entirely decontextualized. To illustrate my point: You can buy Eagle’s Nest merch like branded hoodies.

Visitors go up by bus, take the infamous elevator inside the mountain, waddle around inside the house, have a Schnitzel and beer, take the elevator down, and then queue for the bus to take them back to the bus park several hundred meters in elevation below them. Boom. We did the Eagle’s Nest, when we were in Europe. 

The photo of the queue is for the bus going down. At that point, people have been fed, beer’ed, and sufficiently spooky touristed.

While you can sense my contempt for the way historical tourism works in the area** in my writing, there’s also another side to it. I appreciate the humanity of it. People waiting, looking skeptical, taking photos.

At the end of the day, this is the last thing the Nazis would have wanted. Mass tourism from all over the world at one of their prestige sites***. So, in a way, there’s a silver lining...

What do you think? What do you sense when you look at this photo? Does the context change anything for you?

You can share your thoughts with me by replying to this email or comment by clicking the button below:

Have a lovely day,

Johanna

PS:

*The place I grew up and currently live in is where Hitler had his mountain residence. It was a significant place to the Nazis, like a second capital besides Berlin. Most of the historical sites (or the little that remains of them) are on the mountain Hitler called home, the Obersalzberg. The valley and settlements in it have a rich history dating back to the early 12th century. Indubitably, the years between 1933 and 1945 have left a great mark on the area, though.

**Historical tourism in the area is a super complex subject way too nuanced to tackle in this newsletter. This is in part because historical tourism of that era and in perpetrator sites is multilayered and requires a well thought-out approach and in part, because the area currently lives off tourism due to its natural beauty. In fact, it was a popular place for tourism long before the Nazis were here.

There’s a historical museum below the Eagle’s Nest that was built in the 90s after the American military left the area. Most historical sites, including the ruins of Hitler’s house, were demolished in the years after the war with most remnants razed in the 90s after the US army gave up its presence here. There’s little to see except the Eagle’s Nest and the odd foundation or pieces of rubble in the forest. Still, that doesn’t deter people from looking. It’s understandable. Many people want to sense how what happened could have transpired by putting themselves in the place where history was made. I wonder whether the extensive demolition in the area has added to that, though. It’s as if things got more interesting, because now you can only guess. It’s like a dark treasure hunt for rubble and odd scraps of metal. The Eagle’s Nest itself is now a restaurant with a tiny museum section. Originally, it was a gift by the Nazi party to Hitler on the occasion of his 50th birthday. It was hardly used at the time, though. A percentage of the proceeds from the restaurant, bus service, elevator, and brochures sold there goes to a charitable foundation to support social and youth causes in the region.

***Which is very different from the mass pilgrimages of fanatics in the 1930s. People from all over the world eating and drinking in an area that was formerly off-limits to almost everyone is a historical curveball that feels satisfying.

Support Seeing. ❤️💸📤

If this newsletter has impacted or touched you, I appreciate you supporting me and my writing.

💸 Pay me for my art & writing through Buy Me A Coffee. I appreciate it!

📤 You may share the newsletter with your friends or online. As I’ve moved away from all social media, I appreciate your help in spreading my work.