For this picture, cut out from TIME, june 19, 2017, I decided to save the original caption, because it offers a good example of anchoring (the title "What, me worry?") and relay (the text).
The anchor directs the viewer straight to the meaning of the image. There is no space for interpretation.
New anchors: "Blind and Deaf", "Cutting and Sinking","Texas Falling", Not in my backyard", "No need to sprinkle", "Give me a push, please."
The relay is a complement to the image, but the words could alone tell the story. In the relay the story is deeply contextualised (Alberta, Canada, the picture for the parents in South Africa...) and gives information you cannot find in the picture, so that more space is left to the viewer in order to recreate a new relay.
New relay after the anchor "Give me a push, please.": John Smith tries to mow the tree with no success. He will need help from the tornado that is reaching his house near Austin, Texas.
This picture was cut out from TIME, may 1 - may 8, 2017. No Anchor, no relay, just a caption.
Anchors: "Gordon Flash, who?", "I'm shaken", "Nerves, which nerves?", "The new pill against headache", "No stabilization, no party"
This picture was cut out from TIME, june 19, 2017.
Anchors: "Catch it if you can", "It's only a basketball", "I believe I can fly", "Don't be afraid".
Again I decided to save the original caption for this picture, cut out from TIME, may 15, 2017.
New anchors: "They left nothing", "After the bombing", "Mosul set free", "Back home".
I selected a poem by Emily Jane Bronte. Following the Italian version and English version. It is a sad poem, talking about the pain of not simply being alone: the pain of spending the entire life and not being part of the life of others, meaning nothing, being invisible. It is like to be part of an empty book.
Io sono l'unica il cui destino
lingua non indaga, occhio non piange;
non ho mai causato un cupo pensiero,
né un sorriso di gioia, da quando sono nata.
Tra piaceri segreti e lacrime segrete,
questa mutevole vita mi è sfuggita,
dopo diciott'anni ancora così solitaria
come nel giorno della mia nascita.
E vi furono tempi che non posso nascondere,
tempi in cui tutto ciò era terribile,
quando la mia triste anima perse il suo orgoglio
e desiderò qualcuno che l'amasse.
Ma ciò apparteneva ai primi ardori
di sentimenti poi repressi dal dolore;
e sono morti da così lungo tempo
che stento a credere siano mai esistiti.
Prima si dissolse la speranza giovanile,
poi svanì l'arcobaleno della fantasia;
infine l'esperienza mi insegnò che mai
crebbe in un cuore mortale la verità.
Era già amaro pensare che l'umanità
fosse insincera, sterile, servile;
ma peggio fu fidarmi della mia mente
e trovarvi la stessa corruzione.
Emily Jane Bronte
I am the only one whose fate
language does not investigate, eye does not weep;
I never caused a gloomy thought,
or a smile of joy, since I was born.
Among secret tears and secret pleasures,
I missed this changeful life,
After eighteen still so lonely
As the day of my birth.
And there were times that I can not hide,
days when everything was terrible,
When my sad soul lost its pride
and wanted someone to love her.
But what belonged to the early heats
then repressed feelings of grief;
and died for so long
hard to believe that they ever existed.
Before it was dissolved in the hope of youth,
then faded the rainbow of the imagination;
Finally, the experience taught me that never
grew into a fatal heart the truth.
It was already bitter to think that humanity
was insincere, barren, servile;
but worse was to trust my mind
and find the same corruption.
Emily Jane Bronte
I took inspiration from the empty book, the concept of vanishing, being invisible, and shot some pictures about.
