Introduction to the Question

Q: What is the difference between the way a camera and the human eye see? A: A camera records, but it does not remember.

Both a camera and the human eye can perceive what lies ahead, but the camera is inanimate; it cannot truly remember what it sees. It can only record, not retain memories.

Background

The Theaters series is a long-term project by Hiroshi Sugimoto, a collection of photographs taken of theaters across the United States (as well as in Paris, Sydney, Tokyo, Osaka, and other locations).

The theaters he photographed can be categorized into three types:

• Golden-age Cinema Palaces (for details, see here)
• Modern Movie Houses (a type of cinema popular in the mid-to-late 20th century, featuring experimental film formats, screening methods, and experiences)
• Drive-ins (open-air theaters where viewers watch movies from their cars)

Images from https://www.sugimotohiroshi.com/

Why?

Hiroshi Sugimoto wrote the following on the official website for this project:

I'm a habitual self-interlocutor. One evening while taking photographs at the American Museum of Natural History, I had a near-hallucinatory vision. My internal question-and-answer session leading up to this vision went something like this: "Suppose you shoot a whole movie in a single frame?" The answer: "You get a shining screen." Immediately I began experimenting in order to realize this vision. One afternoon I walked into a cheap cinema in the East Village with a large-format camera. As soon as the movie started, I fixed the shutter at a wide-open aperture. When the movie finished two hours later, I clicked the shutter closed. That evening I developed the film, and my vision exploded behind my eyes.

In short, Sugimoto describes his habit of engaging in internal dialogue. While photographing at the American Museum of Natural History, he experienced a near-hallucinatory vision. His inner Q&A revolved around the idea of capturing an entire movie in a single frame, to which the answer was a "shining screen." This inspired him to experiment. One afternoon, he entered a cheap cinema in the East Village with a large-format camera, set the shutter to a wide aperture as the movie began, and closed it two hours later when the film ended. That night, upon developing the film, his vision came to life.

How? | How Were These Photographs Taken?

Sugimoto brought his camera into theaters and used long-exposure techniques to compress a two-hour movie into a single frame. He used an 8x10 large-format camera. For those unfamiliar with the size of large-format film, the following image illustrates its dimensions:

Image from https://imagejoy.com/

Under consistent conditions, the size of the film frame determines the amount of information it can hold. Larger formats can accommodate more silver halide grains, resulting in sharper and clearer images. Smaller formats hold fewer grains, leading to relatively blurrier images. If we consider less clear images to be more subjective, then Sugimoto's works are highly objective. However, the artist's choice of how to capture the image introduces a degree of subjectivity.

Subjectivity and Objectivity

Subjectivity is reflected in the perspective chosen by the person or camera—that is, the angle from which the artist decides to take the photograph is a subjective choice. Objectivity, on the other hand, is manifested through long exposure, which captures details beyond the human eye's perception. Imagine yourself in a theater: the brightest thing you see is the screen, while other areas are mostly indistinct, with only vague outlines visible. Through long exposure, light accumulates on the film, revealing details hidden in the shadows that the human eye cannot see. Though invisible to us, these details objectively exist. If you closely examine this series, you can clearly see the depth of the stage beneath the screen, the folds of the curtains on either side, the intricate carvings and textures on the walls, the patterns of the carpet in the aisles, the weave of the seats, and even the silhouettes of the audience—all captured within the camera's frame. In the photograph, the theater is the inverse of reality: while the human eye in a theater sees only the movie on the screen, in the camera's perspective, the screen becomes a blank void. Thus:

Light illuminates us, yet it also obstructs our window of vision. The human eye and the camera alternate in their perception.

Theaters in the 1920s and 1930s

In the United States during the 1920s and 1930s, cinema developed rapidly, entering what we now call its "Golden Age." During this period, films began to incorporate sound and color. It was also a transitional era, as most movie theaters were temporarily converted from stage theaters, since cinema did not yet have dedicated spaces. Thus, movies at that time were closely linked to stage plays in terms of entertainment type, performance style, and venue.

Another important aspect is the architectural and decorative style of theaters during this period. As theaters were multi-purpose entertainment venues, their interior design often followed the "atmospheric style," created for live performances. This style aimed to evoke a fantastical outdoor setting, transporting audiences to exotic European courtyards or gardens, often with lavish decorations.

Image from www.historictheatrephotos.com

Here, History Intersects

Having introduced theaters of the 1920s and 1930s, we can conclude that theaters were spaces where architectural decoration, stage performances, and cinema converged and intersected. These venues carried historical significance while also showcasing cinema, an emerging medium at the time, creating a juxtaposition of old and new.

The theater is a point of historical intersection.

Theaters in the 1920s and 1930s (Cont.)

Today, watching movies is primarily a form of entertainment; we dress casually and go to the cinema on weekends. However, in 1920s America, watching a movie was akin to a religious event. People would dress up on Sundays and go to the theater with their families.

Drawing a parallel to religious activities, a 35-cent movie ticket was akin to an offering. The theater could be seen as an American-style temple.

As the audience enters, the solemn music of the grand organ begins to play, and chorus girls perform dances reminiscent of American versions of shamanic rituals. A full orchestra performs on a moving stage, and as the prelude notes of the film finally sound, everyone is filled with anticipation for the divine to manifest. From "Until the Moss Grows" by Hiroshi Sugimoto

Is Death the End?

The answer here can be both yes and no.

The origins of theater lie in rituals, ceremonies, and communal celebrations. Its earliest form was a group activity meant to please the gods. Over time, early drama evolved into stage plays and eventually into cinema, but its essence remains unchanged. It is still a communal gathering with a shared purpose: on the surface, people come together to watch a movie, but fundamentally, it involves certain fixed procedures. More specifically, the dress code, behavioral norms, and group constraints during movie-going at that time were strikingly similar to religious practices. This can be seen as a form of ritual.

In the earliest dramas, actors often portrayed the dead, or rather, individuals who were both alive and dead. From the perspective of the deceased, the end of life means their time stops. However, within the illusory space created by the theater or stage, the time of the dead is extended.

Motion and Still

We typically think of a photograph as a single frame from a continuous motion. However, Sugimoto views it differently. Due to the long-exposure nature of his work, he sees photographs as tools or containers for storing and accumulating time. He breaks free from conventional thinking, transforming the photograph from representing a single moment into representing a duration of time.

From Pictures to Motion Picture

Traditionally, from a temporal perspective, photography represents "a moment that once existed," the "instant when the shutter is pressed." If we view a person's life as a timeline, the passage of time signifies a gradual approach toward death. A photograph captures a breakpoint on this timeline, symbolizing the concept of "having existed" (interfuit). Photography can be seen as an obsession with existence.

Interfuit: The thing I see was once there, existing in the space between the infinite and that person; it was there, but soon it was separated; it absolutely existed, undeniably existed, but it has been removed. Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida: Reflections on Photography, pp. 121-122

Unlike photography, cinema depicts events occurring over a period of time, representing a "process." Motion pictures transform the static nature of photography. By merging photography's fixation on "I existed" with cinema's narrative of "a process," Sugimoto's work embodies the connection between the real and the illusory in rituals.

Whose Ritual Is It? Who Is the Subject? | Whose Ritual? Who Is the Subject?

In every photograph of Sugimoto's Theaters series, there is, unsurprisingly, a blank screen. This blank screen serves as a space for the viewer's imagination, allowing them to project their consciousness and become the subject of the movie. As mentioned earlier, cinema narrates a temporal interval, enabling the viewer's consciousness to develop into fragments rather than being confined to a single breakpoint on a timeline, as in photography. What each person sees on this screen is different because everyone's thoughts and needs are unique. For the viewer, this blank screen becomes a medium for projecting their consciousness and thoughts. We cannot see the original subject of the movie because it has been replaced by the viewer's thoughts and experiences.

References

巴特, & Barthes, R. (2003). 明室: 摄影纵横谈.

杉本博司. (2005). 苔のむすまで.

江佩諭. (2017). 杉本博司的時間儀式──「劇場」系列初探. 議藝份子, (29). https://www.airitilibrary.com/Article/Detail?DocID=15623475-201709-201710120021-201710120021-61-76