The photographer, whatever his intentions, is "present" in the image as much as the photographed person. It is impossible to ignore the relationship between these two people, as it is impossible to detach the image from the action of its creation and the conditions under which it was realized. In 1960, Marc Garanger, a soldier in the French army, was asked to take identification card photographs of the residents in certain parts of Algiers, in order to monitor their movement to what were called "concentration villages." The women came dressed-up and clad in jewelry to be photographed for the first time in their lives. They uncover their faces, stand in front of a wall, and surrender to the soldier-photographer. With their eyes uncovered, the women look directly into the camera, as they are told. They are covered in festive clothes, yet are naked; they are being forced to expose their face to the light, to the stare of the soldier photographing them against their will. What makes these pictures disturbing, however, is that the coercion is not obvious¯the seemingly calm and sometimes coquettish women's poses do not reveal this malice¯ it is revealed only through the story accompanying these photographs. ". . . I received their stare as the first witness of their silent and violent protest. I want to testify on their behalf," Marc Garanger concludes in his narration. Marc Garanger "Femmes Algeriennes", 1960 Something similar is happening with the faces in Pavlos Fissakis' Identities (1999). In these photographs, one sees everyday faces, faces with disarming honesty and dignity, faces that appear to participate willingly in this photographic session. In reality, however, they are patients of the Psychiatric Hospital of Attiki, photographed in an impromptu studio ¯an examination room ¯ in the hospital. Deviating from the typology of the identification card photograph, Fyssakis created a series of portraits that conceal any indication of psychological disturbance. Some details, however, such as the pajamas someone wears, or the way another person folds her hands , soon make the viewer realize the true identity of the subjects. Thus, the "consent to be photographed," previously apparent in their look, acquires new interpretations. Maybe for these people photographing is part of one more medical exam, a stare of authority they stoically bear or, why not, an unexpected friendly gesture. Pavlos Fissakis "Identities", 1999 Similarly ambivalent are the stares in Georges Mara d' Ejove work "L' entretien de Saint Maur". Men of different ages and nationalities sit behind an empty desk resting their hands on it and looking awkwardly at the person looking at them. Their posture indicates a kind of inquiry, an "interview," as noted on the title of the work. Their photographing becomes a symbolic summary of various types of relationships between the citizen and the state. Are these people there willingly or unwillingly? Are they being interrogated as suspects, are they unemployed individuals, or patients? Are they waiting for an answer or submitting a request; are they treated as individuals or as data for statistics? Georges Mara d'Ejove "L'entretien de Saint Maur" (detail) Using Japan as an example of a technologically advanced society, Andreas Muller-Pohle, in his Face Codes, (1998-99) researches the future encoding of citizens' physiognomy. Faces of Japanese individuals whose photographs were initially video-taped digitally were subsequently edited and standardized using similar parameters. These portraits are not intended to represent real people but rather the codes (translated into Japanese characters and presented as subtitles) that constitute them. A face in digital format does not have a defined shape, or rather it has no shape at all. The digitalized face is the sum of data whose features can be recomposed or distributed to other faces according to a predictable and controlled process. In this meta-photographic situation, the impersonalization, categorization, and monitoring of the individual are as feasible as they are horrific. Andreas Muller-Pohle "Face Codes, 2099 (Kyoto)" 1998-99 Man opposite woman, soldier opposite citizen, conqueror opposite the conquered, the civilized opposite the uncivilized, eventually, the strong opposite the weak. The photograph has been and is always present, reflecting and underlining these relationships. Roger Ballen, a South African, photographs the gradual loss of power of whites during a period of intense political change in South Africa. Selecting white social groups whose lifestyle resembled that of native Africans, Roger Ballen invades the environment of the people he photographs, takes their image, and records it in an anthology of the grotesque. In his photographs, the people appear to be looking with surprise, with fear, with caution, with intensity. Is it the flash that captures these unexpected expressions on their faces? Is it a grimace or a photographic trick that gives them this strange expression? Are they like this in real life, when no one is photographing them and no one is watching them? Or is it through their stare that one is able to perceive clearly the "moment" that their picture was taken, the "moment" of their humiliation and isolation? Roger Ballen "Outsider" Kostas Xenoulis' photographs titled Nikos, (1995) provoke the viewer to search for the subject's character in the photograph. Xenoulis' photographs describe the environment in which Nikos lives with his mother. The photographs follow Nikos in his day-to-day life, revealing an isolated, psychologically disturbed person, who hides in the shadows and winces, trapped in a decomposing environment. "Nikos is my best friend," says the photographer, "we grew up together, we were in the same class, and he was the best student in math." The question these images raise concerns the photographer's right to invade a person's private space, to reshape and to dominate a person. We do not know who "Nikos" is and never will. Because reality is artfully concealed in what is "outside the photographic field" in an area of exclusion and silence that the imagination demandingly claims. Kostas Xenoulis "Nikos", 1995 The person that Ulf Lundin watches seems totally different. He is a 30-year-old family man who goes to work every morning, picks up his kids from school, goes home, and eats with friends in his backyard¯in other words, lives an ordinary life. The form of the photographic images imply at intense surveillance from a distance, and the fact that someone is watching this man creates various scenarios: the man may be hiding for some reason, may be a suspect, or something unexpected may occur. However, nothing happens other than that the man is being watched. Turning his tele-photo lens on an ordinary and peace-loving citizen, Ulf Lundin uses this provocative visual language of scandal mongering images to denounce their indiscretion. At the same time, however, he is playing a game. The man in the photographs is his best friend, his idol during his school years, who now lives in a city in West Sweden. Lundin meets him and receives permission to photograph him as long as he, the photographer, remains unnoticed. Lundin photographs him from behind bushes or from the window of a neighboring house, even during the man's family vacation. But this is not just a game, since the exposure of Lundin's connection to the photographed person and the conditions under which the photographs are taken are part of the narrative. Lundin directs himself to be an intruder in his friend's family life, becomes a member of the family, nourishes himself with their images, participates in their life, and ultimately lives part of his friend's life. Ulf Lundin "Pictures of a family" Nick Waplington's photographs show a completely different approach to photography as a family intruder. In his work Weddings, Parties, Anything, Waplington's relationship with members of this family¯especially Janet, who is preparing for her wedding¯dates back to 1986. At that time, he was photographing, over a period of four years, the life of two families, one being Janet's, who lived in a workers' cooperative in Nottingham, England. These photographs constituted his work Living Room (1991). His friendship with Janet again put him among her family members 10 years later, to photograph her wedding preparations. Nick Waplington's contribution to the social photographic documentary in England is indisputable, and what makes these photographs stand out is the natural approach and participation of whatever occurs around him. The people he photographs trust him; he approaches them and takes close-up images. Sometimes he photographs from such a short distance and from such an angle that the images appear to describe odd situations. But his volatile sense of humor refines and legitimizes this oddness. He observes with understanding and compassion the laughter, the games, the tenderness, and the care the family members have to one another. Nick Waplington "Weddings, Parties, Anything" Katrina Lithgow's photographs, in her series titled Naked Portraits also reveal a special personal relationship between the photographer and the people photographed: women¯ during pregnancy, holding children in their arms, in their rooms, in their gardens, together with their sisters and friends. They are naked and are photographed without embarrassment, with a naturalness that makes it appear as if their clothes disappear just when the photograph is being taken. These paradoxical images of "clothed faces," and naked bodies disengage any sense of voyeurism, legitimizing the viewer's presence in the women's private space. Katrina Lithgïw "Naked Portraits"