I Wanted To See The World
Shapeless and shimmering layers bear witness to an abundance of colours. The eye is immersed in colourful waves, could it be paint diluted in water? There is something fluid about the images of Jessica Backhaus. Was it not Rimbaud who merged the sea with the sun in his quest for eternity? (1)
The photography appears to come alive again through the lyrical vision of the artist. She paves a way to abstraction for the medium without however distancing it from the concrete world. The photographer grazes the surfaces of objects to capture a fleeting moment, trapping it visually through colours while allowing it to embrace its fickle and wild nature: time turned image.
Photography is found in many areas of contemporary life. Sometimes it plays the game of faithful rendition, other times it has the power of inventing an entirely new universe. Its message is generally ambiguous. The easiest approach is to question its content. Often reason provides the answer. From this angle, the series can be explained in one sentence: Jessica Backhaus has reproduced the reflections of Burano's colourful houses on the surface of the water.
That said, the title of the series encourages the observer to follow a different path: inspired by the desire to see the world! This is a true challenge, which requires the observer to put aside any past knowledge and objective conclusions.
When Kandinsky experienced a creative block, Gabriele Münter suggested he was trapped in the logic of his own arguments.
The reflections are an optical illusion, a phenomenon that is not tangible but can nevertheless be explained scientifically. The human mind understands the underlying principle very well, but the magical effects threaten to escape from it. To follow the photography in its non-figurative expression, the eyes will have to submit to the superiority of the spirit. The world will reveal itself in its irrational, even lyrical, splendour, the moment the point becomes a line - a surface - a painting - or a photograph even!
1 L'Eternité, 1872