UNDERNEATH THE BUNKER

[The first review from 'Photography in Focus', a short-running series published in 2006...]

THE GREAT MOUSE by Markus Talihaarsi (2004)

The photograph that I have chosen to focus on this month is by a young Finnish photographer called Markus Talihaarsi, one of the many talented artists to have recently graduated from Tsutomo Saeki’s Vienna based academy, once known merely for the price of its fees, but gradually becoming respected also for the rigorously loose training it provides its privileged pupils.

The first thing that the attentive viewer may notice is that the photograph is shot in black and white. Not only is this typical of Talihaarsi’s work, but it also sets the tone for this series of critical interpretations, where it is my intention to deal only with photographs that are free from the pestilent virus of colour, which has for some decades now paradoxically drained all the vibrant vitality out of the photographic medium. Call me a romantic (I’d rather you didn’t) but I honestly cannot see a life for photography beyond shades of grey. The intrusion of more boisterous hues invariably leads to the detrimental obstruction of chaste aesthetic values; not to mention its being unfair on the colour blind (amongst whose ranks I count myself).

The title of this particular work is ‘The Great Mouse’; a name that is much more than a simple label: rather it is a diving board from which the audience can leap into not one, but many iridescent pools, as we shall see throughout this analysis. As for the subject matter, Talihaarsi clearly follows in his master’s footsteps, taking the insular approach; embracing the Saeki methodology of imbuing the functional domestic with the qualities of the natural epic, concurrently invoking concepts of the mistily romantic and the prosaically commonplace, involving in this instance a resplendently lyrical portrait of the backside of a computer mouse.

The graceful posterior of the most familiar of our computer accessories rests itself on a platform of concentric circles, which both mimic and complement the febrile buxomness of the mouse and its almost perfectly circular shadow, as well as giving the photograph a certain hypnotically abstract quality, which cannot help but draw the viewer in. On these grounds alone, it is a successful photograph. As is often the case with artworks, knowledge of the subject is unnecessary for the initial level of satisfaction. But this first storey of contentment is but the first floor in a monumental block of flats. Further knowledge provides the key to higher levels. And knowledge is provided, firstly, by the photographer himself – through his use of a title – and, secondly, by the critic herself: as it were, the cultural landlord.

The title comes first. ‘The Great Mouse’. How cunningly it directs our attention to the subject and then almost immediately diverts it elsewhere! The photograph does indeed show a mouse: not the mammalian whiskered type, but the smooth plastic-backed variety. We wonder – does the fact that this particular mouse doesn’t run around eating cheese qualify it to be differentiated from its animal cousin through the tag ‘great’, or is Talihaarsi’s use of the word ironic? ‘Great’, maybe, as in large, though not necessarily something to be respected. In this way, the computer mouse does indeed dwarf the common mouse, both in literal size and in the variety of functions it is able to fulfil (which incidentally does not include the consumption of cheese). Ah, but doesn’t ‘The Great Mouse’ also relate to something else entirely; to another animal that is regularly prefixed with the word ‘great’ but which is just as unlikely to be found munching food in a zoo? This is, of course, the illustrious ‘Great Bear’, otherwise known by the more prosaic name of Ursa Major: the collective title for a group of stars which may or not be joined like dots to form a shape that vaguely resembles some sort of bear.

Now let us look again at the photograph. With this information in hand, does it not now resemble a star chart: the mouse orbiting a non-existent sun like some misshapen moon, casting a ghostly lunar shadow over the rings of its circular motions? This photograph now turns out to be redolent with astronomical evocations which, coupled with the ordinary character of the actual objects pictured, create an uncertain image. In true Saeki-style, Talihaarsi plays with ideas of space (with a big ‘s’ and a little ‘s’): the mouse and mouse mat occupy a relatively small space, but they somehow suggest a much greater one: the great unknown itself. This then links back to the function of the computer mouse itself, an agent of the electronic/internet revolution which is, as we all know, both ‘great’ in sense of achievement and capability, but which also casts a shadow over our futures; ‘great’ as merely dominating. Though this is in many ways a romantic images, computers and computer accessories are not romantic, certainly not to look at: they are machines, frequently ugly machines, functional pieces of electronic furniture, mostly hated for their ability to break down at the worst possible moment, and only sometimes valued for their ability to do things people would never have dreamt of a decade or two ago. Talihaarsi pictures the computer mouse in both roles, simultaneously beckoning two ages of man: the misty past, in which stars were consulted for signs, the internet only a pipe dream – and the future, in which the unseen microchip reigns, and yet we increasingly wonder whether we’d like go back to dreams and pipes. Is the mouse really great? Is the bear really great? Is the bear even there? This is not for me to say.

Talihaarsi’s motivation in pursuing astronomical imagery is not simply symbolic of his desire to reach a universal audience with an all-embracing message. On the contrary, it turns out that his father was an astronomer, well-known in Finnish astronomy circles and frequently cited on account of his incredible planet discovery in 1970, which was later found to be due to a bit of fluff stuck on his telescope. He was therefore a failed astronomer: his planet existed in the universe no more than a moon in the shape of a computer mouse. In light of this knowledge, our evaluation of Talihaari’s use of the word ‘great’ definitely suggests irony.

It is worth remembering that Talihaarsi is a photographer who shuns the use of computers, though he has very much accepted it as a staple subject. In other photographs taken in the last couple of years (see below) he has focussed on other aspects of computers, casting a tangle of wires as tree roots and linking a rather dull shot of a keyboard with an archaic English word game (subtly harkening back to the days in which children played board games instead of computer games). In both cases, I cannot help noticing another thick layer of irony; the sense of a man who is resigned to a future in which twisted computer cords are the closest a man may get to the roots of a tree and yet is thoroughly determined to make the best of it.

‘The Great Mouse’ is, therefore, a photograph that unites two moods. One of them is negative: computers are just another hocus-pocus fashion casting a shadow over the real soul of humanity. The other is positive: regardless of function of meaning, an object photographed from the right angle can yield an aesthetically pleasing image. ‘Deformity can be beautiful’ said Enrique Louchez. What can one say to that? Si senor.

‘Boggle’ (2003)

‘Tree Roots’ (2003)

Lucia Noisenbach, October 2005