Claudia Andujar: A Luta Yanomami (The Yanomami Struggle) is an exhibition about the work of the Brazilian photographer now on at the Instituto Moreira Salles in Rio. It traces her stylistic development from documentary photography, through expressive photographic works with a personal aesthetic, and into photography as a tool for activism.
A jewish immigrant of Hungarian and Swiss origin, Andujar fled persecution in the years leading up to the Nazi regime and ultimately settled in Brazil. The exhibition follows her story as she meets and gets increasingly involved with the Yanomami people, an isolated native group deep in the Amazon. As she became more intimate with the tribe, periodically visiting and staying for longer and longer stretches of time, she came to believe photography could be used as a political tool in their behalf. By photographing them and showing her work, Andujar hoped she could raise awareness to the cause and help the Yanomami overcome the challenges they faced.
The exhibition opens with a powerful image captured by Andujar of a maloca engulfed in flames. A figure to the right of the building gives the viewer an idea of scale and also assures that the fire was intentional. The label explains that these structures, central to the life of the Yanomami, were routinely burned when they needed to move on, be it to adapt to hunting and planting seasons, to avoid disease or because a notable leader died. The image elicits symbolism of a vanishing culture, and at the same time poses the challenge of understanding memory and heritage in native societies. Nomadism, temporary structures and a focus on oral tradition are cultural elements that might be conflated with outdated concepts of primitivism. How to reconcile the role seasons and cycles play in Yanomami culture with the importance we ourselves put on permanence?
Claudia Andujar, um dos retratos tirados dentro das malocas, 1974-1976
This conflict comes to a head in the second room of the exhibition. Already more intimate with the Yanomami and more knowledgeable of their language and customs, the photographer creates a large series of portraits of members of the tribe. The curatorial text itself points that the sitters were reluctant to allow the session to take place. According to the curator, the Yanomami were concerned about the existence of an image of a person separated from the person itself. They also believed no material remains of a person should linger in the material world after their death, including their image. Nevertheless the portraits are in the gallery, and the exhibition notes that the Yanomami were “convinced” to sit for the portraits because they understood the importance of these photographs for their survival. It is impossible not to read this line as a quick dismissal of their concerns, which is worrying. On the other hand, it is clear the potential unfairness of the transaction, along with the information about the struggles of the Yanomami may only exist in the conscience of museum patrons because the exhibition took place.
The photographs are infused with a bold contrast, where idiosyncratic faces emerge gracefully from the deep black background. Andujar's portraits narrate stories of individuals in the tribe and her intention to focus on personhood and individuality is evident. Using the language of photography, she urges the viewer to consider the internal world of each tribe member and compare it with their own, in an exercise of empathy.
Claudia Andujar, Catrimani, 1972-1974.
A third room in the exhibition develops on the theme of photography as a personal language when Andujar's work becomes much more authorial. In order to convey the energy and intensity of rituals and festivals she witnessed, the photographer indulges in the use of flash and motion blur, as well as double exposure. These additions imbue the work with more honesty. By leaning into (post)modern photographic aesthetic, Andujar shows us what would have been obvious to any Yanomami being pictured: There's a white woman with a camera here. The photographer makes herself unapologetically present in the photograph, because there is no use pretending otherwise.
From 1980 onward, as the threat to the Yanomami grew, Andujar stepped fully into the realm of activism. The deflorestation and pro mining policies of the military dictatorship caught up with the Yanomami, bringing disease and making their nomadic lifestyle more challenging. As a response, the artist transformed her expeditions in health care missions, bringing not only photography equipment into the forest but also doctors, vaccines and medical supplies. Her photographic work became part of the effort, as she took photographs to create help identify individuals and create a database. According to the exhibition, Yanomami do not have a permanent name, so for the sake of clarity they were photographed with number placards around their necks. Despite the negative connotations the images evoke, the curatorial text assuages concerns arguing that tracking each individual's health was paramount. Utilizing the popularity of the photographs, Andujar started a campaign to create a demarcation of land for the Yanomami, which succeeded in 1992.
The relationship Andujar and the Yanomami spans decades of struggle and dedication. While it is necessary to acknowledge her privilege and the asymmetric relationship between her and the tribe, her work comes across as more sympathetic than other photographers of indigenous people, such as Sebastião Salgado. Her commitment to the cause is undeniable, although it does not free the work from criticism. At the end of the day, an important point to raise is that all of these photographs were not made for Yanomami consumption. That as she photographed life and environment in the forest and in the malocas, she had us, the city dwelling traditionally educated photography consumers, as a target audience. The work was not made for them, although the exhibition presents solid arguments to support it was made on their behalf.
Claudia Andujar, Antiga missão batista Boas Novas, 1981.
One of the most fascinating aspects of the exhibition for me was the few clues that pointed to the Yanomami's relationship to photography. In a video interview, the artist suggests that when some of the women saw their own image for the first time they were not able to recognize themselves, unaccustomed with reading photography. In contrast, by the end of the exhibition, a Yanomami young man exhibits a collection of nude photographs of white females, among a number of things he acquired in exchanges with the ever encroaching white miners. It is beyond my means to comment about the sexuality of other social groups, or the difference of perception between mundane nudity in the flesh and pornographic nudity on photographs. I will risk suggesting, however, that this gap between not being able to recognize oneself in a photograph and understanding photography as a means of objectifying desire is important. It points to the idea that we all learn, at some point or another, to read, understand and use photography. The exhibition is a rich ground to reflecting about these issues, and the artist's work creates room for thinking about how humans see things, and what things they should see.