Sleeping by the Dataflow
Sleeping by the Dataflow (2023) quotes the series Sleeping by the Mississippi by American photographer Alec Soth. An artificial intelligence wrote prompts based on Soth's photographs. In a second step, these prompts were used to generate images. Through the unreflective interpretation and rearrangement of learned image patterns, the AI exposes common stereotypes that are deeply rooted in society. The work also raises the question of copyright in the age of AI..
The Falling Soldiers
The work „The Falling Soldiers“ uses images created with artificial intelligence to draw attention to common prejudices and reproduced clichés and to question the credibility of photography. The series is based on the well-known image „The Falling Soldier,“ photographed in 1936 by Robert Capa. This photograph was long considered documentary. It was not until the 1970s that suspicions arose that the image might have been based on a reenactment.The artificial intelligence DALL-E generated new variations of the well-known image based on the first 400 characters of an image description from the „LIFE Magazine / 100 Photographs / The Most Important Pictures of All Time And the Stories Behind Them“. The images, which at first glance appear to be classic photographs, show disintegrated soldiers embedded in a fictitious environment when looked at more closely.The program, which uses machine learning to understand images and recognize patterns based on millions of digital images with their corresponding text labels, can use this knowledge in the second step to generate pixels that produce an image matching the text. Because the training images are largely from Western culture, the program reproduces prevailing social stereotypes.The images in the series "The Falling Soldiers" show us an exaggerated interpretation of our environment, as the artificial intelligence analyzes and recomposes the images available to it in an unfiltered way. My work thus functions as a mirror of society.
Room 125
I have fulfilled a dream with my work Room 125; the dream of inhabiting a picture, or, more precisely, of moving into a photograph and making changes to ist content. As its starting point, my unusual photography project used the artwork Room 125 by the American artist Stephen Shore. In 1973 he traveled through the United States to document his everyday experiences and his homeland in photographs. The picture is of the photographer’s hotel room, framed to show only his legs and feet on the bed. Forty-five years later, I reconstructed the photo in my own home and documented my life inside the photo of Room 125, creating a literal tableau vivant.
Piece of cake
Is there a recipe for creating photographic icons? Anja Engelke has taken this question literally. By baking images of well-known photographers and then putting these into photographic form she appropriates photographic history and, virtually imbibes it. This kind of transposition demands precise analysis of the represented works.
The photographer explains: ’During my day-to-day work with the photographic medium, it is apparent time and time again just how important it is to have an understanding of photographic history. After all, this forms the foundations without which photography in its current from would not exist.
The Ferry
In her series, Anja Engelke portrayed passengers on different ferries crossing the Gulf of Izmir. They sit on benches in front of windows, some are lying down, listening to music, looking out the window, or just staring into space. Where the gazes from ferry are directed remains unclear—the windows only depict white space and leave room for individual interpretations. The repeated scenes on the ferries appear stage-like, almost staged, but however only show carefully observed scenes from everyday life.
As You Wish
In her work "As You Wish" Anja Engelke depict sence of daily life in Taiwan. The photographer plays subtly with arrangements of human being and their surrounding area. Patience, precise observation and the feeling for the decisive moment create a scope of possible stories which are not disclose. The question remains on the border of (self)-starging.
Reborn
In her photographic work “Reborn” the photographer Anja Engelke plays with reality and fiction. Little newborn babies lying fragile in their cribs. Three are sleeping peacefully. Two are awake and looking directly to the viewer of these photographs. From many family photo albums we know the esthetic of these kind of pictures. But after a while we can feel that something is wrong with these photographs.
Deutschland
The focus of the work “Deutschland” [Germany] is the photographic observation of people out in public who have only little or no awareness of their interaction with their surroundings. How does the individual behave if they are not aware of any outside observation and interact with their environment in a way that is free from self-reflection? Engelke photographs in the street, observes her environment silently, but not secretly, and sets up the camera—but doesn’t interfere and leaves the people on their own. The possible stories emerge in the mind of the beholder. They draw on their wealth of experience, creating their own context with the help of past experiences. Daily events can give the images new directions and open new doors. The small signs of everyday life are important here and receive the power to intensify and even to change meanings. Questions are deliberately left unanswered; what is that, what was there, and why? The viewer is cast back on themself, more aware of their identity, and is left to doubt whether they can be seen in this way.
Nauru - pleasant island
The twenty-one square kilometre South Pacific atoll, called Pleasant Island, was originally forested with large old trees and surrounded by white, palm-fringed beaches. The indigenous people lived out their rituals and customs, which evolved over centuries, and only rarely felt harassed by the white newcomers residing on the beach. In 1900, a huge phosphate deposit was discovered in the interior of the country. What frigate birds had excreted over thousands of years could now be profitably mined. After the First World War, the Australians took over this lucrative business. The forests increasingly vanished, leaving only a rocky desert behind. The Nauruans saw only a fraction of the profit generated by the mining. This changed when they gained independence in 1968. Nauru, at the time the smallest republic in the world, was expecting a bright future. The atoll became the country with the second highest per capita income. The profits from the phosphate mining were paid to the land owners in cash and there was no crime. Every islander was regularly able carry home their own heavy suitcase full of money. No Nauruan needed to work anymore—that was handled by guest workers from surrounding islands and from China. The population afforded themselves every conceivable luxury and some families had up to five cars to take on pleasure trips on the 19-km long coastal road. When one broke down, it wasn’t repaired—it was replaced. The Nauruans also enjoyed flying to far-flung countries with their own airline of seven Boeings. Even if the plane only had one passenger. The rest of the time was filled with sprees of eating and drinking. Their changed way of life was not without consequences—the population was overweight and sick.
In the mid-eighties, as precaution for bad times, the Nauru government increasingly invested in lands, hotels, and real estate in Oceania and Europe. The government quickly lost touch with reality and did business beyond its means. Millions of dollars were wasted annually. In the beginning of the 21st century, these bad investments coincided with the decrease in the phosphate deposits and an unstable political situation. Hundreds of thousands of dollars found their way into the pockets of corrupt government officials. The smallest republic in the world was finally bankrupt.
To secure their basic needs, the government got involved with the Russian mafia, in order to launder money, and allowed 350 banks to open tax-advantaged branches on Nauru. Under pressure from the UN, the OECD, and other powerful institutions, however, Nauru soon had to give up this source of income. At that point there was only one way to raise funds on this tiny island. A refugee camp for Iraqi and Afghan boat people was set up with 20 million dollars of annual funding from the Australian government. At times, up to a thousand people expelled from Australia lived in these camps. In early 2008, they were closed due to a change of government in Australia. Since 2006, however, phosphate deposits, this time underground, were once again discovered, giving rise to new hope for a better life on Nauru. The mining started and the first small amounts were paid out to the land owners.
Today the island is in limbo. It’s still not clear how much land will be mined and sold this time. And although the low point seems to have passed now, the population is still struggling with various economic problems. Electricity is only available on an hourly basis, gasoline is in short supply, and at times rice is barely affordable. This not only affects the quality of life, but also peoples’ health. Today, Nauru has the world’s highest rate of diabetes. The average life expectancy for men is 55 years. A good education is only possible abroad and jobs are still scarce. The mood in the country is characterized by incredible sadness and boredom. Because the inhabitants of Nauru have no other choice than to wait and see how the situation in their country develops. And waiting is what the Nauruans do best.