John Berger’s “Ways of Seeing” originated as a groundbreaking television series, accessible on YouTube, and subsequently became a book. This series, and by extension the book, offers a remarkable exploration of visual culture, though the book format itself presents some practical challenges. Its design as a Penguin paperback, with a small, dense font and grayscale reproductions of paintings, is far from ideal. The impact of these artworks, meant for close study and contemplation, is diminished by their presentation in the book. Ideally, “Ways of Seeing” would have been a large-format, visually rich book, allowing for a more immersive experience with the images that are central to Berger’s arguments.
There’s an inherent understanding, perhaps intuitive yet possibly flawed, that humans have engaged with visual imagery far longer than with written text. For most of human history, literacy has been a relatively recent development. Historically, visual storytelling, like that found in churches through images depicting biblical narratives, predates widespread literacy. Even when words were used, they were often in languages incomprehensible to the audience. Learning to interpret images, often mistakenly assumed to be an innate ability, is a culturally learned skill, a process as complex and lengthy as learning to read. Understanding the persuasive power of images, and how they can manipulate us, requires a level of critical engagement comparable to understanding the rhetoric and manipulation inherent in language.
“Ways of Seeing” delves into the history of Western oil painting, examining its meanings both historically and in contemporary society. Berger emphasizes that the Western painting tradition is distinct from other global art forms, warranting focused analysis.
Berger begins by noting the inherent stillness and silence of paintings. This is a crucial observation, particularly when considering how we often encounter art today – through mediated experiences like art documentaries hosted by figures like Sister Wendy or Simon Schama. While these programs are engaging and informative, they fundamentally alter the nature of the artworks they present. The stillness and silence are replaced by voiceovers, panning shots, and zooms, transforming static paintings into almost animated forms. This mediation is significant. The painting ceases to be a self-contained object, speaking for itself as intended by the artist. Instead, it requires a mediator to interpret and present it, often overlaying explanations or orchestrating its presentation with music, dictating a “proper” way to perceive the artwork.
The process of “reading” paintings and images is a central theme in Berger’s work, and it resonates with academic explorations like “Reading Images: the grammar of visual design.” Interestingly, linguistic grammar serves as a framework for understanding visual grammar. This approach, while effective, raises questions. If our relationship with images predates literacy, why do we rely on linguistic structures to decipher visual meaning? Why isn’t the reverse true? While language has been formally codified, images resist such rigid categorization. It would be nonsensical, for example, to explain a grammatical verb by referencing the Mona Lisa’s eyebrows, highlighting the distinct nature of visual and linguistic systems.
Berger explores the distinction between “naked” and “nude” through a feminist art criticism lens. Being nude is not simply being unclothed; it is a state of being on display, predominantly female, and objectified. In many nude paintings, the depicted woman is not the central subject in her own right. Instead, the implied viewer, invariably male and anonymous, becomes the central figure, the intended recipient of the woman’s display. Berger presents numerous examples of nude women in art, often positioned to face the viewer even when seemingly interacting with another figure within the painting. They are presented as objects of male fantasy and desire, even blamed for male “weaknesses,” ultimately reduced to passive figures meant to be lusted after. Their languid poses, in this context, can be interpreted as a consequence of this imposed role.
A significant point Berger makes is that mass accessibility to paintings is a modern phenomenon. Historically, paintings were intended for limited audiences, primarily the wealthy elite. In this sense, paintings functioned, as Plato described images, as representations of representations, primarily serving as demonstrations of the owner’s wealth and status. Paintings served to publicly display affluence: “Here I am, with my wife, in front of my property, showcasing my possessions – imported oranges, livestock, luxurious furs.”
The final episode of the “Ways of Seeing” series examines advertising and its appropriation and distortion of the language of oil painting, which Berger sees as the last vestige of a 500-year-old tradition. Oil paintings, in their time, reflected the contemporary wealth of their owners – a visual statement of “this is what I own now, this is my present status.” However, images inherently capture a moment in the past, a concept Roland Barthes eloquently explores in “Camera Lucida.” Time is frozen in an image, rendering all images as images of death, as life immediately moves beyond the captured moment, leaving behind only memory. Paintings, therefore, are simultaneously about the present and instantly relegated to the past – the present moment becoming the past in waiting.
Advertising images, conversely, are future-oriented, never focused on the present. The purpose of advertising is to cultivate desire, a longing for something yet to be attained. Berger argues that advertising doesn’t primarily sell products; it sells envy and aspiration. Unlike the subjects of oil paintings, who were not intended to be glamorous because they were portraying themselves to their own social circle, advertising relies heavily on glamour. Glamour functions by creating a desire in the viewer to emulate the idealized figures in advertisements. The fantasy of attainment, just beyond reach but achievable through a transaction – the exchange of money for goods – is the core mechanism of advertising. This constant cycle of desire and exchange is fundamental to capitalism, with advertising fueling these desires. This creates a temporal paradox: to participate economically, we are encouraged to constantly inhabit a fantasy future, while simultaneously enduring a mundane present. Advertising, therefore, must disregard the present, focusing instead on the promise of “what is to come.”
Berger also differentiates advertising strategies based on class, drawing a distinction between appeals to the working class and the middle class. Advertising targeting the working class often employs a “Cinderella” narrative – the promise of transformative change through a single product. For the middle class, the appeal shifts to an “Enchanted Palace” scenario, suggesting that investment, for example, in a particular bank, will unlock a holistic, aspirational lifestyle – an ensemble of desirable goods and experiences.
“Ways of Seeing,” in both its television and book forms, is remarkably dense with ideas and insights. It prompts reflection on the potential of television as a medium for intellectual exploration, even while acknowledging that such programming remains an exception to the norm. To witness what television could aspire to be, “Ways of Seeing” serves as a powerful example, encouraging a return to deeper engagement with books and critical thought.
