Libraries

Citation

Miller, J. (2006), "Libraries", Library Review, Vol. 55 No. 9, pp. 637-639. https://doi.org/10.1108/00242530610706851

Candida Höfer is a German photographer whose work typically focuses on public spaces which are empty of the public. Her previous work has attracted a range of comment, with her advocates describing her use of vacant public areas as inexpressibly spiritual: “Among the unique aspects of Höfer's work is the fact that typically the people who would inhabit these spaces are absent, thus enabling her to discover in the spaces what she describes as an “almost magical presence of things” (University Art Museum, California State University, Long Beach Long Beach, USA, 2005). In contrast, her detractors query her inability to come to terms with the human dimension of our shared, collective space.

This particular collection comprises photographs of libraries in Europe, North and South America, ranging from impressive national libraries to small rooms with a few shelves. The viewpoint is usually from an elevated position. Looking down a row of shelves towards a door or a window, it feels as though the viewer is being drawn into the photograph and the library – in some cases there is an empty chair or desk, inviting the viewer to sit down.

Particularly effective is the depiction of a library in Eindhoven where the shelves of a journal display cabinet are broken up by strongly coloured alcoves housing a chair, desk and PC, evoking the atmosphere of stillness and ascetic solitary study. These environments lend themselves to a more medieval form of study: when modern technology makes an appearance it is largely on the sidelines, with fire extinguishers, exit signs and information technology seeming like intruders from the modern world.

Because these pictures are largely devoid of the public, in the few cases where Hofer has photographed people in the library they are incongruous. It is interesting to compare them to the libraries peopled with statues and busts – the cold, marble figures seem more at home in the silent world of the library than the human inhabitants.

This in turn presents us with a contradiction. The photographs seem to invite the viewer to imagine being in these libraries, studying in them, sitting at a desk, browsing the spines. But at the same time the library seems uncomfortable and uninviting, typified by the red guard‐ropes of Trinity College Library Dublin. This is the library during closed hours and it is almost like a being with a life of its own, separate from librarians and borrowers. Such cold apartness will not appeal to all.

For those who are chilled by this approach her background appears important and indicative: mentored by photographers who celebrated depersonalised industrial landscape (Becher and Becher, 2005), there is a suspicion that the inspiration for her photographs derives from a governing aesthetic that can only celebrate an industrial landscape by dissociating the observer from the human ugliness at the heart of it. Of course Höfer does sometimes let life enter her photography, but only in the shape of lifeless or captive animals (Höfer, 1993). So that ultimately she seems to share the same distaste for human life that has distinguished many other modern artists, who in their contemporary despair have decided to privilege library space above humanity:

“I suspect that the human species – the unique species – is about to be extinguished, but the Library will endure: illuminated, solitary, infinite, perfectly motionless, equipped with precious volumes, useless, incorruptible, secret” (Borges, 1962).

Additional perspectives are offered in this book by Umberto Eco's introduction, which is an interesting reflection on the purpose of libraries from the point of view of a bibliophile.XPATH ERROR: unknown variable “restp”.öfer's libraries are inhuman. They are imposing and intimidating; on a grand scale. The lighting is harsh, the structures uncomfortably symmetrical, the chairs unyielding and the weight of books immense.

One is reminded of the fact that in the 21st century it is impossible to assimilate all human knowledge and Hofer captures the baffling immensity of that endeavour. Is it true that Milton was the last man to know everything there was to know and that we imbibe more information from our Sunday newspaper than a medieval person did in their lifetime? Perhaps one of these libraries holds the origin of these quotations, but the task of finding them seems insurmountable. These libraries are beautiful but they guard their material jealously. We gain entry only on sufferance.