As it is well-known, we live in a culture of high-speed production, including fast
distribution and presentation of photographic images. I'm looking for another
relationship with the photograph. Usually we look straight through a photograph
towards the scene that is depicted. Instead, my work often carries the possibility of
making this ‘transparent’ medium receivable itself.
I made some of my artworks for public space, others are with and about photography.
The connection between the two types of work is to be found in the themes of
memory, the absence of (photographic) images, seeing, reflection on seeing and its residue: what should be physically present, or, what do we need to see in order to generate a memory?
I can’t think of another medium what has such an immediate relationship with memory than photography does. So far this notion has resulted in projects like the vernacular photography archive, Afterimages, Dark Dunes and Retracing. Right now I am working on a photography project about the Robert F Kennedy funeral train.

For the project Afterimages (2002) I invited friends and colleagues who were engaged with memory, language or photography, to write a story. This was the invitation I sent them.

(Also published in The Photographer's Playground, publisher Aperture.
Edited by Jason Fulford and Gregory Halpern, 2014).

Januari 2001, Amsterdam

Dear friend,

We were in a car getting lost in one of Antwerp’s old neighborhoods, trying to find our way back to the ringway. We pulled over for a bit and there I saw them, slowly moving on the pavement: two young girls, identical twins, walking next to each other, their nanny right behind them. The girls each had one eye taped over, the left girl’s right eye and the right girl’s left eye. Together they saw with one pair of eyes, as if to complement each other’s eyesight, as if together they could see with full depth of field. How would they see, and what were they, simultaneously, looking at? Probably not at me, who kept on staring at the girls while the car started moving again, the camera sitting on the dashboard.
Many of us carry a photo in our memory: an event or a moment that we saw but failed to capture in a photograph. Perhaps the camera was out of film or the battery empty, or perhaps the moment was simply too important.
Sometimes such perceived moments haunt you like persistent after-images. These images are fluid, because never recorded. Perhaps these kinds of after-images will lead you to new thoughts and new stories.
With these considerations I invite you to write a story about your untaken photographs. The story might be better than the photograph could ever have been.

Warmest regards,

Rein Jelle Terpstra