Espe Pons – Flucht
The life of the German critic and philosopher Walter Benjamin has one of those tragic endings that lingers on the mind, with his last days, in particular, still the subject of debate. However, Benjamin’s relevance in contemporary culture transcends his complicated biography, resting firmly on the quality of a corpus of writing that includes influential essays on photographic theory and many other subjects. His work is uncommon in that it appeals to both specialist and general audiences alike. I have yet to meet someone who’s not been touched by his allegory of history and progress rhetorically anchored in Klee’s painting Angelus Novus. It’s heartbreaking, then, that his brilliant ideas contrast so sharply with the circumstances of his death.
Flucht continues Catalan artist Espe Pons’ inquiry into photography’s limitations in capturing histories of trauma contained by the landscape.
Benjamin had been in a precarious financial situation for many years, but things deteriorated rapidly with the start of WWII. In 1939, after barely surviving a two-month detention in a camp near Paris, he was granted a US visa with the help of the philosopher Max Horkheimer. He then needed to reach Portugal to begin his transatlantic move. After a short stay in Marseille, he was forced to cross the Pyrenees on foot with the help of some friends after failing to secure a French exit pass. The small group reached the Spanish town of Portbou with much difficulty, only to realize they couldn’t proceed because the border had closed. Benjamin and the others were detained and confined to a hotel. The fear of deportation, which meant returning to an internment camp, made him conclude that suicide was his only option. He overdosed on morphine tablets on the night of September 26, 1940. The shocking news of his death predisposed the local authorities to reopen the border, allowing his fellow travellers to leave Portbou the following day.*
Flucht (2024), by the Catalan artist Espe Pons, alludes to Benjamin’s unsuccessful attempt to flee the Nazis through a delicate collection of monochromatic photographs. The book continues her inquiry into photography’s limitations in capturing histories of trauma contained by the landscape (the main topic of her previous publications, Under the Light of The Sea and Terra). Perhaps even more than in those other series, this book elicits a sense of phantasmagoria, the feeling of a ghostly dimension that exceeds typical spatiotemporal conceptions. Flucht opens with a color image by the noted photographer Gisèle Freund of Benjamin holding a daffodil. Taken in 1938 during a research stay in Pontigny Abbey, the pastoral scene hints at a bohemian milieu about to become untenable, but it’s also a fitting reminder that the now mythical Benjamin was once flesh and bone.
Pons is not interested in reconstructing Benjamin’s route or presenting the viewer with a straightforward topographical depiction of the province of Girona. The bulk of the book comprises expressionistic images that, through motion blur or tight framing, seem evocative rather than illustrative.
Pons is not interested in reconstructing Benjamin’s route or presenting the viewer with a straightforward topographical depiction of the province of Girona. The bulk of the book comprises expressionistic images that, through motion blur or tight framing, seem evocative rather than illustrative. Images like a lightbulb in a dingy room or a narrow footpath on a hill function like psychological projections that fuse Pons’ state of mind with her subject. As a result, the visual narrative shares Benjamin’s trademark penchant for melancholy. Yet, the lack of captions makes it impossible for the viewer to know the significance of these places in connection to Benjamin’s biography.
In fact, our protagonist is mostly absent from the book. Except for Freund’s picture, Pons includes no statues, plaques, or other explicit references to Benjamin, which underscores Flucht’s desire to function more broadly as a reflection on exile in times of fascist rule. Unfortunately, the fact that Pons’ projects are deeply researched doesn’t guarantee viewers will take a similarly studious approach. Flucht’s ambiguity might encourage some to delve into the historical circumstances surrounding these pictures, though I fear many will find its visual narrative too elusive, an effect compounded by the volume’s slimness. An economy of means is often a virtue, but in this case, I believe the book could have benefited from more photographs (it only has 31 images), especially if they referenced Benjamin more directly. To put it differently, brevity and a lack of contextual information leave viewers little room to maneuver if unfamiliar with Benjamin’s story.
Designed by the Spanish firm Underbau, Flucht’s minimalistic layout matches the vibe of its grainy images. The sequence flows gracefully, possibly the book’s best attribute. A sleek design touch is a triptych that echoes Benjamin’s interest in montage. Another one is the typography, which matches The Death of Empedocles edition depicted in the last photograph, a play about the final days of the Greek philosopher before his death by suicide. A signed print of this image is included in every copy. Overall, Flucht’s small print run and manageable size — inspired by Benjamin’s notebooks — make it an attractive object.
Flucht is a project that captures a feeling instead of telling a story, prompting us to question whether the past remains readable in the landscape once material traces disappear.
The book’s several texts include an endorsement from the author’s granddaughter, Mona Benjamin, who describes it as inhabiting “that space where the abstract and the concrete meet.” There’s also a short afterword by the curator Pilar Parcerisas, who commissioned the project, and a poem by Vicenç Altaió that meditates on our perception of time. One of Altaió’s verses — “without the past I cannot foresee the future because the future traverses the past” — neatly summarizes Benjamin’s asynchronous conception of history. These texts open up entry points to the images, even if featuring them in Spanish, Catalan, English, French, and German results in a preventable congestion.
Flucht is a project that captures a feeling instead of telling a story, prompting us to question whether the past remains readable in the landscape once material traces disappear. For those who find it hard to accept Benjamin’s cruel fate, the book will incite associations that can supplement his diverse writings. His notable quota of bad luck, plus the contempt he suffered from the German intellectual establishment, make me regard him as a prime candidate to be rescued as soon as time machines are invented. That’s probably the only way we’ll be able to know the mysterious text he carried through the Pyrenees in his briefcase, which he described as being “more important than I am” but was nowhere to be found after his passing.
*There are many versions of this story. This brief summary is based on Howard Eiland and Michael William Jennings’ Walter Benjamin: A Critical Life (2014).
Espe Pons
Self-Published 2024
