Media Mixing and Memory in The Photographer

The graphic work The Photographer mixes Didier Lefèvre’s photographs and Emmanuel Guibert’s illustrations in a sequence that chronicles Lefèvre’s humanitarian mission with Doctors without Borders in Afghanistan amid the Soviet-Afghan War. For this post, I’m thinking about what’s at stake when a graphic narrative is conveyed through mixed media. Many graphic narratives appear in print media (e.g., shiny paper) that remediates compositions in pencils, inks, paints, type and more. The Photographer stands out because, unlike many graphic narratives, it refuses the comics tradition of sticking to one style that emerges from an artist’s media. Put differently, by integrating documentary photography with illustrations, The Photographer is a collaborative project both in process and on paper, in a way that challenges long-held traditions of the comics form. In rhetorical terms, the book’s mix of image styles, carefully arranged in a way that respects Lefèvre’s trade and Guibert’s documentation of his life, makes the book’s delivery noteworthy. So, I'll offer that at stake are theories of comics as well as the credibility of the collaborators, whose work relies on archival documents and Lefèvre’s memory.

The interplay of photography and illustrations in The Photographer warrants a return to Scott McCloud’s oft-cited definition of comics: "Juxtaposed pictorial and other images in deliberate sequence intended to convey information and/or to produce and aesthetic response in the viewer”. I italicize the “ands” above because they speak to the image mixing of The Photographer. If I place the book in McCloud’s picture plane, Lefèvre’s photographs are located in the “Reality” corner, whereas Guibert’s illustrations, I’ll guess, are located somewhere between “Reality” and “Language.” But here’s the rub: The Photographer is “Reality.” Lefèvre’s photographs are from his camera rolls used in Afghanistan, and Guibert’s illustrations were created in response to Lefèvre’s recollections of his journey. That said, I could be swayed toward the idea that Guibert’s illustrations tighten the looseness of Lefèvre’s memory, given that the book was composed more than 10 years after Lefèvre’s trip (The Photographer 262).

Noting that Guibert completed The Photographer shortly after Lefèvre passed away, I’m left wondering who deserves more credit for composing the book. I assign priority to Lefèvre because without his photography and recollections we wouldn’t have the book (at least in this form). One of Guibert’s invention strategies was to examine Lefèvre’s materials and conduct interviews, methods that shaped his illustration style. In 2009 interview with Newsrama, Guibert said the project was borne from two friends attempting to convey one lived experience. “That’s what I like about those stories made with friends: try to experiment so, if two persons really listen to each other, mutual comprehension turns polyphony into some sort of single melody.” Guibert, then, shouldn’t be viewed as Lefèvre’s lesser than collaborator. He was responsible for filling in the gaps between Lefèvre’s photographs, arranging the book in a way that brought narrative closure to the photographer’s timeline.