BEING AND CONSTRUCTEDNESS:
A PERSONAL JOURNEY IN IDENTITY FORMATION
By
Greg Klassen
B.Sc., University of Guelph, 1984
M.Sc., University of Guelph, 1985
Ph.D., University of Toronto, 1992
Dipl.Adv.Stud.(Visual Arts), New Brunswick College of Craft and Design, 2009

A THESIS ESSAY SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE
REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF
MASTER OF APPLIED ARTS
in
Visual Arts / Media

EMILY CARR UNIVERSITY OF ART + DESIGN
2012

©Greg Klassen, 2012

Abstract
This thesis explores the relationship between surface and depth in
photography and their influence on identity formation from the perspective of an
Asperger’s personality. I saw in my prior work a sense of duality, a conceptual in‐
between space and the need to construct photographs as a metaphor for my
confused sense of self. The present work is an exploration of how my perspective on
identity expresses itself in my photographic work, which I have contextualized in
relation to the apparent dialectic of internal/individual (being) versus
external/social (constructedness). I have further contextualized my work relative to
four artists I have identified as representing the use of portrait photography as a
means of exploring what lies beneath the surface: Guillaume‐Benjamin‐Amand
Duchenne de Boulogne’s direct, literal approach, Florence Henri’s connection
between literal and metaphorical, Nancy Burson’s consideration of the relationship
between “believing” and “seeing”, and Elisabeth King’s exploration of the
relationship between mind and body through “attention’s loop”. My projects,
“emotional me”, “mirror/mask”, “collaborative self‐portrait”, and “the emotions
project” individually and collectively play on key elements of each of these four
approaches to identity. There is a way to balance between internal needs and
external pressures when forming a sense of self. For me that balance is found not in
words but in a non‐linguistic, non‐linear form of photographic narrative. I have
come to believe that photography – which I see as a medium that both transmits and

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reflects, that retains some of the pre‐modern assumption of transparency – is the
medium that will allow me to explore the incomprehensible.

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Table of Contents

ABSTRACT ................................................................................................................................................ II
TABLE OF CONTENTS .......................................................................................................................... IV
LIST OF FIGURES .................................................................................................................................... V
1. INTRODUCTION ................................................................................................................................ 1
2. STRUCTURE ........................................................................................................................................ 7
3. EMBODIMENT .................................................................................................................................. 16
3.1. BEING .............................................................................................................................................................. 16
3.1.1.“touch your feelings”.............................................................................................................................. 16
3.1.1.1.Duchenne de Boulogne ...................................................................................................................... 16
3.1.1.2. “emotional me” .................................................................................................................................... 20
3.1.2. “two ravens” ............................................................................................................................................ 25
3.1.2.1. Florence Henri .................................................................................................................................... 26
3.1.2.2. “mirror/mask” .................................................................................................................................... 29
3.2. CONSTRUCTEDNESS ....................................................................................................................................... 34
3.2.1. “making a fire” ....................................................................................................................................... 34
3.2.1.1. Nancy Burson ..................................................................................................................................... 35
3.2.1.2. “collaborative self portrait” .......................................................................................................... 38
3.2.2 .“colliding galaxies” ................................................................................................................................ 43
3.2.2.1. Elizabeth King ................................................................................................................................... 44
3.2.2.2. “the emotions project”..................................................................................................................... 47
3.3. ON REFLECTION ............................................................................................................................................. 52
4. CONCLUSION .................................................................................................................................... 55
WORKS CITED ....................................................................................................................................... 58
WORKS CONSULTED ........................................................................................................................... 62

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List of Figures

Figure 1: Greg Klassen, In‐between No. 55, 2009. Digital print. ............................................. 2
Figure 2: Greg Klassen, Fred H., from series "Who?", 2010, digital print. ......................... 3
Figure 3: Duchenne de Boulogne, Terror Mixed With Pain, 1875? In public domain. 17
Figure 4: Greg Klassen, Fear, Disgust, Surprise, Sadness, Joy, Anger from the series
"emotional me", 2011. Digital prints. .................................................................................... 20
Figure 5: Florence Henri, Self Portrait, 1938. Public domain. .............................................. 27
Figure 6: Greg Klassen, In The Bathroom (including topological drawing of setup for
dual exposure), from the series "mirror/mask", 2011. Digital print. ..................... 31
Figure 7: Nancy Burson, Androgeny (6 men + 6 women), 1982. Permission from artist
not received. ..................................................................................................................................... 36
Figure 8: Greg Klassen, Blended Me from the series "collaborative self‐portrait",
2011. Digital print. ........................................................................................................................ 41
Figure 9: Greg Klassen, Sample of four of 18 constructions of my face using Faces
v4.0, from the series "collaborative self‐portraits", 2011. Digital prints. ............. 42
Figure 10: Elizabeth King, Untitled, 1999. Permission from artist not received. ......... 46
Figure 11: Greg Klassen. “The emotions project”,Sample of six emotions by six
collaborators (Morgan Klassen, Anger; George Fry, Disgust; Andrew Giffin,
Sadness; Bronwyn Gallagher, Joy; Fred Harrison, Fear; Suzanne Hill, Surprise),
2012. Digital prints. ...................................................................................................................... 49
Figure 12: Greg Klassen. “The emotions project”, Project installation and closeups of
each of the seven digital photo frames at random intervals, 2012. Multimedia
installation. ....................................................................................................................................... 51

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1. Introduction
I see myself in a dark room facing a two‐way mirror. My camera is set up to shoot
whatever I see through the glass. In the room is a single candle providing faint
illumination and casting a reflection on the glass. The camera catches simultaneously
both the external image and the inner reflection.

I wrote this several years ago as part of the artist statement for my first
photographic project titled “In‐Between”, a dialogic engagement with my youngest
daughter, Morgan. Although I had some intuitive grasp that my work was
increasingly circling around identity issues, I was still unaware of the profound
implications and inner turmoil inherent in the visual work.
I have trained and worked as a scientist, an evolutionary biologist, all of my
adult life. As such I have had the opportunity to study, explore and experiment with
many of the key scientific principles we apply to life processes on this planet,
including certain aspects of the human condition. But the science I had made my
own over the decades could only partially help me address the increasingly pressing
questions I was having about the formation of identity, the very personal questions
of how I defined myself, to myself and in a larger context. It was my hope that
through research with photography, with art making, through dialogue with others:
local artists, and works of photographers, philosophers and theorists, I could better
imagine and understand the possibilities of identity construction. I felt I was missing
something but was unable to intuit what that might be. Unfamiliar and

1

uncomfortable with an intuitive voicing of these pressing questions I continue to
resort to externalizing and objectivizing the very process of exploring the self.
Examples from two recent bodies of work, “In‐Between” and “Who?”, hint at
an alternate path that a part of me has already stepped onto. This path has
circumvented the cognitive, finding a more direct, visual expression in my arts
practice in a form of non‐linguistic, or pre‐linguistic conception.

Figure 1: Greg Klassen, In‐between No. 55, 2009. Digital print.

The work “In‐Between” (Fig. 1) represents my first explicit attempt to make
people a core aspect of my photographic work. This series, made in collaboration
with my daughter, specifically addressed conversations about our differing
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impressions about the spaces we were exploring – shared spaces, differing
perceptions. What emerged was the sense of an in‐between space, a neutral zone
where it was safe to talk, a non‐dialectical space that transcends definition. That
conception of the in‐between space, as both a physical and imagined space, has since
become a crucial element in my visual repertoire. The subsequent work “Who?” (Fig.
2) represents an explicit recognition of the crucial

Figure 2: Greg Klassen, Fred H., from series "Who?", 2010, digital print.

role that questions of identity would play in my work. This work not only built on
my recognition that exploring the in‐between was somehow critically linked to my
conception of identity but that the notion of construction – both conceptual and
material – would be equally important. For reasons that I could not yet articulate,
even to myself, I found in that in‐between space a way of visualizing the key
elements of a photograph that I could then capture separately with the camera and
reconstitute on the computer. Thus a notion of constructedness became another
crucial element.

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What I did not understand yet, on a conscious level was why these elements,
the sense of duality, the in‐between space, and the notion of constructedness, were
so important. An answer would come from a most unexpected quarter: I was
recently diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome.
Those of us on the autism spectrum appear to have well understood clinical
issues with identity formation. This is a direct consequence of our unique
neurological makeup associated in large part with the functioning of what have been
termed “mirror neurons” situated in the amygdala region of the brain (Iacobini 1‐5).
This tends to lead to a sense of identity diffusion where a breakdown in empathic
ability makes understanding and interacting with the external, social environment
exceedingly difficult and confusing (Attwood 11‐34). Imagine that you are taking in
the external world as a continuous, real‐time movie. The images, for the most part,
come through crisp and clear but the dialogue, the subtle intonations of speech, the
body language, are all acted out in a foreign language and you have neither guide
nor dictionary. Postmodernists often talk about – explore, even celebrate ‐ the sense
of cultural dislocation experienced by those who have been ripped from their native
culture and inserted into new and foreign cultures. Having a neurological makeup
like Asperger’s Syndrome means that there is no native culture, all cultures are
foreign, any social condition is, a priori, one of dislocation. What the postmodernist
fetishizes I must live.
It became quickly apparent when I started delving into the voluminous and
diverse literature on “identity” that there is a sharp divide among those who see the
formation of identity as primarily a social process, externally driven (Lash and

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Friedman 1‐30; Haverty Rugg 1‐28; Doy 11‐34) and those who see an increasing
role for internal processes (Keenan xv‐xxiii; Damasio 3‐30; Ramachandran 3‐23;
Evans 1‐30). Most telling however has been the realization that the notion of
disability, of alternate ability, of some form of social dysfunction resides in the in‐
between space that has opened up as the opposition(s) among these perceptions on
identity and its formation polarize (Iacobini 92; Glass 157‐162; Attwood 112‐127).
As someone whose connection to a socially constructed sense of reality is
complex at best I have always found it problematic to rely on external means and
measures of identity construction. This has often put me at odds with my societal
context – an unresolved dialectic between inner/personal (depth) and outer/social
(surface) perceptions of reality. It has also resulted in a well‐developed curiosity
and skepticism regarding the assumptions applied to external measures of identity
while at the same time suffering from the feeling that no other recourse exists.
My recent photographic work has, however, pointed me to the realization
that an alternate form of intuition is available, a visual intuition that sidesteps the
cognitive linguistics I have come to depend on. Fellow Asperger’s personality and
author Temple Grandin pointed out just how important this alternate pathway is to
those of us not privy to the “normal” intuitive social connections taken for granted
by the majority of humanity: “I think in pictures. Words are like a second language to
me. I translate both spoken and written words into full‐color movies, complete with
sound, which run like a VCR tape in my head. When somebody speaks to me, his
words are instantly translated into pictures” (3 emphasis added).

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At the beginning of the introduction I referred to seeing myself in a dark
room behind a two‐way mirror while my camera catches simultaneously both the
external image and the inner reflection. This represents a first glimpse of a complex
relationship I have developed with the camera. I call myself a photographer but I
have come to the realization that the camera – as the photographer’s tool sine qua
non – is only one component of a complex set of synergistically interacting tools and
processes. To me the camera itself – not just the images it makes as an extension of
my visualization process – is a form of Duchennian mask, both objectifying and
embodying the scientist’s conception of the “observer effect”. At the same time I see
the camera as a Henriesque mirror. But, ultimately, the camera is to me one (non‐
postmodernist) fragment in the construction of the artistic process I have come to
refer to as photography. That process involves – in addition to the camera as
imaging tool – the computer as a means of (re)constructing images as imagined, and,
most importantly the mind as the source of the imagined. Only together as an
embodied – but not singular – whole do each of these fragments come together as
“photography” in my conception.
The main elements I hope to explore in this thesis concern the relationships
between surface and depth – and what they reveal about conceptions of identity,
and between fragmentation and construction – and what they reveal about identity
formation. To accomplish this I briefly examine four bodies of work roughly
matching specific epistemological stages associated with cultural perspectives on
identity formation and their expression in photographic practices as outlined by the

6

sociologist Douglas Kellner (141‐177) and photography curator Robert A. Sobieszek
(16‐37).

2. Structure
I envision an exploration of the self and its relationship to depth and surface
in four sections. Although, due to limitations of the medium – the inherent linearity
of text‐based narrative –I will present these sections in a linear, sequential order, I
do not view these sections as a linear sequence of progressive replacement, and
neither should the reader. Instead, as discussed by Lorraine Daston and Peter
Galison, I view these stages as temporally and spatially coexisting: “Instead of the
analogy of a succession of political regimes or scientific theories, each triumphing on
the ruins of its predecessor, imagine new stars winking into existence, not replacing
the old ones but changing the geography of the heavens” (18).
I will be exploring four specific aspects of the “self” in two chapters in the
explicit context of theory of mind. According to the clinical psychologist Tony
Attwood: "The psychological term Theory of Mind (ToM) means the ability to
recognize and understand thoughts, beliefs, desires and intentions of other people
in order to make sense of their behaviour and predict what they are going to do
next" (112). This concept is closely linked with those of “mind reading” (Baron‐
Cohen 5‐9), of empathy and mirror neurons. Thus, a person deficient or lacking in
theory of mind – a situation symptomatic of the autism spectrum – is seen as “mind
blind” (Baron‐Cohen 5‐9), lacking in empathy (Attwood 114) or a “broken mirror”
(Iacobini 157).

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For each aspect I present a personal narrative, a representative
photographer and an example of my own photography. At each stage the
combination of these elements elucidates one aspect of the self and collectively they
build up to a more comprehensive understanding of self‐formation from an
Asperger’s perspective. Photographically, thus, I intend to focus on the self‐portrait,
specifically – with one exception, see below ‐ a simple head‐shot. By focusing on a
single face – my face – I hope to reduce the many interpretive complexities
associated with the photographic genre of portraiture. This approach is also more
open to the exploration of ToM issues in identity formation. In keeping with the
divergence of an Asperger’s perspective on identity relative to the “norm”
composition and lighting of head‐shots deliberately do not conform to
preconceptions of “professional” portrait photography practice. All portraits were
made with a Nikon D7000 with ISO set at as low, and aperture number at as high as
lighting allowed. In all cases a 60mm fixed focus lens was used for consistency. All
exposures were made on a tripod with a cordless remote control. The one exception
to this was “collaborative self portrait” which was completed entirely on the
computer.
The first chapter, “being”, addresses some basic questions related to the very
existence of identity. I am here engaging the works of the German philosopher
Martin Heidegger and the French philosopher Jean‐Paul Sartre. Our existence is
framed by space and time, how then can we hope to extract a sense of identity when
the very existence of such external realities is put into question? What I am is

8

different. To a neuroscientist my sense of self is strongly affected by factors outside
of the realm of culture, I am a “broken mirror” (Iacobini 157).
In section 1 of chapter one, I explore the very notion of “self” by examining
the question of a basic connection between depth – the inner reality of sensation –
and surface – the outer reality of projection. ToM is postulated to affect the very
ability to recognize faces and their expressions. Why is that important? What is it
about my sense of identity formation that is impaired if/when the very connection
between the expressed emotion on the surface – of a face – and the felt emotion at
depth is in question?
I reference the work of the 19th century physician/photographer Guillaume‐
Benjamin‐Amand Duchenne de Boulogne, who spent much of his career examining
and photographing the physical connection between the actions of facial
musculature and the expressions of emotional states in patients at the Salpêtriére
Hospital in Paris. I then discuss a series of “self”‐portraits based on a subset of
emotional expressions recognized today as universal or basic to all humans
regardless of culture as suggested by Paul Ekman, Richard Davidson and Wallace V.
Friesen (342). These six universal facial expressions of emotion include fear, anger,
sadness, surprise, disgust and joy. I present a series of images titled “emotional me”.
This consists of six self‐portrait‐style head‐shots exploring facial expressions of the
six universal emotion. I chose a neutral white background – representing the
presence of all colours in the spectrum – to focus attention on the face but also as a
reminder that while context can be blocked out, it can never be entirely removed.
These images explore the relationship between depth and surface by visually

9

playing on the relationship between similarity and difference. In each image the
pose is as close to identical as possible, the hair is the same, let down in a visual play
on the notion of exposing one’s self. Similarly I am topless, another allusion to
emotional exposure. I retained my wedding ring as a symbol of emotional
connection. The one thing that was allowed to change was the facial expression. At
first I tried emulating the facial expressions by having Ekman’s representative
photographs facing me next to the camera, when that didn’t work I added a mirror
so I could see myself making the expressions. In the end I had to abandon all
external references and just make myself feel the emotion. Only then could I make
the photographs.
In section 2 of chapter one, I explore the self in the context of reflection and
self‐reflexivity. ToM is understood to affect self‐awareness. What is it about the
“broken mirror” that impairs self‐awareness? How does the dialectic between the
literal and the metaphorical play into this discussion?
I reference the work of the American‐born artist/photographer Florence
Henri, with particular focus on her use of the mirror as metaphor for self‐reflection.
I then present a series of self‐portraits (re)exploring the connection between depth
and surface through a metaphorical play with mirrors, masks and the role of
emotion in identity formation. These portraits are a deliberate move away from the
tight cropping head‐shot while still focusing on the six universal emotions. Unlike
the previous series context is the crucial component of these images. How do we
contextualize emotions?

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The series “mirror/mask” explores this question from an internal perspective
– probing depth. Each image is made up of several components, fragments of the
inner process of contextualizing. These components – shot as separate elements
within a tightly controlled “scene” – include the subject (whose face is never seen),
the observer (who stands with camera and wearing a blank mask inside a mirror),
and various representations of the six universal emotions. The six images in this
series play out a putative dialectic between subjective and objective, body and mind,
sense and perception – between the phenomenological and the analytical – by
placing subject and observer in the same frame. In a visual mimicry of the
Asperger’s confusion when faced with the need for empathy – never quite sure of
the correct response in social situations ‐ the face of the subject is always hidden,
never engaging the audience. Unable to connect internal emotional states with
external feedback he is momentarily lost. The figure in the mirror becomes the
outward projection – transmission ‐ of the reflexive aspect of the self, and an inward
reflection, face blank, refusing to provide the sought‐for clues.
The second chapter, “constructedness”, relates to the modern assumption
that identity can no longer be seen as “given”, that in some ways – to some
individuals, in every way – the “self” is fictional and/or constructed as needed
through external, social cues (Ward 152‐216). The first chapter addressed intuitive
aspects of being, a realm foreign to an Asperger’s personality as expressed in the
metaphor of the broken mirror. In this chapter I explore ways to repair the broken
mirror. I specifically explore implications of the term “construction” as an explicitly
conscious process involving the interplay between cognition and embodiment and

11

the role that might play in (re)connecting between individual and social conceptions
of self.
In section 1 of chapter two, I explore the self in the context of the post‐
modernist conception of the fragments of identity (Ward 155). ToM relates directly
to how and why – and to what extent ‐ we can “mind‐read” each other. What is
involved in reading one another? What can I learn from the way others “read’” and
how does that involve the process of identity construction?
I reference the work of the American photographer Nancy Burson, who is
particularly interested in exploring the relationship between “seeing” and
“believing” in order to deconstruct personal, and social preconceptions about
identity and its formation in a time when our very societal foundations are in flux. I
then present a series of “collaborative” self‐portraits that specifically explore the
impact of the – external ‐ perspective of others on the projection of individual
identity. The dialectic between difference and commonality is examined and used to
shed new light on the notion of constructedness. Here I return to the tight cropping
of the head‐shot but this time in the absence of all emotional expression. Consistent
with the first series, “emotional me”, these images lack any visualization of external
context. They however, critically examine that visual appearance of “no context” in a
self‐reflexive manner.
I start by exploring the visualization of the assumption that the “I” is indeed
constructed by external agencies, that the perception of others defines identity. To
explore this relationship to others’ perception of me, I have made use of the
computer program Faces v. 4.0 one of many such programs used by law

12

enforcement agencies world‐wide to reconstruct the likeness of suspected criminals
and missing persons. Such programs are based on the principle that every face is
made up of a finite combination of facial features – fragments of faces. These
fragments – shape of eyes, nose, mouth etc. – each have a number of variants
assembled through decades of hands‐on experience. Reconstructing a face thus
involves identifying the relevant expression for each fragment and reassembling –
constructing – the face based on the combination of fragments that best meet the
subject’s recollection. Such a program, though it may seem odd, confusing or
counterintuitive to others’ perceptions of how they see an individual, is a reasonably
close approximation of the process I would go through in trying to learn a person’s
face. Thus, the process of having others use the program to reconstruct my likeness
has proven a useful tool in educating about this aspect of an Asperger’s perspective.
For this project I have asked eighteen individuals to construct my likeness, to
the best of their ability, with the aid of the Faces v.4 program. I then presented the
results in two ways. I first took the constructions and blended them – averaged all
the images – into a single still image much as Francis Galton did so many years ago
(Fig. 8). I then took each construction and connected them into a continuous video
loop where each construction seamlessly morphs into the next (Fig. 9).
In section 2 of chapter two I explore the self as construction. ToM implicates
both the “reader” and the subject of the reading in the process of mind reading.
Consequently, identity formation should involve both internal and external
processes interactively. I intend to make use of the metaphor of the hermeneutic

13

spiral (“iterative process” to the scientist) to demonstrate that identity construction
need not be seen as a purely external process nor as purely artifact.
I reference the work of the American sculptor and arts teacher Elizabeth
King, whose conception of “attention’s loop” (7), of the iterative process of
continued self‐examination – always from a slightly different angle – results in a
new, synthetic perspective on the construction of identity that melds both internal
and external. I will then present a series of self‐portraits that combine notions of the
connection between surface and depth – internal and external ‐ with self‐reflexivity,
and the recognition that accepting the self to be constituted of “fragments” need not
be seen as a – postmodernist ‐ source of identity‐dissolution. Quite the contrary, by
exploring the synergistic properties of identity fragments from the perspective of
someone whose intuitive processes are inherently impaired, to the extent that it
embodies the literal of lived autism, I hope to explore a different and more positive
perception on identity formation than is possible through the eyes of postmodern
ideology as depicted by the likes of Michel Foucault, Roland Barthes, and Jean
Baudrillard. Here I make use again of tight cropping, the six universal emotions and
the apparent lack of external context. This time, the ‘masks of emotion’ are
presented literally through the interpretations of seven fellow New Brunswick
artists (in alphabetical order: Brigitte Clavette, George Fry, Bronwyn Gallager,
Andrew Giffin, Fred Harrison, Suzanne Hill, and Morgan Klassen) and the self‐
reflexive aspect takes on a new level of complexity by placing the image sequences
behind two‐way mirrors.

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“The emotions project” was designed as a collaborative project that would
re‐imagine the role of mirror and mask as neither purely opaque nor transparent,
the relationship between internal and external “manipulation” of emotional states
as the focus of interplay between the pre‐modern notion of essentialist “being” and
the post‐modern notion of relativist “constructedness”; or, on a more personal level,
between an Asperger personality’s inner confusion about identity formation as
explored in “mirror/mask” and difficulties with external pressures of identity
imposition as explored in “collaborative self portrait”.
For this purpose I made a total of 49 “neutral” unadorned masks of my face in
a relaxed pose. These masks, although possibly seen as “blank”, are not tabula rasa.
They carry baggage, a trace of the “I”. Seven masks each were presented to each of
the seven fellow artists with the following instructions: Each was to interpret the six
basic facial expressions of emotions according to their own whims using standard
materials and techniques as used elsewhere in their arts practice – the seventh
mask is a tribute to the scientist in me, a neutral expression, the absence of emotion.
These masks were then rearranged into seven groups according to each of the
emotions. I made a series of self‐portraits wearing each mask in turn. Each series of
self‐portraits – seven versions of anger, of joy, etc. – was then turned into a digital
slide show with each slide separated by a blank slide. The slide shows were installed
in seven digital photo frames and projected as continuous loops behind two‐way
mirrors. The audience sees alternately, one interpretation of an emotion and then
their own face reacting, then another version of the emotion and so on as perception
and projection spiral into each other like colliding galaxies. The process – the

15

looping slideshow behind the two‐way mirror interacting with the audience –
embodies the expression of an Asperger’s perception of interpersonal interaction –
where connection is sought yet never quite attained.

3. Embodiment
3.1. Being
The first chapter, Being, addresses some basic questions related to the very
existence of identity. Our existence is framed by space and time, how then can we
hope to extract a sense of identity when the very existence of such external realities
is put into question by the progressive post‐modern abstraction and externalization
of identity as exemplified in the thinking of Baudrillard, which I will elaborate on
later.

3.1.1.“touch your feelings”
About a decade ago I started seeing a psychologist. Not long into our sessions
she told me that it was important for me to “get in touch with my feelings.” I felt this to
be a most remarkable statement, rather incongruous on the face of it. Clearly feelings
were something intangible, non‐material, how could I be expected to touch them? It
was not until sometime later that I came to realize the implication of not just her
suggestion but my reaction.
3.1.1.1.Duchenne de Boulogne
Pre‐modern: where the face (surface) is considered a window on the immutable
(depth).
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Figure 3: Duchenne de Boulogne, Terror Mixed With Pain, 1875? In public domain.

According to Sobieszek the work of Duchenne (Fig. 3) is typical of 19th
century – pre‐modern – portraiture in that it represents the assumption of the time
that the photographic surface can be seen as transparent, a conduit to what lies
below (32‐79). And what lies below – in relation to portraiture of the time ‐ is
typically seen as the core identity of a person. It is typically assumed that this core
identity is unitary– to Duchenne quite literally God‐given. It is also typically
assumed that this identity represents an aspect of the person that is ontologically
distinct from the body. Call it mind, soul, whatever, there is a clear – Cartesian –

17

separation of mind and body. Thus, the body – and by extension the body (surface) of
a photograph – is considered connected to but distinct from the deeper subject
matter.
With the help of the photographer A. Tournachon (also known as Nadar the
younger), Duchenne produced a remarkable series of photographs designed to map
the relationship between specific facial muscles and underlying emotional states. He
accomplished this by enervating facial muscles with electrodes and a home‐made
volta‐faradic apparatus. This body of work contributed to evolutionary biology as
attested to by the inclusion of several plates in Charles Darwin’s work on the
expressions of emotions in man and animal. Through medical teacher and clinician
Jean‐Martin Charcot, a student of Duchenne’s, Duchenne’s work directly influenced
Sigmund Freud (Sobieszek 44‐45) and thus the advancement of psychiatry to this
very day (Didi‐Huberman 3‐12).
What captivated me about this work is two‐fold. First I was gripped by the
intensity of the basic emotion(s) expressed in the image(s). But I was later taken by
what I considered an important paradox. The primary subject of these experiments
was apparently unable to express his emotional state due to a facial anesthetic
condition. I started to perceive the images in the series as lies at some level.
Apparently I was not alone in this response as Andrew Cuthbertson saw a general
trend toward a critique of Duchenne’s authenticity in subsequent generations (225‐
231).
Like many of his contemporaries, Duchenne considered the surface he was
manipulating – of the subject’s face as well as the photographic image – a conduit to

18

underlying emotional state(s). But since body and mind were considered distinct,
manipulating the body was not considered fakery. In Duchenne’s mind the face was
a tool to be used to express emotions, a flexible complex mask. Manipulating the
mask – which both reveals and hides – by external means could be argued to be no
more, or less, fakery than manipulating it by internal means. Thus, staging an
emotional expression was recognized by Duchenne and many of his contemporaries
as manipulation but the manipulation was not viewed as deceit. Quite the contrary,
the combination of a belief in a unitary “self” and a sense of separation between that
inner “self” and the outer “other” rendered the face – as interface – a conduit that
could, in principle, be “scientifically” viewed – and manipulated; a view consistent
with the contemporaneous “James‐Lange” theory of emotions which posited, among
other things, that the relationship between mind and body is not just one way
(Evans 105). Duchenne’s views are also consistent with the pre‐objectivist notion
that one’s work should be “true‐to‐nature” (Daston and Galison 18) where nature, in
this case, refers to underlying emotional states assumed to be shared by all humans,
an assumption that Darwin and later Ekman would turn into scientific theory.
This view of the face and its ability to engage in a two‐way dialogue between
inner and outer realities would however soon come under critical scrutiny,
particularly in the humanities and the arts (Sobieszek 32‐79). But one important
aspect of this work, the fact that these expressions have to this day the power to
move us and to evoke emotional responses appropriate to the emotion being
(re)presented, continues to intrigue. These photographs would not have this power
if there was no substance to the claim that surface and depth are somehow

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connected. In fact, new evidence from evolutionary studies (Ekman, Davidson and
Friesen 342), psychology (ten Brinke, Porter and Baker, in press), and the
neurosciences (Damasio 20‐28) provides empirical support for the conclusion that
surface and depth are connected, albeit in more complex – and mutable ‐ ways than
assumed by Duchenne.

3.1.1.2. “emotional me”

Figure 4: Greg Klassen, Fear, Disgust, Surprise, Sadness, Joy, Anger from the series "emotional me", 2011.
Digital prints.

The work of Duchenne has raised many criticisms by contemporary critics
and artists alike – especially from the perspective of post‐modernist discourse
(Sobieszek 32‐79; Didi‐Huberman 29‐66). The main thrust of these criticisms
relates to two issues of ethics: Is the approach chosen by Duchenne an act of

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violence against his subject(s)? Is there a basis for any form of truth claim – can the
emotions depicted in his photographs be seen as in any way “real” – if the facial
expressions of these emotions are not only not felt by the subject in question but are
imposed on the subject by an external agency, namely Duchenne himself, who is
thus open to criticisms of personal, aesthetic bias?
“Emotional me” (Fig. 4) is a series of photographs made specifically to
forefront these two questions and their relationship to questions of identity
formation. I focused the making of these self‐portraits on the six “universal
emotions” (Ekman and Friesen 34‐128) in order to simplify what can be a complex
and confounding set of issues: the apparent conflict between universalist and
relativist explanations for the origins of emotions and their expressions and their
relationship to identity formation (Evans 1‐30).
Where Duchenne chose others as his subjects – thus creating a distance
between subject and observer – I chose to combine subject and observer in the same
person. There can be no question that under these conditions subject and observer
have – and understand – the same set of goals. If there is any bias – an inevitability –
it is shared and thus diminished from an ethical perspective. There can also be no
question of disjunction between emotion felt and emotion expressed. Unlike
Duchenne’s subject, mine attests to the ‘reality’ of the images: that is these
photographs truthfully depict my emotional state at the time the images were made.
Whereas Duchenne felt it sufficient that his photographs appeared “realistic” – that
is credible, though consciously manipulated – mine needed to be real, the naked
truth.

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But, although the ethical question of manipulating both subject and image are
serious and topical they, in the present context, contribute less to the relevant issues
of identity formation than does the question of the source of the emotions being
photographed. Here the comparison of my self‐portraits with the photographs of
Duchenne brings up two critical points: What is the difference, if any, between
external and internal ‘manipulation’ of a facial expression? What is the implication
of criticizing Duchenne – or anyone for that matter – for external manipulation, for
imposing the appearance of an emotion and thus a sense of identity on a subject?
As mentioned above, in Duchenne’s time many believed that the connection
between internal and external was a reciprocal one. Thus, according to that
philosophy, Duchenne would have been perfectly justified in concluding that an
externally “imposed” emotional expression was not only the equivalent of an
internally “felt” expression but that by the very act of imposition the subject would
feel what the “mask” is projecting. Recent scientific research confirms this reciprocal
relationship. Of course if Duchenne had made such an argument – and he did not as
far as I can tell – he would open himself to the postmodern ethical criticisms of
consciously violating his subject(s). Instead he went to great lengths to show that to
the best of his knowledge he was not causing his subjects any pain or discomfort.
My personal experience in making “emotional me” was that I could not hope
to make the images look real to others unless I actually felt – truly experienced in a
fundamentally phenomenological way – the emotions I was photographing. I
attempted – and failed – to photograph myself mimicking these expressions. I found
that the act of putting on these ‘masks’ of emotional expressions actually made them

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real for me as subject. Thus I see my personal experimentation confirming the
reciprocal relationship between feeling and projecting emotions, that feeling can
cause one to project but also – and this is crucial – that projecting can equally cause
one to feel that emotion, a reciprocity that becomes painfully clear through its
dysfunction in an Asperger’s personality (Stel, van den Heuvel and Smeets 2151).
So, “emotional me” tells me that this form of manipulation – imposing an
emotional expression – can blur the boundaries between the “real” and the “faked”.
If the relationship between inner feeling (depth) and outer projection (surface) is
truly reciprocal – as I am now inclined to believe – then any manipulation, be it from
within as in my experiment or from without as in Duchenne’s case, will carry with it
at least a grain of truth.
In fact, several cognitive scientists and psychologists have found that this
connection is deeply ingrained in people regardless of culture and despite the
assertion that “most modern adults would explicitly maintain that photographs have
no ongoing physical connection to the objects they depict” (Hood, Donnelly et al.
391). These studies demonstrate that even today we have difficulties ripping up
photographs of cherished people and things (King, Burton et al. 905) and that
“people are less accurate at throwing darts at pictures of the faces of people they
like” (Rozin, Millman and Nemeroff 703). These studies refer to this phenomenon as
“sympathetic magic”, meaning that there is a sense of a profound connection
between the photograph and the photographed that goes deeper than the conscious
– cultural ‐ notion of signifier and signified, that there is an intuitive connection that
may very well be mediated by the function of mirror neurons (Iacobini 30‐33).

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Duchenne’s photographs are seen by some as ethically problematic, as somehow
representative of his disconnection with social reality. I can’t shake the feeling that
these criticisms deflect from the implications that his “manipulations” have had for
our understanding of the very real connections between surface and depth – a
connection explicitly denied by post‐modern theorists – continuing to be
(re)discovered by contemporary science. Ekman and his colleagues refer to a
genuine smile as the “Duchenne smile” – while a fake one is called the “PanAm
smile” (Ekman, et al. 342). This is due to the recognition that only genuine smiles as
discovered by Duchenne involve musculature around the eyes as well as the mouth.
The involvement of these eye muscles is entirely involuntary and cannot be faked
(ten Brinke, Porter and Baker, in press).
There is a kind of symmetry that emerges between Duchenne’s photographs
and mine, a symmetry that reveals an important issue about the connection
between internal and external factors in identity formation. If all expressions of
emotion were fully under conscious, external control as implied by post‐modernist
rhetoric then Duchenne’s manipulations would indeed be an imposition on his
subject, a fakery. But, for key emotions, this has clearly been demonstrated not to be
the case: Duchenne manipulated those muscles and combinations of muscles that
his subject was intuitively capable of using to express emotions but was consciously
not able to access due to his medical condition.
The flipside of this scenario is found in those like myself on the autism
spectrum. Unlike Duchenne’s subject, I am able to consciously access, and control
my facial musculature but I have an impaired intuitive connection between

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emotional state and muscular expression. In the words of Stel, van den Heuvel and
Smeets I have a “facial feedback impairment” (1250) that is directly attributable to
my neurological condition. The fact that I am still capable of manipulating emotional
expressions – though apparently only internally not externally –demonstrates two
things clearly: First, that “individuals with ASD [autistic spectrum disorder] do not
experience feedback from activated facial expressions as controls do” (Stel, van den
Heuvel and Smeets 1250). Second, that we are not completely cut off from emotions
and their expression. Thus, the series of images in “emotional me” are true
representations of my emotional state at each moment photographed. But the truth
shown is an internal truth, necessitated by the fact that access to external feedback
is denied.
The reason why I reacted so strangely when my psychologist told me I should
get in touch with my feelings now seems painfully obvious. I had bought into the
ideology that surface and depth, the realities of inner feelings and outer
appearances, were distinct, separated from one another by an impenetrable barrier.
My sense of personal identity was defined by this illusion. It is a wonderful irony
that my photography ‐ the very medium that for many decades has been seen to
epitomize this separation – served to break down that illusion.

3.1.2. “two ravens”
About eight years ago I had a vivid dream: I find myself on a grassy field. It is
spring. Before me the field rises gently to a small hill. At the crest of the hill stands a
mature oak tree. The leaves are just budding. I slowly walk toward the tree. As I walk
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my attention is diverted and I find a raven perched on my left shoulder. I continue to
approach the oak and the raven on my shoulder gets increasingly agitated. It starts
cawing. I look back to the tree and find perched on one of its branches another raven.
It too is cawing. As I continue to approach the tree the cawing becomes increasingly
raucous until at one point the raven in the tree takes flight and alights on my right
shoulder. Still cawing the two ravens turn their heads toward each other, toward me.
The moment they face one another all noise ceases… and the dream ends.

3.1.2.1. Florence Henri
Modern: where the surface (face) is all there is.
Sobieszek’s distinction between pre‐modern and modern – shared with
Kellner – is particularly useful for conceptualizing the thread I am exploring in this
thesis. Accordingly, a range of modernist photographers continue to accept both the
pre‐modern assumptions of unity of identity and Cartesian mind/body duality. What
changes is the perception of transparency. That is, there appears to be an
ontological shift toward viewing both the physical body and the photographic
surface as opaque, as an unreliable connector between surface appearance and what
lies below. Freudian psychoanalysis has apparently had a huge influence on this
perceptual shift (Sobieszek 32‐79; Didi‐Huberman 37‐38).

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Figure 5: Florence Henri, Self Portrait, 1938. Public domain.

This photograph (Fig. 5), made by Henri in 1938 provides an excellent
example of this modernist – staged ‐ approach to the question of identity. Her
compositions –especially in her early work ‐ make extensive use of mirrors. This use
of the mirror is entirely consistent with modernist, materialist perceptions
regarding the “surface”. Thus, according to Diane DuPont of the San Francisco
Museum of Modern Art, the mirror becomes an important tool “as pictorial means of
creating new sensations of time, space and form”(21). By using mirrors in this
manner, Henri was able to reflect and fragment the subject – the relationship
between surface and depth ‐ to explore the “reality” of identity through doubling.
When her subject – either self or other – was composed in the mirror only, she
questioned, visually as well as conceptually, the reality of the subject – which now is
the real, the photographed subject or the photographed reflection. Is either?

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Additionally, subjects composed before the mirror did not engage the viewer,
remaining isolated, inaccessible; thus keeping the question of reality alive. This
pictorial ambiguity, according to DuPont, became Henri’s metaphor for her modern
world.
But Henri was not simply interested in the materiality of her medium.
DuPont opined that “if in Henri’s hands the mirror was the ideal instrument for
manipulating space and form to create pictorial ambiguity, it also provided the
perfect tool for the analysis of the self”(35). The mirror, for Henri, became the chief
metaphor for self‐knowledge, a connection that was to become one of the core
themes of feminist approaches to identity, both modern and postmodern (Chadwick
3‐35).
Inherent in Henri’s approach to photographic composition and the use of
mirrors was what might be seen as a fundamentally modernist conundrum: the
realization of a potential conflict between the continuing belief in a unitary self, a
depth of being, and the modernist acceptance that the surface between inner and
outer realities can no longer be seen as transparent. I believe that Henri’s very
adherence to dualist separation of mind and body permitted her to come to a form –
literally – of resolution to this problem by focusing on form. Her attempts to access
that which lies beneath the surface were no longer literal and direct as in the work
of Duchenne. Instead, the mirror became the metaphorical vessel for her
explorations. The very assumption of unreality of reflected images in her mirrors
allowed her to engage in a new kind of dialogue between internal and external
space, between – assumed ‐ illusion and reality. The composition became, not a

28

literal search for a unitary self but a symbolic manipulation of her art to express the
life of her mind. It is this “skimming” in the in‐between space between the
historically accepted and the challenges of new “realities” and its expression
through her arts practice that excites me about this work. The marked difference
between Henri’s use of mirrors for self‐reflection and my previously mentioned
inability to use mirrors as a tool in that manner has prompted further exploration of
the role of the mirror in self‐formation.

3.1.2.2. “mirror/mask”
The series “mirror/mask” (Fig. 6) is my attempt to bring together my ideas
on the Duchennian mask and the Henriesque mirror in order to play out their
relationship from an inner perspective on identity. If the face‐as‐mask is engaged in
a two‐way conversation between inner and outer realities, between depth and
surface, as Duchenne and many of his contemporaries believed – and as is
increasingly confirmed today by the neurosciences and related fields – then the
mask‐as‐face may also serve the same function. The mask maker and former
director of the New Brunswick College of Craft and Design, George Fry, has a habit of
painting the inside of all his masks for that very reason: he sees the message(s) of
the mask projecting equally in both directions, wearer and audience are equally
implicated (Fry).
Can the same be said for the mirror? Certainly both modernist and post‐
modernist claims regarding the opacity and fragmentation of the surface would lead

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one to the conclusion that no, the mirror‐as‐surface is a classic example of the
surface as reflector not transmitter.
In ‘mirror/mask” I have personalized – personified – these relationships in
order to explore what, if anything, could be learned about how this relationship
speaks to the internal processes involved in identity formation. What does the
relationship between the mask’s transmissive characteristics and the mirror’s
reflective characteristics contribute to an understanding of the internal processes
related to the formation of a sense of self, especially from an Asperger’s perspective?
The images speak to the resulting turmoil when choice is denied access to intuition –
the image in the mirror reflects but does not inform. What might have been seen as a
dialectic is interrupted, is reflected back on itself in a tautology of hyper‐reflexivity.
The confusion depicted in these images, both inward in self‐reflection and
outward in both transmission and reception, is consistent with problems of
perception of self‐formation on the autism spectrum (Atwood 120). The power of
the mirror to reflect without insight – that is to reflect back our preconceptions –
and thus to mislead, is a well‐known trope in literature (e.g., Grimm’s Fairy Tales
and the Korean folktale of the ‘Chinese Mirror’). The superficially most obvious
means to break out of this “infinite loop” would seem to be to break the mirror. This
also has been explored in literature. Indeed the breaking of the mirror – as
representative of the opaque surface of modernist thought – is an important theme
consistent with the post‐modernist proposal of the fragmentation of the surface, of
the very impossibility of any coherent sense of self (Ward, 155, summarizes these
ideas).

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Figure 6: Greg Klassen, In The Bathroom (including topological drawing of setup for dual exposure), from
the series "mirror/mask", 2011. Digital print.

Conversely, although possibly useful as metaphor for the breaking away of
the artist from the historical – ideological – constraints of society, the broken mirror
metaphor takes on a very different implication when considering psychological
(Glass 157‐162), neurological (Iacobini 157‐183) and feminist (Chadwick 2‐35)
interpretations. These interpretations, where the mirror is seen in a more positive,
constructive light in identity formation, are consistent with Henri’s use of the mirror
in self‐reflection, are important in understanding the Asperger’s perspective in
relation to mirrors and thus my use of mirrors in “mirror/mask”. There are two
things to consider here: Is the mirror truly the opaque reflective surface we make it

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out to be? And if not, is there an alternative to breaking the mirror in order to break
out of the tautological loop as described above?
As to the first, Henri has already provided a hint. A possible solution to the
dilemma may be found in her ability to conceive of the mirror as both literal and
metaphorical simultaneously. By looking beyond the apparent oppositional binary of
literal and metaphorical, I believe Henri to have tapped into a sense where the
mirror is more than just reflector, that there is some connection between depth and
surface that could also strip the binary of transparent and opaque of its traditional
meaning. Marco Iacobini has brought to our attention just what that connection may
be in discussing both the neurological metaphor of the “broken mirror” and possible
ways of “fixing”, or mediating the condition (172, 177). Recent discoveries in the
neurosciences have uncovered what some see as a revolution on the scale of
Darwin, Isaac Newton and Albert Einstein. A part of the human limbic system
contains neuron clusters called “mirror neurons” which many now believe to be
nothing less than the evolutionary basis for culture (Ramachandran 132‐135). They
function as a kind of ‘knee‐jerk’ emotional response system. Neuroscientist have
shown these neurons to be responsible for why, for instance, we smile when smiled
at, why we empathize. They have also demonstrated that it is malfunctioning in
these mirror neuron systems that may be at the root of conditions of social
dysfunction such as autism.
It seems then that the malfunctioning mirror, the broken mirror, is the
problem not the solution. The mirror – the metaphor as seen through the eyes of a
neuroscientist – reflects both ways. In the mirror reflectance there is something

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introduced or removed, a slight change in perspective. There is a form of leakage
that transmits – to the author, to the audience. Perhaps this role as transmitter lies
in the ability to interpret how it reflects, or fails to reflect? In my “mirror/mask”
studies, not only is the inner self – the subject – troubled by difficulties in
understanding, intuitively, his own emotional states – he cannot intuitively access
emotions, he must make conscious choices ‐ his ability to develop a reciprocal
interaction between intuition and cognition is impaired. The observer is always
present but provides no input thus, feedback carries no new information, becomes
noise. The masked face in the mirror is the broken mirror – the absence of intuitive
connection. Thus, despite the appearance of cohesion and unlike the mirror as used
by Henri, my mirror is shown to enforce a sense of hyper‐self‐reflexivity, of a
cacophonous and destructive feed‐back loop that will continuously spiral in upon
itself until it implodes. The autistic mind, when bereft of external reinforcement falls
in upon itself. But once again, this interpretation is based on the a priori assumption
that the mirror can only reflect upon itself. These photographs are an indictment of
this illusion. The tableau plays out for an audience what would otherwise remain
hidden, and only by remaining hidden can its destructive implications be played out.
Thus the photograph itself – sometimes referred to as modernism’s mirror (Dupont
14) – breaks the tautology, becoming a two‐way mirror.
In my dream of the two ravens the noise did not stop until both aspects of my
inner self were given equal time, until there was a balance. I see Henri searching for
that balance in the way she made use of the material to circumvent the limits of the
conception of the binary opposition of reflectance and transmission, the way she

33

accessed the literal by making it metaphorical. In “mirror/mask” I explored similar
issues coming to the conclusion that the mirror, much like the mask, may be seen as
more than simply a reflective surface, or at least that reflectance is not simply, and
not necessarily a tautological returning upon itself – something is added, or
subtracted, in the process.

3.2. Constructedness
The second chapter, “constructedness”, relates to the modern (including
postmodern) realization that identity can no longer be seen as “given”, that in some
ways – to some individuals, in every way – the “self” is fictional and/or constructed
as needed through external, social cues. I specifically explore the implications of two
interpretations of the term “construction”. Particular attention is paid to internal
and external cues in (re)interpreting construction from an Asperger’s perspective.

3.2.1. “making a fire”
This morning, like most mornings, I built up the fire in our wood stove. There is
an art to this, a relationship that requires continuous attention. When starting a new
fire the process involves a specific procedure perfected over time. The fire is made ‐ is
constructed ‐ and this construction is imposed by my needs which are in turn
dependent on the external environment. Thus the fire I produce in my wood stove is my
construction, its appearance an effect reflecting my needs. And yet fire, this fire, any
fire, has an existence – physical and chemical properties –independent of my control.

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In fact my sense of control, the imposition of my will, is a thinly veiled illusion. That
which I have “constructed” is never truly my “construct” and I disrespect it at my peril.

3.2.1.1. Nancy Burson
Post‐modern: where the face (surface) no longer holds, becomes fractured.
As we transit from modernist to post‐modernist views on portraiture, a
further ontological shift is apparent. Although even many post‐modernists still
appear to hold to the notion of Cartesian mind/body duality, there is an increasing
trend toward viewing with skepticism, even derision, any notion of unity of mind. As
a consequence, postmodernists see not only the – photographic – surface as
fractured but, the very notion of any sense of coherent identity as illusion (Ward
155). The vertical fragmentation modernists envisioned between mind and body is
extended horizontally to the point that postmodernists view neither mind nor body
as coherent entities, separate not only from each other but, from their very selves.
The ultimate outcome of such fracturing of identity: schizophrenia (Sobiezsek 262‐
263), even, according to Baudrillard, autism (Horrocks 55).

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Figure 7: Nancy Burson, Androgeny (6 men + 6 women), 1982. Permission from artist not received.

This image of Burson’s (Fig. 7) represents well both her composite image
approach and the notion of a constructed image. Much like Duchenne and Henri,
Burson is still interested in “an investigation of the baseline humanity behind the
mask we present the world,” that “through her eyes we question our perception of
what it means to be different ”(Burson and Sand 7‐8). This perceptual shift is
achieved by combining multiple photographic portraits into a single composite. One
might say that this is little different in intent or technique from efforts made around

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the turn of the previous century by the likes of Galton. And there is a compelling
relation between Burson’s work and these predecessors. However, there is also a
profound difference – in intent and execution. Whereas Galton and his
contemporaries, much like Duchenne, saw a direct connection between the face and
what lay beneath, in other words they believed what they saw – believed in the
authenticity of what the images presented – Burson’s approach appears as the
diametric opposite: to present to her audience that what we believe is what we see.
Galton’s composites were averaged for each separate exposure such that the final
image – a near perfect composite exposure – forefronted those features that all faces
held in common. Burson’s composites are far more complex conceptually and based
on conscious – self‐conscious – choices made by the artist about the subjects. In a
composite of world leaders she emphasized individual features according to how
large a nuclear arsenal they represented. Thus in a very important way Burson
presented her composite portraits not as representations of the people being
photographed but of the relative power structure they represented. This approach,
emphasizing the uneasy relationship between science and art and a decentering of
identity is also remarkably consistent with the scientific notion of ‘trained judgment’
seen by Daston and Galison as the scientific response to issues with objectivist
perception. Trained judgment is seen as a step beyond material objectivity, taking
account of the role of subjectivity in scientific interpretation (18‐19).
Burson and her coauthor Michael Sand stated that, “the public has grudgingly
come to accept that digital photography can seamlessly alter the camera’s recorded
reality and that basic assumptions about photographic ‘truth’ must be viewed as

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problematic” (14). She further concluded about her composites that, “the signs are
not the same as what they signify…[that]…reality becomes problematic” (21). And
yet the technology that has emerged from her composite works has been – and
continues to be – used successfully by the FBI and other law enforcement agencies
around the world to find missing children, even decades later. How do we reconcile
Burson’s sense that composite images reference nothing “real” with the very real
success rate that law enforcement agencies continue to have in finding missing
people on the basis of composite images derived from facial features of relatives?
Perhaps it is not so much that “reality” becomes problematic but that our
assumptions about signs, signifiers and their relationship with reality are being
revealed as problematic. This apparent paradox between the “illusion” of a
photographic image and the empirical evidence of the very real connections drawn
by such images absolutely fascinates me as it ties in very closely with the literal
problems of empathy faced by people on the autism spectrum on a daily basis. The
in‐between space between perception and projection, between seeing and believing
is a very real and problematic space for me, not metaphorical or theoretical but a
literal – and banally everyday – place of confusion and noise.

3.2.1.2. “collaborative self portrait”
Based on the work of Duchenne I have explored the idea that the mask of
identity may be manipulated both from within and without, that the relationship
between depth and surface is a two‐way process. Similarly, exploring the
Henriesque mirror has revealed that the same may be true for the mirror as surface,
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challenging a very basic assumption of the mirror: its reflectance. Burson further
challenges us to reexamine the very way we perceive the mirror and the mask: is it a
matter of “seeing is believing” or “believing is seeing”? Is identity a matter of “being”
or of “construction”, or should we question that very dialectic?
In “collaborative self‐portrait” (Figs. 8, 9) I examine this relationship by
starting with the assumption that the “I” – the individual writing these words – is
indeed constructed. This, the self I claim as my own, is somehow the product of
others projected onto… …well, onto me. What would I look like? How do I represent
the self through the eyes of others? That is my challenge as artist. That is my
challenge as person. It is well understood by experts in the field that autistic
selfhood and creativity seem to be most easily shaped and expressed by
appropriating others’ identities and voices (Osteen 27). There is a tendency, among
those of us on the autism spectrum, to allow others to influence our sense of self, to
allow ourselves to be overwhelmed by outside influences, partly because empathy‐
impairment makes it difficult to filter such influences. On the positive side this also
means that the Asperger’s personality, diffuse as it is, can be chameleon‐like,
blending in, to surface appearance anyway, becoming what others expect to see – to
reflect their projections back to them.
By inviting others to construct my likeness from a pool of preexisting
fragments I had hoped to be able to visualize a distinction between identity as
“being”– as a given, independent of outside influence – or as “constructed” – as
entirely dependent on the vagaries of outside, presumably cultural, interpretation.
Thus the role of fragments in identity formation would be discernable as either a

39

kind of pre‐modern jigsaw puzzle where, as Duchenne assumed, the pieces fit
together in a pre‐defined manner or as a kind of post‐modern jumble where the
relationship among the pieces is neither predefined, predictable nor necessarily
complete.
Both extremes can be seen as containing some grain of “truth”. The blended
single image (Fig. 8) bears a remarkable resemblance to a young Greg Klassen. Given
that the version of the Faces program used was expressly deficient in “aging” related
characteristics the younger appearance of the constructed face should not be too
surprising. Never‐the‐less, this blended construction gives the impression that,
collectively, the constructions tended to capture enough of my likeness to be easily
recognizable. What is surprising is that the individual constructions (Fig. 9),
especially when joined by a morphing process, tended to emphasize difference over
similarity, so much so that in certain cases facial features of the person constructing
the likeness crept into the construction. It would seem that even my collaborators at
times conflated perception with projection. Or perhaps this is an indication that the
distinction between the two is not as clear‐cut as one might assume?
When I was a graduate student in biology a joke circulated in our cohort. It
went like this: Question ‐ what is the difference between a scientist and an artist,
answer – a scientist believes what is seen, an artist sees what is believed. We
assumed at the time that the joke was on the arts. It wasn’t until many years later
that, when I heard the same joke told by an artist friend of mine I realized that she –
and her cohort – perceived this as a joke on us.

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Figure 8: Greg Klassen, Blended Me from the series "collaborative self‐portrait", 2011. Digital print.

Nancy Burson clearly sees her blended faces in much the same way: in contrast to
the interpretations of Galton and his contemporaries – who seemed to have seen a
literal, and causal connection between shared aspects of likeness and behavior
where seeing precedes believing –Burson makes us see the blended faces as
‘constructions’ – where believing precedes seeing. She implicates the very process of
constructing – as a phenomenon embedded in cultural ideologies – in biasing how
and what we see.

41

Figure 9: Greg Klassen, Sample of four of 18 constructions of my face using Faces v4.0, from the series
"collaborative self‐portraits", 2011. Digital prints.

But I am no longer convinced that the story is as simple as: “seeing is
believing” versus “believing is seeing”. I think the joke – if it is a joke – is on both. The
fact that I can visualize either, or both of, “difference” and “similarity” through the
very same set of images leads me to the conclusion that the very distinction between
seeing and believing may be an illusion. If this is right then both the notion of “being”
and “constructedness” as guidelines for how we perceive the formation of identity
are suspect –oversimplifications of more complex processes.

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If the fire I spoke of earlier represents the “being” of identity and my building
the fire its “construction” then that analogy tells me that being and constructedness
are not representative of competing theories of identity formation, they are
necessary collaborators in an ongoing process of negotiation. The problematics
associated with any breakdown in the negotiation process – as is embodied in
persons on the autism spectrum – clearly reveals the process as it should work; or to
paraphrase the neuroscientist Vilayanur Ramachandran: what better way to study a
system than to examine its broken elements. If I had not questioned my own
relationship to perception and projection I may never have seen that the images
constructed by my 18 collaborators revealed both similarity and difference, both
being and constructedness as part of ongoing negotiations.

3.2.2 .“colliding galaxies”
I love the night sky – sometimes I feel closer to those distant stars than I do to
my immediate surroundings. There is a smudge of light in the constellation
Andromeda. This smudge is not a star, it is another galaxy, our sister galaxy. But
Andromeda and the Milky Way don’t just exist in space together as if in some static
tableau, they are gravitationally bound to each other. One day, in the distant future,
they will collide and in a cosmic dance annihilate each other while forming a new,
larger and more complex galaxy. Although the original two galaxies will disappear the
stars from each will, for the most part, remain intact, carrying with them the traces of
their origins. The very process of destruction of the individual galaxies in the formation

43

of the new will ensure the retention of their memory. There is continuity in
frangmentation.

3.2.2.1. Elizabeth King
Embodied: where fragments are reassembled to reveal a real but complex
relationship between surface, depth and identity.
It is here that I navigate away from charted waters. What I am suggesting is
that a further ontological shift may be occurring – right now. This shift, prompted by
the recognition that postmodernists may have had a point in critiquing a simplistic
unitary view of identity as attributed to both pre‐modern and modern ontologies,
also recognizes that the postmodern tendency toward embracing – fetishizing ‐
schizophrenia, and in the case of Baudrillard, autism, as some form of ideal state is
untenable (Glass 157‐162). The question arises: is it necessary that the ontological
shifts we have seen moving from pre‐ to post‐modern views of identity lead
inevitably toward a complete fracturing, and thus loss, of any sense of identity? Is
there no hope for those of us on the autism spectrum but that our identity is
dictated from the outside?
There is an increasing realization that the one assumption shared by all three
of the preceding views (pre‐modern, modern, post‐modern) – that of Cartesian
mind/body duality – may have to be reevaluated (Ramachandran 97‐132). The
result of this reevaluation is the view I have labeled as the “embodied perspective”.
It holds that by abandoning the notion of mind/body duality we may see the
relationship(s) between mind and body – and by extension, between surface and
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depth in a photograph – in an entirely new way, not dialectical but synergistic. The
implication for ToM, and therefore for my perception on how my sense of identity is
formed and maintained seems to me, at least in part, one of hope – a fundamental
part of my sense of identity is embodied in my very being. Identity is not simply
subject to the vicissitudes of external forces.
This image (Fig. 10), part of a series made by the sculptor Elizabeth King in
collaboration with the photographer Katherine Wetzel reflects the theme explored
by King, which is key to understanding why this aspect of embodiment is so
important. In King”s recent book, “Attention’s Loop”, she simultaneously addresses
and enacts the complexity of representation and of consciousness itself.
The mannequin – the sculptor’s self‐portrait – is called “Pupil” with a
deliberate eye to the multiple meanings of the word. Similar to Henri’s blending of
literal and metaphorical mirrors, it is another kind of mirror – simultaneously literal
and metaphorical ‐ becoming the physical embodiment of self‐examination, an
examination that continually returns upon itself without spiraling inward to
oblivion. King’s notion of the “round trip”, the loop, is enacted equally – and
collectively ‐ in the making of Pupil, in the posing of Pupil, in the photographing of
the poses and in the writing about the process – sensation and perception are in
constant flux, constantly referencing – and feeding off ‐ one another.

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Figure 10: Elizabeth King, Untitled, 1999. Permission from artist not received.

She brings the fragments of self‐examination together, achieving a synergistic effect,
an emergence of a new, inclusive relationship between mind and body: “What if
even the most fleeting ruminative fragment of our mental life involves immediate
sensation or body motion – or the memory of them? Then these phenomena,
especially as they are articulated and broadcast by works of art, must be central to
the unfolding of our conscious relations with the world.” (King 16)

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According to King, photography, like memory, tends to change the size of
things. Forms of representation collide, a tension arises: “at the instant I look I
change what I’m trying to see ” (King 44, an artistic rendering of what scientists call
the “observer effect”). The boundaries between reality (sensed) and imagined
(perceived or remembered) are in flux and “sensation becomes perception” (15
emphasis added).
The duality of mind and body becomes entangled as sense and perception –
inside/outside, depth/surface ‐ interact in a form of synergistic play. What emerges
is a form of self‐reflexivity that allows for the coexistence of mind and body and
thus, although it may not provide a definitive answer to questions of identity in and
of itself, it frees the questioner – unlocks my sense of isolation ‐ to explore the
various facets of identity without the danger of irreversible fragmentation.
Attention’s loop continually brings the question back to its root much as in a
hermeneutic spiral, not tautological but iterative, constructive in a sense that blurs
the boundary between nature and artifact, hopeful.

3.2.2.2. “the emotions project”
The iterative process inherent in King’s notion of “attention’s loop” is at the
heart of not only forefronting the problematic in seeing dualistic questions of
identity as oppositional binaries in a dialectical stasis – such as scientist vs. artist,
depth vs. surface, being vs. constructedness – it demonstrates a process, accessible
to scientist and artist alike, by which any problematic may be elucidated and
explored, a process that goes beyond simple dialectics, deconstruction or semiotics,
47

evolving notions of self by repeatedly cycling back and forth between internal and
external perceptions, between depth and surface. Perhaps that way something new
may be learned about the process of identity formation – that identity is formation, a
process not a static thing.
The first step in producing “the emotions project” (Fig. 11) involved looking
inward at emotional states, arguably the most basic aspect of self‐recognition and
self‐reflection. Here I started where I ended with “emotional me”, with the
assumption that the ability to feel and express certain emotions is innate. This
assumption carries with it more than the notion that these emotional states are
hard‐wired, static, it references a connection – a silent and invisible link – among all
of us, an evolutionary record branded into our very DNA of an ancestral need to
connect on the most basic of levels. Here, the inner “manipulation” is expressed as
choice. This choice is externalized through the combined processes of “making’”– of
simultaneously controlling and letting go ‐ of preparing blank masks and inviting
others to imprint on those masks.

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Figure 11: Greg Klassen. “The emotions project”,Sample of six emotions by six collaborators (Morgan
Klassen, Anger; George Fry, Disgust; Andrew Giffin, Sadness; Bronwyn Gallagher, Joy; Fred Harrison,
Fear; Suzanne Hill, Surprise), 2012. Digital prints.

49

This opens me up to the external manipulation of others, at the same time as
it contextualizes, constrains, those manipulations – I am no longer their blank slate
but an equal partner. It is those collaborators who then, in turn, internalize the
process, transforming the idea of specific emotions and the connections they make
in the sharing. Again externalized, these new – and unique – interpretations are
made physical and placed on the subject’s face – on my face. Thus, I become that
interpretation. I reabsorb the emotion – which remains universal even as it acquires
specificity. In photographing I project this collusion, a self simultaneously unique
and generic, transmitting from a depth and reflecting from the surface. In inviting
others – this time as audience – to view, explore and participate in the process this
iterative function, this hermeneutic spiral, cycles again – projected emotion to
individual reaction and on ‐ all the while spreading out like ripples on a pond.
And, I believe, something happens that deviates from the literal plunging of
the depths through the transparent medium of the photograph to a pre‐modern
essentialist self. Something deviates from the skimming of the opaque surface to
explore the metaphorical reflection of a modernist self just out of reach and yet
infinitely malleable. Something deviates from a bald, pessimistic post‐modernist
critique of the very notion of self, assumed to be illusory, a mere construction. What
I see as different is a new kind of synthetic process, optimistic and neither purely
naturalistic nor artifice – the distinction becoming meaningless.

50

Figure 12: Greg Klassen. “The emotions project”, Project installation and closeups of each of the seven
digital photo frames at random intervals, 2012. Multimedia installation.

51

I see in this collaboration (Fig. 12) a joining of the universal and the unique, a
blending of galaxies such that the result is not a loss of either in order to produce a
new and different one, not a dialectical and static ‘resolution’ but a dynamic and
continuous tension. I see a joining that retains the individuality of each and every
fragment while, at the same time synergizes them, resulting in an emergence – a
new, different and unpredictable yet intimately connected sense of identity. I see the
self – the very formation of identity – as a continuous process that is not fractured
by time as Roland Barthes (in Barthes on Barthes) would have it but nurtured,
altered and connected by the very passage of time. Just as the slides behind the two‐
way mirrors are constantly changing; just as the perception of the relationships
between and among the six “emotions” evolves in the mind of author and audience
alike, as the effect of each new slide builds on what came before; a sense of identity
never stands still, never settles in one static moment or on one static concept, it slips
and slides along absorbing and adapting by simultaneously looking inward and
outward.
Thus this iterative functioning, this hermeneutics‐like spiraling – identity as
process – becomes revealed by, and in turn reveals my unique perception as an
intuition simultaneously constrained by and unleashed through the uncovering of
the relationship between surface and depth from an Asperger’s perspective. This is
the in‐between space I occupy.

3.3. On Reflection
Why do you smile back at me ‐– automatically ‐– when I smile at you? Why can
52

my sadness infect those around me? Contemporary scientists believe that at least six
universal facial expressions of emotions exist that are recognized by and affect
individuals no matter their cultural background (joy, sadness, anger, disgust, surprise,
and fear). They propose a complex relationship between surface (projection) and
depth (sensation) that is built into all of us as a necessary aspect of cultural evolution.
As a person with Asperger’s Syndrome I have become fascinated with this connection
between surface and depth, between people, a connection ‐– intuitive to most –‐ that is,
at least partially hidden from me. With the aid of seven fellow artists I have
endeavored to explore this connection – and the disconnect – between people by
photographing myself wearing these masks of universal emotions as interpreted
through the unique eyes of others and projecting them on to you, my audience.

The above statement accompanied, as an extended text, my exhibition of the
final work of this thesis project: “the emotions project”. This research is broadly
speaking, about identity; more specifically about identifying specific questions –
through my photographic practice ‐ regarding the formulation, expression,
projection and experiencing of identity issues from an Asperger’s perspective,
focusing on the relationship between depth and surface, between connection and
disconnect.
Formulating the conceptual framework, that is developing a specific
visualization of these questions, has been for me the easy part. I have never had
trouble developing and conceptualizing ideas – one of the advantages of Asperger’s
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is a heightened sense of spatial visualization.
Getting the idea(s) for the project from conception to expression was another
thing entirely. As this project relies on the involvement of others, I have found the
need to overcome two hurdles: myself, and others. More specifically, I found I
needed to overcome my inherent tendencies to avoid working with others. And of
course this need has manifested itself on two levels. Getting others involved in the
making of the masks and getting involved with others in the production of the final
exhibition as group show. It turns out that these are two very different forms of
involvement, one of which I find far easier than the other.
Which brings me to the notion of projection: the actual, final realization of the
piece in the show. As usual – and definitely not unexpected – the final emanation of
this piece is not exactly as originally envisioned. Making changes to a great idea (at
least in my head) necessitated by the “ugly” facts of real life has always been a
challenge for me. That necessity has expressed itself in two ways. First, I found the
need to abandon my conception of monitor arms for my seven photo frames for
reasons of space allocation and financial constraint, second, I needed to modify the
presentation of one of the emotions (the neutral) due to a mishandling of my mirror
order. My solutions – to mount the frames rigidly onto a solid octagon and the need
to turn the “neutral” aspect into a static mirror ‐ ended up carrying with them some
interesting and unexpected benefits that had me thinking a great deal about rigid
thinking – mine – and the potential for flexibility of expression inherent in the work:
embracing of unexpected consequences.

54

The last, and in some ways most revealing aspect of the work came to me as I
sat in the gallery and watched people interacting with the piece. And they did
interact – I realized that I was not sure up to that point whether that would happen.
I did find, much to my relief, that people not only spent time with the work but that
many of them came back to it – sometimes repeatedly. More, many laughed at the
“joy” piece, frowned at the “disgust” piece and showed confusion at the “neutral”
piece – just as I had envisioned. But it was not until the very end of the show that I
came to realize the true impact of the work. A couple started asking me pointed and
probing questions about the work. The woman ended by telling me that for the first
time she truly empathized with “what it must be like for someone like me”. It was in
that moment that I had a revelation: the project was a success. But it was also an
utter failure, because while I had succeeded in connecting with at least one person
in the desired manner, that connection was not reciprocal. I understood her
emotional response on an intellectual level; I was never going to share in her
emotional reaction on an intuitive level. But I also realized that I would never, could
never, give up trying.
I am Sisyphus and you are my hill.

4. Conclusion
My projects, “emotional me”, “mirror/mask, “collaborative self‐portrait”, and
“the emotions project” individually and collectively play on key elements of each of
four approaches to identity. My interpretation of the Duchennian mask reveales
something important about the reciprocal relationship between mind and body,
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between depth and surface. Exploring the Henriesque mirror helps me realize the
danger of assuming this surface to be limited to reflectance. Connecting with
Burson’s work allows me to see, and explore, the complex relationship between
“seeing” and “believing” and the potentially detrimental effect of assuming these two
concepts to exist as binary opposites. But most importantly, my interpretation of
the work of King has revealed to me an out from the inward spiraling ‐ and
associated desperate outward grasping ‐ so typical of identity diffusion in those of
us on the autism spectrum. There is a way to balance between internal needs and
external pressures when forming a sense of self. For me that balance is found not in
words but in photographs, in a non‐linguistic, non‐linear form of narrative that has
found a way to connect me to an intuition I did not know I had, an intuition different
from yet complementary to that taken for granted by the majority of humanity. My
intuition is one of the visual thinking so symptomatic of many on the autism
spectrum. My challenge is to make that intuition understandable to that majority
who don’t share it. I have come to believe that photography – which I see as a
medium that both transmits and reflects, that retains some of the pre‐modern
assumption of transparency – is the medium that will allow me to meet that
challenge.
Although I do not believe that I am currently closer to having any truly
concrete answers to the questions I posed in the introduction, I feel that a better
understanding of the diverse‐yet‐connected approaches to identity and its
formation and expression as represented by the artists discussed is providing me
with a greater understanding of where I stand with my approach to my own arts

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practice – and the importance of understanding the relationship between surface
and depth in that practice ‐ which borrows at times from each of these artists’
conceptions. Nevertheless, connection and separation are not fully resolved, will
never be fully resolved. I am different, a fragment in a society that while it purports
to accept the fragmented still, in its very postmodern reduction of difference to mere
difference, by in large, fails to comprehend and remains incomprehensible. Jonathan
Griffiths further contextualizes the issue with the Asperger’s personality firmly in
mind. He explains this issue of incomprehension and the importance of the
connection between surface and depth as an ontological issue incommensurable
with postmodernist thinking “because the post‐modern environment described by
[Richard] Rorty revolves around a series of social interactions with no reference
beyond themselves, and with no overarching logical system. The trouble with that
environment is that it’s very hostile to [Asperger’s personalities] although, at the
philosophical level, it doesn’t yet know that it is” (98).

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