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Pieter Hugo
Albino portraits
27 October - 26 November 2004
Pieter Hugo believes that people project their desires, fears, fantasies and repulsions upon people with albinism. He traveled extensively in Africa, South America and Europe photographing individuals who volunteered to be part of the project and has assembled a series of portraits each reflecting their subject's individuality. Some of these
were exhibited to critical acclaim at Fabrica Features in Lisbon and at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Rome.
The Albino portraits are printed in an edition of 3 and 1 AP. All prints are 100 x
80cm and printed with archival pigment on cotton rag paper.
Click here to read an article by Sean O'Toole on the Albino series.

2. Regina Kambule, South Africa, 2003 |

7. Vuyiswa Kama, South Africa, 2003 |

15. Zukiswa Tyami, South Africa, 2003 |

18. Steven Mohapi, South Africa, 2003
edition sold |

21. Thami Mawe, South Africa, 2003 |

22. Raymond Nteo, South Africa, 2003 |

24. Lindi Msiza, South Africa, 2003
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25. Thembile Mabaso, South Africa, 2003
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27. Jeffrey Rasevhechele, South Africa, 2003
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28. Kedibone Motshudi, South Africa, 2003
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30. Vinkosi Sigwegwe, South Africa, 2002
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36. Malebina Mahloko, South Africa, 2003
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Sean O'Toole on the Albino series
The etymology of the word albino is inextricably linked
to Africa,
to the ethnic gaze of early visitors to the Black continent. The
word, which describes the inherited condition of melanin deficiency,
traces its origins back to Portugal's colonial interests in Africa.
First used in 1777, the word was employed to describe white-spotted
West Africans encountered by colonial explorers. According to
reports, Portuguese explorers were confounded by the apparent
existence of two distinct African races, and as a result
distinguished between Negroes and Albinos. Thus, it was from the
exotic possibilities of otherness, and the flawed vision of the
ethnic gaze, that we derive the word albino.
Despite its questionable origins, the word is now commonly utilised
throughout the English language. It is used to refer to a grouping of
people with inherited conditions in which an altered copy of a gene
does not allow the body to produce the usual amounts of a pigment
called melanin. Melanin, a colouring agent that has gifted humanity
with the notion of race, is a photoprotective pigment that plays a
major role in absorbing ultraviolet (UV) radiation from the sun.
People with large amounts of melanin in their skin are generally
highly resistant to the effects of UV radiation, while, conversely,
albinos are highly susceptible to UV radiation, and consequently skin
cancer.
In terms of a general typology, there are two main types of
albinism. Oculocutaneous albinism (OCA) refers to instances where
melanin pigment is missing in the skin, hair and eyes, while ocular
albinism (OA) describes the condition where the melanin pigment is
mainly missing from the eyes, and the skin and hair appear normal.
OCA is more common than OA. Approximately one in 17,000 people are
born with one of the types of albinism.
One of the chief complaints presented by people with albinism
relates to eyesight and visual acuity, their symptoms ranging from
extreme far-sightedness or near-sightedness, to astigmatism. Despite
a general Hollywood - and indeed pop-cultural - pathology that
favours showing albinos as having red eyes, the truth is that the
colour range of the albino eye varies from a dull grey to blue to
brown. The simple fact is that aside from skin complaints related to
UV rays, albinism per se in no ways inhibits the normal physical
growth and intellectual development of people born with this
condition.
Socially, however, the situation is quite different. The Shona, for
example, a distinctive Southeastern African people, refer to albinos
as sope, meaning something magical inhabited by powerful evil
spirits. A recent increase in the incidence of rape of African albino
females by HIV infected males' highlights one particularly aberrant
neurosis projected onto the albino body. According to this troubling
African fallacy, sex with an albino is said to cure HIV. Less
sensationally, though, but just as revealing, Zimbabwean albinos are
said to have a life expectancy of 43 years compared to a mean
national average of 57 years. Only 29 percent of Zimbabwean albinos
live to reach the age of 60 years.
It is the complexities of these unseen facts that subtly frame our
reception of Pieter Hugo's photographs, images that when carefully
interrogated speak about how class and racial circumstance insinuate
themselves into the daily lives of people living with albinism. As
such, his enquiry looks beyond the apparent blankness of albinism to
present a subtly probing portrait of the world, one in which sameness
is underpinned by a marked difference.
The series, which includes participants from countries as diverse as
Brazil, Greece and the United Kingdom, was initiated in South Africa,
the photographer's country of origin. "The idea started with an
earlier body of work titled 'Margin'," Pieter explains. 'Margin'
dealt with people living on the peripheries of modern South African
society, and included a portrait of an orphaned albino boy stood next
to a birdbath outside his orphanage. "I kept returning to this
picture," says Pieter. "Something about it captivated me, the role
albinism plays in South African society."
A photographic internship at the interdisciplinary school of the
arts, Fabrica, allowed Pieter to further explore his interest in the
incidence of albinism globally. Thus, while on assignments for the
magazine Colors, he managed to meet with and document a large number
of individuals living with the condition. Through these encounters,
he gained a privileged view of individuals and organisations actively
engaged in reshaping a globally prevalent pathology that would views
albinism as extraordinary and other.
For the viewer, the simple, declaratory portraits contained in this
book present themselves as testimony. These are photographs that
celebrate a fragile community whose only difference derives from a
slight of genetics. More controversially, these images present a
challenge. It is the challenge of seeing different, of relocating the
colonising gaze to see something more than simply a blank body onto
which we can project our misguided assumptions.
This is not an easy task; it requires a seismic shift in
consciousness, and a reformation of language. If we are to suspend
our voyeuristic urges, we will of necessity have to step beyond the
limits of words, in the process disavowing the traditional meaning of
words such as blank. At stake here is our ability to look beyond
emptiness and the void, to see meaning defined by a new fullness - of
humanity, of being.
© 2003 Michael Stevenson. All rights
reserved.
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