“Many photographs are, alas, inert under my gaze. But even among those which have some existence in my eyes, most provoke only a general and, so to speak, ‘polite’ interest; they have no ‘punctum’ in them: they please or displease me without pricking me: they are invested with no more than ‘studium.’

Roland Barthes (Camera Lucida)

In our quote the philosopher distinguishes between photographs which get under his skin — or prick him in a psychological way — and merely well-made images he might like but cannot love. Elsewhere he says the punctum is a touching or poignant detail, painful at times and usually accidental, which “rises from the scene and shoots out of it like an arrow, and pierces me.” The scene above is emotionally moving taken as a whole, and works as studium because it functions as I intended according to my training in composition; therefore it makes a polite contract with the viewer. But it also contains a small thing that stabs me like a needle.

I did not know Paul. I do not know anyone who knew him during his comparatively short life. Nevertheless this memorial I came across by chance has punctured my skin. I have puzzled over the hieroglyph on the folk-art cross, located between his birthday in 1955 and his date of death in 2002. This mark is my own punctum, or disturbing detail. I have no one to guide me on this, so must imagine and speculate. I think that glyph is a boat and represents the sailing of Paul to a world beyond, as he might have sailed during his life across his beloved river.