'Assume Nothing' and 'The Big C' Photo Spreads, Articles and Reviews

Blue Magazine, Australia

September 2004, Issue 2004

Members of the transgendered community, long relegated to the fringes of public consciousness, exist in a realm that confounds easy categorization. This makes a project such as Rebecca Swan's self published book, Assume Nothing , all the more powerful.

Since the mid 90's Swan has been photographing members of the gender queer community. But these intimate, mostly nude portraits reveal more than their challenging bodies. With the inclusion of quotes from the subjects, they are as much psychological studies as they are physical depictions.

DIVA Magazine, London

February 2005

Beautiful black and white photographs of people who stretch the boundaries of gender, from top US drag king Dréd (pictured as both girl and boy) to a Samoan chief called Karl who has the body of a man and the spirit of a woman – known as fa'afafine in the local tradition. All tell their own stories in the text that accompanies Swan's portraits, which are artful in every meaning of the word. Inspiring.

November 1999 Issue 42
By Gillian Rodgerson

This portfolio of work by New Zealand photographer Rebecca Swan is part of a larger project entitled Assume Nothing. In this powerful collection of images dealing with gender, identity and body image, Swan uses various photographic processes to explore the way her models present themselves to the world. Male, female, transgendered, androgynous, the beauty of their individual forms is presented with dignity and grace.

DAM Magazine, London

Autumn By Rebecca Swan
1994 Vol 4 # 3 (4 page spread)

On November 26th 1991, aged 23, I was diagnosed with Hodgkins disease, a cancer of the lymph system. On January 7th 1992 I decided to go ahead with the proposed medical treatment. For the size and type of the tumour, this would be chemotherapy for three months, radiotherapy for a month and a further three months of chemotherapy.
This was all administered to me as an out- patient. At this time I felt over loaded emotionally and psychologically, so I started to photograph myself and write a diary. I had done this before, as a means to sort out my scrambled brain and/ or heart, or purely to vent anger, frustration or fear. It felt very natural to combine my photography and writing with other areas of the therapy. This has resulted in a body of work that I have presented in a book format. It is a record of my experience with cancer told in black and white self portraits and diary extracts. It was hugely therapeutic for me.In the first few months I used my camera as a surrogate friend. Being a fairly restrained and proud person, I felt able to express the extreme emotions in front of my camera that I felt too inhibited to express to other people. The moment the picture was taken, I felt the benefit. I just needed to get it out. It almost felt redundant to process the film. However, for me, these photographs are the most powerful. As the treatment progressed and I began to feel weak and disempowered, I took my camera into the hospital. This helped me retain my sense of self and gain a sense of involvement and control. These photographs are in a documentary style showing the environment and application of the treatment. I used a performance approach to examine and vent emotions I had previously felt, but at the time was physically unable to record. These photos were pre-conceived and often included symbols and props. The final therapeutic benefit I find the most interesting. I would occasionally feel a great urge to photograph myself, without understanding why. This was like assessing my sub-conscious. I would set up the camera without knowing what I would do in front of it, until the moment the shutter was released. Sometimes it took weeks or months before I would understand the image.The initial motivation to produce this work was purely for my own benefit. I was the photographer, the subject and the viewer. This privacy meant there was a raw honesty about the photographs and writing. It wasn't until half way through the treatment that I showed some of the work to people who were close to me. I realised it could have a wider audience and be of benefit to others, particularly those who were in similar circumstances.

As the last photograph was taken almost two years ago, the project had travelled with me through various stages of my recovery. It took many months before I could print certain images without feeling nauseous or read the text without crying. It was a way of slowly letting go of the experience. Now it is only occasionally that I will be flooded with emotion looking at the book but more frequently I feel, yes, I survived that, and I'm stronger for it. Looking at it now I am cautious not to confuse this record of my experience as being my complete experience. I feel that as time numbs the details of it, the temptation to remember only the record is great.

However the experiences that have been edited out probably have more to teach me. I feel that the more material exposed about the many layers that sit below the medical surface of illness, the healthier attitudes will be towards it.