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camille rogine photography


The memory of trauma is so often located in place. In this series, I explore my relationship to the spaces of my own trauma.

To create this series, I spent one morning in the town of my childhood, with two rolls of film and a borrowed car. I drove to the places of my memory, jumped out of the car, and tried to capture the texture of these spaces. The results were grainy--the film was expired--and unfinished, as most trauma is. 


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As providers, we are—amongst other things—investigators. We palpate, we move, we measure. We tap and wait for a flicker. We count the beats. We record the temperature. We listen for crackles and rales. We look for dilation, we monitor for changes. This is how we learn to be clinicians. We learn to detect and characterize ailments in order to heal them.

But pain remains elusive. We can’t detect it, we can’t measure it, and we can’t see it. We rely upon our patients to communicate their pain, but patient report is seldom sufficient to determine the extent and character of pain. Even our best clinical practices fall short because we get stuck at the first step—investigation.

This project addresses a simple, yet deeply impactful problem: we cannot see pain. It approaches this issue through several contextual recognitions that build upon one another: one, that providers rely upon detection and investigation for successful clinical care. Two, that sight is one of the primary ways that we assess, measure, interact with, and understand reality. Over 50% of the cortex is devoted to visual processing; more brain space is allocated to processing and storing visual information than all of our other senses combined. With these two points in mind, it becomes clear that medicine is in need of a way to visualize pain.

Cupping is a practice that has existed in many societies throughout history. It leaves large purple circles on the body—places where blood and lymph have been mobilized and pulled to the surface. It is therapeutic, but it also is visual—you can see areas of muscle tightness, nerve irritation, and fluid stagnation. You can see pain.

chronic pain

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This project is ongoing. 

There's something incredible about meeting women who spend their time creating. They are generative, they are multifaceted, and they are incredibly rich subjects to photograph.

local female artists

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 behind the lens

I see photography as transformative -- a way to shift how we see and see ourselves.
I entered my first darkroom at Swarthmore College and was immediately hooked. At Swarthmore I practiced double exposure photography—which allowed me to merge moments and ideas—and macro photography, which connected my studio work to my biology studies. After college, photography still infused my pursuits: in a neurology lab I investigated pathways of learning and memory through microscopy, as a teacher I designed and taught a course that was half biology lab and half photography studio, and at Kaiser I founded an Art Program in the Pediatric Infusion Center. Throughout all of this, photography was a constant—a way for me to merge, create, and see deeply. 

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