In Defense of the Poor Image

Reading Hito Steyerl’s In Defense of the Poor Image, I found my previous obsession with HD, perfect resolution, and “lossless quality” completely upended. In Steyerl’s description, the more fragmented, blurry, and even degraded an image is, the more it reveals the truth about the contemporary digital economy—and perhaps even carries the power to resist the dominant audiovisual system. She calls these low-definition, endlessly transcoded, and heavily compressed images “poor images”—a form of visual material that, in the traditional sense, occupies the “lowest rung” of the social hierarchy. Below are some of my reflections on this reading.

1. Blurry AVIs and Overcopied JPEGs: Why Is “Broken Imagery” Valuable?

Steyerl introduces the “poor image” in a way that almost feels surreal: it could be a fifth- or sixth-generation AVI copy, or a JPEG riddled with compression artifacts. In any case, it is a “defective product” that could never be lavishly projected in a cinema. But it is precisely its “poor quality” that allows it to travel long distances in the digital world—smaller means easier to distribute, worse quality means easier to download, copy, remix, or re-record. This explains why we often come across extreme pixelation and atrocious resolution in old film clips circulating online: they were likely ripped from VHS tapes by fans decades ago, transcoded countless times, and ultimately left in some P2P archive with a random filename, waiting to be rediscovered.

I used to browse Ubuweb frequently for art films and historical experimental works. Many of the materials there are in terrible quality, yet they are also impossible to find anywhere else. Only through the “poor image” do they persist. From Steyerl’s perspective, these images, though battered and degraded, are proof that they have “survived.” When official cultural institutions or commercial markets no longer support them, it doesn’t matter if they are grainy and moldy—so long as they can still be seen, reused, and discussed, they have achieved a form of resistance.

2. Image Quality and Class: The Power Behind Resolution

Steyerl introduces a Marxist-inflected notion: “Poor image is a lumpen proletarian in the class society of appearances.” In other words, image quality mirrors class structure—4K/8K “rich images” belong to the elite, while low-resolution, pixelated, and heavily compressed visuals are the proletariat or the drifters. She even references Woody Allen’s film where the protagonist remains out of focus due to a medical condition: to the audience and the production industry, a blurry actor is deemed “worthless.”

This reminds me of visiting electronics stores where salespeople always promote “ultra-HD OLED” or “HDR brightness” while dismissing low-res screens as unwatchable. But in Steyerl’s framework, high definition is a symbol of economic power and aesthetic dominance, deeply tied to mainstream capital and the film industry. Poor image quality, on the other hand, results from non-mainstream, underground, and independent distribution—closely linked to marginalized art forms and works.

3. From National Archives to the Internet’s “Junkyard”: How Lost Art is Resurrected

One chapter discusses how many experimental films, political cinema, and underground recordings have gradually disappeared because commercial theaters and TV networks refuse to buy their screening rights, or because they are left neglected in national film archives. Poor images, however, grant them a second life.

I’ve encountered decades-old political documentaries online—poorly subtitled in English, French, or Russian, their frames constantly flickering. Yet even in this condition, their core message remains accessible, and I can freely download, edit, and redistribute them.

This “resurrection” is built on copying and sharing, breaking the monopoly of copyright holders and cultural institutions over visual content. When official archives keep valuable material locked away, piracy, low-res versions, and P2P networks form an alternative “gray” or even “black” circulation system.

Steyerl also mentions how some materials from national film archives have leaked—whether due to government collapse, institutional disarray, or privatization. What once belonged to a historical repository may transform into a DVD rental store, and eventually, its content finds its way online. In the process, quality is constantly sacrificed, but visibility and accessibility increase.

4. Imperfect Cinema: The Utopia and Paradox of Poor Images

Steyerl’s argument echoes the 1960s Cuban Third Cinema manifesto, For an Imperfect Cinema by Juan García Espinosa, which championed a form of grassroots filmmaking that required neither high production costs nor technical expertise. The poor image fits this imperfect cinema perfectly: anyone can film, record, or edit without Hollywood-scale resources. It appears to be a digital-age continuation of Third Cinema’s ideals.

But Steyerl also highlights the dark side of this “utopia”:

• Hyper-reproduction generates digital waste—clickbait, spam, low-quality ads, and even hate speech proliferate through the same mechanisms.
• Digital capitalism profits from it—many platforms thrive on user-uploaded low-res content, monetizing our attention.
• Mass production, while empowering small creators, also fuels an oversaturated, fast-scrolling, attention-draining media landscape.

Thus, rather than seeing poor images as purely revolutionary, it’s more accurate to view them as sites of contradiction: they provide survival space for non-mainstream visuals while also being exploited by corporate platforms for engagement metrics.

5. “Visual Junk” or “Visual Revolution”? Rethinking Value

If we judge images solely by “high fidelity,” “big-budget production,” or “polished visuals,” then poor images hold no value. But Steyerl suggests shifting our criteria—perhaps we should assess images by their speed of distribution, flexibility, and mobility instead.

Take my own experience: some old documentaries are officially available on DVD, but even if they’re purchasable, they’re expensive and require shipping. Meanwhile, a 240p version can be found on a niche forum instantly. Though the quality is poor, it’s immediately accessible, and I can discuss it with others.

This isn’t an argument to reject HD entirely, but rather an acknowledgment that “low-quality images” can carry critical information, historical voices, and political meanings that resist the hierarchical structures of resolution-based aesthetics.

Steyerl also ties this back to contemporary anxieties: in a time where people feel they never have enough time, we are less inclined to immerse ourselves in grand cinematic spectacles. Instead, we gravitate toward fragmented, fast-paced, shareable media. The poor image is not just a technological phenomenon—it reflects a collective mentality of the present.

6. A Global “Visual Bond”: New Public Sphere or New Exploitation?

One of the most exciting aspects of Steyerl’s argument is the way poor images create a global network—underground videos, bootleg recordings, and resistance documentaries become accessible to people worldwide. In a way, they form an “anonymous global network” connecting individuals invested in the same issues.

She references Soviet filmmaker Dziga Vertov’s concept of the “visual bond,” which sought to unite workers globally through the camera. Perhaps today, this bond is broader—not just political but deeply diverse: protest videos, feminist speeches, bizarre DIY art, and rare academic resources all circulate through this underground digital ecosystem.

However, this also exposes another form of user-generated labor—all the translating, transcoding, uploading, and discussing enriches the platforms hosting them. The more we participate, the more the platforms profit, commodifying our engagement.

7. Personal Thoughts: The Appeal and Frustration of Poor Images

As someone who scavenges the internet for obscure visuals, I deeply relate to this. Sometimes, just finding an ultra-rare short film—even if the footage is a jittery, unwatchable mess—is exhilarating. The roughness often carries a unique temporal aura and space for reflection.

As Steyerl puts it, the poor image doesn’t concern itself with the existence of an “original pristine version”—instead, it stands as a present reality, reflecting how we produce, consume, and circulate images today.

Yet I also wonder: does our relentless consumption of degraded visuals diminish our appreciation for detail and artistic precision? Some works do require the big screen to be truly experienced. But without poor images, we might never see them at all.

Ultimately, as Steyerl concludes, poor images simultaneously resist the fetishization of high resolution and remain vulnerable to capitalist capture. They offer a glimpse into our digital reality—where every freedom carries the risk of co-optation, and every act of artistic survival is one step away from becoming another product.