O.K., with the last couple of posts, beneath the jargon and free-thinking writing style (which seems to make sense to myself alone) there were two main points that I have been trying to iron out:
1. Photography can and should be looked at for its individual handmade craftsmanship. Meaning, the photograph should be viewed as a physical object created by an artist, in the same way one regards a painter’s canvas.
2. When one looks at a photograph they should be intrigued by the creation process as well as the subject matter.
The point of trying to figure out these two aspects of photography is, I guess, to try and push the medium more into the art world. When I look at these two ideas I can’t help but see them as part of a process to create an artist out of a photographer. If someone utilizes both of these thoughts, his images must be looked at not only for their represented intrigue, but also for the representation of an artist. A sense of an individual, a specific hand, and hopefully, originality, will come through for the photographer, and he can then concern himself with the taking and making of wonderful images. Maybe this will mean the term artist can be applied more comfortably.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
To be an artist
I want to be an artist. I am not entirely sure why I say this, but at least now I have. In a sense I have come clean. No more hiding it, or disguising it with other words or desires. Truth be told, I have never been comfortable with the term artist, and have always found the need to qualify it when applying it to what I do (art photographer, photographic artist, etc.). In each of these appended uses, the term “art” has always felt forced. I believe that part of this feeling of uncomfortable-ness stems from the idea that photographers are inherently not considered artists, as they cannot be in relation to the other art mediums. As Susan Sontag points out in Regarding the Pain of Others, having professional training and years of experience with photography does not bring with it the automatic ability to create a better picture than the amateur or spontaneous photographer. This is absolutely true, and so is the idea that chance carries such a weight in the photographic world (the picture only came about because I was at ‘the right place at the right time’). I personally don’t have an issue with this, and in fact, completely agree. So then why do I desire the label of artist, and why do so many other photographers have that same desire? Maybe it is all a simple fact of attending art school and being surrounded by others who easily refer to themselves as artists without hesitation. There is no second thinking when you are surrounded by artists to call yourself the same, it is only once you are separated that you can see things from another viewpoint and not feel comfortable. I am not comfortable, but at least now I think I know why. Here is the difference for photographers, and here may be the reasoning for the awkwardness of the art photographer label (again pointed out by Sontage), “A painting or drawing is judged a fake when it turns out not to be by the artist to whom it had been attributed. A photograph…is judged a fake when it turns out to be deceiving the viewer about the scene it purports to depict.” How true is that? I mean seriously, for over 100 years, ever since P.H. Emerson wrote his Naturalistic Photography for Students of the Art in 1889 we as photographers have struggled to become accepted in the wide world of art. How can we possibly feel accepted when the basic tendency of paintings and drawings being particular to an artist is not afforded to a photographer? Was he not the one to take the image and craft the print, and is it not his art? Sometimes it wasn’t and so sometimes it isn’t. Again, I agree with Sontag, and it only makes me feel even more pushed towards forming some sort of similar connection between photograph and creator. I guess this is just another push towards wanting to be regarding as an artist. The strengths of the photographic medium have pushed us this far, but as the focus remains on only what the picture is of, then a “photo by:” credit does nothing. As long as we remain separated from fellow creators of art by this poignant truth, photography will always be looked at as but a recording device.
Let Us Create More and Print Fewer
The statements put forth by my dear friend Dan concerning the importance of an image has gotten me a bit rattled. On the one hand I completely disagree with him, and have always found the strength of an image based on its originality and physical self. On the other hand, someone with a camera in the right place at the right time surely can take an image of great importance or significance. These types of images are those who's power comes with the propagation of the image through society; the more eyes to see it, the more value it attains. But...
Consider a great painting, and the value one gets from viewing it in person. You can, of course, see a representation of the painting in a book or online, but in such a situation you are most likely enjoying the subject matter or the painting's place in history. What you can enjoy in looking at a representation of a painting is everything except the artist's hand in the creation process. You cannot fully recognize the talent of the artist, his brush strokes or painting technique or color pallet. When you are sitting with a book in your lap you cannot fully see the artist. Standing three feet away from a Rembrandt, you not only see all of the artist's skills, but you can feel the history of the artist just by taking in the physical specimen that is the painting. Yes, you can be entertained by simply looking at the Rembrandt reproduction, but what if your interest lies in being entertained by the painter's hand? This is how I fell when viewing a painting and these same sentiments can and should be attributed to viewing original photographs. I can be visually satisfied by any reproduction of Henri Cartier-Bresson's photographs, but for me to arrive at a much higher level of joy, I desire to see Cartier-Bresson's actual handiwork (in a word, his print). Even viewing an original image by the photographer, printed by another, doesn't completely do it for me (however more perfected the other's print might be considered).
How can an original Henri Cartier-Bresson photograph be of even more value to me? The answer lies in knowing that there is but only a small number of prints ever to have been created by the artist. This is taken for granted with painters, yet seen by many as foolish for photographers. Yes, the negative can be looked at as specifically designed for reproduction, but what are photographers afraid of when the prospect arrives to create but only a handful of photographs from one negative and then destroy the image's source? This should be seen as placing more value on the actual images created (and I am definitely not talking about monetary value, as most of us know the survival on photographic sales, edition limited or not is left to the truly famous and/or the dead). The value increased by the limited number of crafted photographs is a value of knowing that those few pieces of photographic paper are alone in their singularity. Any reproduction in books or magazines can be enjoyed, but with the same limitations as goes to the painting's reproduction, thus placing all the more value on witnessing a crafted photograph first hand. This is the point of galleries and museums and of buying art, to view the artist, not just what the image represents. Of course all of this is always dependant upon the greatness of the picture. No matter how long and hard you work on an image, if the picture doesn’t do it, then it just doesn’t do it.
I am not trying to be a painter, and I am not trying to be dismissive and close off photography. I just believe in the power of an image (which, said for the millionth time, includes the process) and that power being intensified by originality and the sense of an artist. The reason for becoming anti-digital (if you will) is that I believe you lose these strengths too easily, and with the masses in society knowledgeable of digital much more so than hand created photography, I feel that my need is to attempt to create a difference between the styles, and in doing so bring knowledge to the type of photography I find of value.
Consider a great painting, and the value one gets from viewing it in person. You can, of course, see a representation of the painting in a book or online, but in such a situation you are most likely enjoying the subject matter or the painting's place in history. What you can enjoy in looking at a representation of a painting is everything except the artist's hand in the creation process. You cannot fully recognize the talent of the artist, his brush strokes or painting technique or color pallet. When you are sitting with a book in your lap you cannot fully see the artist. Standing three feet away from a Rembrandt, you not only see all of the artist's skills, but you can feel the history of the artist just by taking in the physical specimen that is the painting. Yes, you can be entertained by simply looking at the Rembrandt reproduction, but what if your interest lies in being entertained by the painter's hand? This is how I fell when viewing a painting and these same sentiments can and should be attributed to viewing original photographs. I can be visually satisfied by any reproduction of Henri Cartier-Bresson's photographs, but for me to arrive at a much higher level of joy, I desire to see Cartier-Bresson's actual handiwork (in a word, his print). Even viewing an original image by the photographer, printed by another, doesn't completely do it for me (however more perfected the other's print might be considered).
How can an original Henri Cartier-Bresson photograph be of even more value to me? The answer lies in knowing that there is but only a small number of prints ever to have been created by the artist. This is taken for granted with painters, yet seen by many as foolish for photographers. Yes, the negative can be looked at as specifically designed for reproduction, but what are photographers afraid of when the prospect arrives to create but only a handful of photographs from one negative and then destroy the image's source? This should be seen as placing more value on the actual images created (and I am definitely not talking about monetary value, as most of us know the survival on photographic sales, edition limited or not is left to the truly famous and/or the dead). The value increased by the limited number of crafted photographs is a value of knowing that those few pieces of photographic paper are alone in their singularity. Any reproduction in books or magazines can be enjoyed, but with the same limitations as goes to the painting's reproduction, thus placing all the more value on witnessing a crafted photograph first hand. This is the point of galleries and museums and of buying art, to view the artist, not just what the image represents. Of course all of this is always dependant upon the greatness of the picture. No matter how long and hard you work on an image, if the picture doesn’t do it, then it just doesn’t do it.
I am not trying to be a painter, and I am not trying to be dismissive and close off photography. I just believe in the power of an image (which, said for the millionth time, includes the process) and that power being intensified by originality and the sense of an artist. The reason for becoming anti-digital (if you will) is that I believe you lose these strengths too easily, and with the masses in society knowledgeable of digital much more so than hand created photography, I feel that my need is to attempt to create a difference between the styles, and in doing so bring knowledge to the type of photography I find of value.
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