The Examined Life (Part II)
A continuation of The Examined Life (Part I)…
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Shortly before writing this second installment, I had a chance to listen to Dr. James Orbinski talk about his humanitarian work, and particularly his work in Rwanda during the 1994 genocide. It was gut-wrenching and offered a vivid reminder of how privileged we are to even be able to make the time for philosophical discussions of art when so many others live without basic necessities and dignity. I used to be a proponent of art for art’s sake, but in recent years changed my mind. Art must have a purpose and serve to elevate life. This is not a condemnation of art but of the policies and shortsightedness that allow some of us the privilege of engaging in it, while denying it to others. With that in mind, I’ll complete my train of thoughts.
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“Photography freed painting from a lot of tiresome chores, starting with family portraits.” –Pierre-Auguste Renoir
So, what if those claiming photography as inherently inferior to other disciplines in its artful standing, are right? What if photography really is too representational, too limited, too automated, etc. to measure up to other media in the creation of expressive work?
If someone were to approach me in my formative years and suggest that I will some day become an artist (and for some reason I believed them,) would I have chosen photography as my medium? Honestly, no. Most photographers I know started their creative journeys with no aspirations of becoming artists. Those who did become artists did so because they discovered it within them relatively late in life, and photography happened to be the tool available to them at that point. I myself am very much in that category. In fact, if I have known what I know today about art as a way of life, I would likely have signed up for Art School and focused my efforts on more widely-accepted artistic media, such as painting. Moreover, I would likely have become schooled in the dominant Modern or Postmodern philosophy and in the contemporary fashions and paradigms, and may never have bothered to question them, so long as my art was accepted as such.
Can I really blame any product of “the system” for perpetuating its prejudices? Yes, I think I can, because they are only prejudices in the sense that they are perpetuated by authority figures and taken at face value, rather than vetted through personal introspection or logical reasoning.
As evident in my previous posts on this topic and the related reader responses, despite my best attempts there may not actually be a way to apply logical reasoning for this purpose without treading into vast tracts of ill-defined terminology and personal taste. Without logical reasoning, then, any such claim, from either side, can only be considered prejudice or, if grounded in personal conviction, an opinion.
To someone socially and professionally conditioned to think in literal terms, the notion that there is no right answer can be a frustrating one. The longer I work as an artist, though, the more accommodating I become of abstractions, dualities, and paradoxes; to a point where I actually find solace in the knowledge that strict definitions are not always possible or even desirable, and that I will likely never run out of creative and intellectual challenges to occupy my mind. While my opinions may not resonate universally, I am still validated in applying them in my own work, knowing that they may be countered by equally opinionated arguments, but never by stronger ones.
Call it irony, but I’m starting to appreciate the fact that challenges often actually make for more rewarding accomplishments.
Another jarring thought came recently as I showed a fellow photographer some of my work along with obvious copies of it by other photographers. These were not common found views, but attempts to locate a specific subject I found and my exact interpretation of it. “You’re photographing the wrong things,” he said, and gave the example of the secret recipe to Coke. The reason it is secret is that it cannot be legally protected. Common ingredients are not anyone’s property.
And what are scenic wonders, golden light, and other natural elements if not ingredients in the making of photographic work? To claim ownership of a view or a tree makes no more sense than to claim ownership of Sienna Yellow, prohibiting anyone else from using it in their own work.
Is my only recourse to keep my ingredients secret? Perhaps; but that would reduce my work to a game when, for it to hold any meaning and interest, I need it to be much more than that.
The ingredients of a painting are never all there is to a work. It’s their deliberate application by a unique artist that produces the final product. Things are not as simple in photography. In many cases, the final product is the ingredients; not so much their deliberate and unique application or arrangement by a conscious mind. I can see how this will be a plausible argument to the detriment of photography. To a degree, I also agree with it. There has to be more to a work (as opposed to a photograph) in order for it to possess meaning and purpose beyond the simplistic “this is where I’ve been and this is what I’ve seen”.
More importantly, I realized that while I cannot make a valid claim to the things I photograph, I still can defend the unique way in which I interpret, compose, and present them as my own work. This also served to reinforce the purpose behind my own work: when I show an image of, say, aspen trees, my goal is not to challenge anyone to locate the exact same group of trees and make their own copy re-applying my creative choices (in fact, I find such attitudes disrespectful, both to the artist and to the subject.) Instead, I want to articulate the beauty and importance of the experiences possible in such a place and urge others to seek similar virtues and work to share and preserve them for the benefit of those who may never discover them otherwise.
I am one who started out wanting to be an artist. Before I discovered photography I was painting. Okay, so it was paint-by-numbers but I was only 8. Give me a break. It was enough that I wanted to be a proper artist when I grew up. I got a camera at 13 and was hooked. I drifted to pottery in art school (went with intentions of being an art teacher) and was frequently sidetracked by career (not teaching art) but photography was always there as the medium I was most comfortable with.
I consider myself an artist/photographer whatever that means. Most of the time I’m not sure the words matter. I occasionally become uncomfortable with calling myself an artist, not because its connotation in relation to my work but rather because of the self-indulgent, ego centric stuff that is adored by the contemporary gallery scene. I don’t care to be lumped into that category because of the word “art”.
As for “owning” the things we photograph, I recall reading one of Galen Rowell’s books about his indignation when his wife Barbara set her tripod up in virtually the same spot he had just finished making a photo. To me the act of photographing is ideally an exchange, a subtle communication between subject and photographer. That exchange does not impart ownership to either side. After the exchange we let it go. Can others deliberately imitate our photographs? Of course, but that says more about them than us. If you want to think kindly of it, think of it like the artists who copy masterworks as a way of learning the process.
“The longer I work as an artist, though, the more accommodating I become of abstracts, dualities, and paradoxes; to a point where I actually find solace in the knowledge that strict definitions are not always possible or even desirable, and that I will likely never run out of creative and intellectual challenges to occupy my mind. ”
Profound! Yes I cannot articulate much about these thoughts, but I can definitely understand these words. Thanks for the posts Guy. Introspection cannot get any better than this
Hi Guy. Similar thinking has led me to experiment with heavier use of post-processing / compositional tools. Everyone can claim they photographed tree stumps and old houses ‘by chance’ but it will be hard to make a close copy of a Jerry Uelsmann composition without paying tribute to the master; willingly or not.
Guy,
About three years ago on a photography critique site I saw a wonderfully produced photograph. The light, the color, and most importantly, the place, all spoke to me. The photograph made me want to visit this location and to experience it for myself, to smell the salt water, to feel the ocean mist on my skin, to hear the rhythmic beat of the waves against the shore. I inquired as to the location and I received a curt response that it was not meant to be found by anyone else.
At the time I was very taken aback by the response, but upon further reflection I understand that they wanted to keep the location to themselves – to them it was their “secret” ingredient. This is both unfortunate and short sighted. While they are protecting their “secret” spot, they are preventing others from this place and being inspired by its beauty. True, this artist’s photograph was inspiring, but to assume that all fellow photographers wanted was to copy their image is closing themselves off to different interpretations, different moods, different feelings. It is as though the artist is saying, “This is my interpretation and since you cannot experience it, it is the correct one.”
As you mentioned, there are paradoxes that cannot be easily unwound and contradictions that will continue to exist. There will be people that will copy other’s work for various reasons. Some do it to learn, which can be understandable, as long as there exists the realization that it is an initial step in a longer process. But there are those individuals that simply see a “pretty picture”, they are a copy machine, mechanical. These are the ones need to learn how to express themselves uniquely through their work and to realize we are all given the same ingredients, but we don’t all have to bake the same thing.
I have since found out the location because I saw another’s work, another who had unfortunately done exactly what the first individual feared – copied the image to the best that the conditions allowed. In the end what the initial artist attempted to prevent occurred anyway and thus the contradiction continued.
Thanks Derrald!
I agree completely, though I still think that some places should be kept in secrecy, not only because their images may be plagiarized but because they are too sensitive to survive becoming a popular attraction.
You bring up a very good point about wanting to experience a location. In my mind there’s a big difference between wanting to feel the same emotions as conveyed by an image and wanting to duplicate the actual image. In fact, I believe that if someone visits a place with the intent of duplicating someone else’s image, they will not experience it the same way. Their entire impression and interpretation will be dominated by the overriding need to duplicate the experience of someone else and will have none of the mystery and joy of discovery that were the privilege of the original artist.
“The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science.” –Albert Einstein
When mystery is taken out of the experience, it can no longer be repeated.
Guy
Thank you, Pramod!
Thank you, Jim. I like your characterization photography as an exchange with the subject. It resonates with my own way of working, requiring a degree of familiarity with the subject over a period of time, rather than chance encounters.
I think the mentality of possession, or “getting the shot” actually leads to desensitization and a disconnect from the subject. I recently found this quote from Alain de Botton that I found very poignant:
“Rather than employing it as a supplement to active, conscious seeing, they used the medium as a substitute, paying less attention to the world than they had done previously, taking it on faith that photography automatically assured them possession of it.”
I can tell you’ve really put a lot of thought into this, Guy. I’ve had conversations with others about the same kinds of questions and this sums up everything in a very well articulated way. Everything you’ve said in the past seems to come full circle here.
That quote by Einstein is fantastic, by the way. I don’t know if you saw my guest article on Robert Berdan’s blog (http://www.canadiannaturephotographer.com/FlorisvanBreugel.html), but that quote seems to sum up my entire article.. might have to use it in the future!
Guy,
Very good point, I would hate for some of my favorite locations to be overrun and trashed. At the same time I always enjoy having people celebrate them, but in an environmentally sound way!
John, I think that’s one good way to go about it, although I have seen several occurrences of copying (sometimes even scripting and automating) processing styles as well as subjects.
Guy
As always, your essay is well stated and on point. Your blog image is absolutely incredible. Thanks for sharing both.
Another well thought out post, Guy. Thank you. I agree we can’t own a photographic subject, but we can own our interpretation of it – how we compose, what camera settings we use, how we post-process it. Copying for the pure sake of copying is nothing but visual plagiarism – not illegal, but perhaps unethical.
My thoughts on the subject sometimes leaves me conflicted. For there have been times I seek out a particular subject I’ve seen presented by others. But my reason is to put my own interpretation on it, not copy the others image. Again I give the example of the House on Fire ruin I raised in a comment earlier on you blog. Yes I had seen numerous images of it prior to my visit, but was I trying to copy those images? No. My goal was to visit this special place and put my own interpretation into it. Does my image look like the others? Frankly, I don’t know, I haven’t compared them side by side. My composition and processing are my own, and hopefully the image shows that.
If asked, I’ve always told others where I have taken my images (my website even shows Google Earth locations for my images), because I believe the subjects are not mine, only my interpretation of the subjects belongs to me. However, I do agree that some sensitive places should not be publicized to prevent damage.
I have heard plenty of photographers (especially those who work with the natural landscape) state with pride that they like go to popular locations, not to copy previously made pictures, but to create fresh images with their own stamp on it. Yet, when I see those pictures, I don’t find even a trace of the “interpretation” that is touted so highly. Outside of a few exceptions, they all tend to look the same. While I can believe that they are not out to knowingly plagiarize someone else’s work, I have a hard time understanding their motivation, especially, when they call themselves fine-art photographers (the real icing on the cake is that several of them apparently teach workshops).
I am therefore not surprised that so many in the art community don’t take landscape photography seriously.
As always, a thought-provoking article. Guy. My situation is slightly different than yours in that I did aspire to be “an artist” from an early age, though a musical artist. I’m trained in a range of areas of music – originally a performer who imagined a symphony orchestra career that could well have happened if I had not been (happily) distracted by electronic music, music theory, and composition in college, after which I found work as a college faculty member. The photography story is a bit different, too, though I’ve already written too much about me, so I’ll just say I did photography from a young age.
You wrote: “To someone socially and professionally conditioned to think in literal terms, the notion that there is no right answer can be a frustrating one.”
A effect (whether good or bad, we could debate) of a career in the academic aspects of the arts is that I think about this stuff a lot. What does it mean to be an artist? What is the balance between technique and affect, between tradition and inventing the new? And what is this business about the “right answer” in art?
People have long tried to understand what art is, how it works, why it works, what it function(s) might be, what makes it good or bad, and much more? For me, one understanding that I eventually came to is that it isn’t that the is a right answer, nor that there is no right answer. In the end, there are many right answers.
Dan