More Than a Rock, 2nd Edition. Guy Tal
A recent poll exposed some devastating and shameful statistics: 80% of American families do not buy books; and after graduating from high school, one third of the population never read another book for the rest of their lives. (I suspect that the numbers are even grimmer when limited to art-related books.)
If we, as artists, don’t do it, who will? And how long will art last when its life span no longer extends beyond fleeting impressions on social media streams?
We cannot expect our viewers to set aside their own prejudices and allow our work to speak to them if, at the same time, we fail to extend this courtesy to other artists. We cannot take pride in creating works that impress beyond instinctive gut reactions, and that contain layers of meaning for viewers to unfold and discover, if we never attempt to unravel such meanings in other artists’ work.
Because the nature and purpose of art are not of existential concern, making art has always been a two-way street. Artists work to express meaning, beauty, and interest that other people may not come by on their own. We work to enrich our own lives by creative endeavors, and in trade we offer others means for enriching their lives, too, hoping they may be moved to offer us material support. In short, we trade not so much in products as in gratitude; not so much in commodities as in inspiration; not so much in skilled labor as in shaping experience. If we wish to persist in such things, we must rely on an educated audience possessing the skills and interest needed to appreciate our work and our ideas. While we cannot demand of anyone to attend art school or even to spend time looking at our work, we can at the very least educate others by example: by practicing what we preach and why we believe it is important.
14The Medium Is Not the Message
We are confronted today with a dichotomy; as our equipment and materials constantly grow in scope and quality, the creative and technical standards appear to be diminishing; there is a near-cult of photographers who seem to intentionally avoid the beautiful and precise image, concentrating only on subject and obvious function. My personal reaction to this attitude is a determination to go as far in the opposite direction as possible. I believe in the most beautiful and appropriate prints, and the most clarifying and revealing approach of mind, heart, and craft. I believe that firm objectives in this direction can fulfill the promise of photography as one of the great visual arts. However, we must always be logical in our critical estimates; most of photography is not intended as art and should not be judged as such.
—Ansel Adams
We may never agree on a definition of art, but we can still have meaningful discussions about it. In this sense, art is one of a distinguished set of concepts, along with such things as consciousness, time, and existence. Art is, however, unique among such polysemous notions in that it refers wholly to things of human conception. We invented something even we cannot define—a human-made mystery.
On several occasions I tried to define for myself what art meant to me, and I failed. More accurately, words failed. Yet, I intuitively knew that art exists. I knew it when I found it, when I was moved by it, when it affected my mood, my outlook, even my life. To hell with words, I know what art means. I chose the path of an artist because my encounters with art changed me in profound ways, and I could think of no better way to engage with the world than as an artist.
When I first picked up a camera, like most photographers, creating art was not on my mind. In that sense, photography as a means for art is handicapped. Most who set out to be painters, sculptors, or musicians generally do so with the explicit desire to become artists. Not so for photographers. Many photographers are moved toward art after exhausting whatever recreational and social values they may find in the medium, and feel themselves in need of further growth and greater challenges. Therefore, many photographers arrive at art’s door lacking a foundation and an attitude that other aspiring artists often have from the outset. The waters become muddier still as photographers often self-apply the label of art for reasons such as prestige and marketing, but without a true understanding of what it means to be an artist. The practice of photography as art, therefore, demands that artistic photographs distinguish themselves as such, lest they are doomed to be judged and sentenced by criteria having little to do with their artistic merits.
How can we distinguish our work as art when we can’t articulate clearly the qualities of art? The answer is in the question. Rather, the answer is in knowing that this is the wrong question to ask. Art is not distinguished by any objective qualities of its products; it is distinguished by the minds of its creators. Art can only be defined as the product of artists—of human beings possessing creativity and skill, and a desire to express artistically something of themselves. As I experience art, no measurable quality will elevate in my mind a work whose creator has nothing meaningful to express, or who lacks the skill to express subjective meanings.
Artists find ways of expressing themselves by whatever means and skills are available to them. By coincidence, the camera was the medium most readily available to me when I realized that I wanted—needed—to become an artist. So, I happen to be a photographer. This in itself means nothing. Art to me is not about the production of things; it’s about the expression of things.
Lacking any other distinction, a painting is not inherently better art than a symphony; and a sculpture is not necessarily more artistic than a photograph or a building or a woodcarving. Miles Davis is what makes Kind of Blue better art than the majority of paintings; Vincent van Gogh is what makes Starry Night better art than most songs; and Dorothea Lange is what makes Migrant Mother better art than most sculptures.
Pick your medium by whatever criteria you wish. But if art is your goal, be an artist first. Don’t just create things, express things in your creations. Just as important, have something worth expressing.
For all the banter about equipment and technique, in any medium, I consider true artists those who speak not only about their art, but also through their art.
Contemporary Oligarchy15
If I did what has already been done, I would be a plagiarist and would consider myself unworthy; so I do something different and people call me a scoundrel. I’d rather be a scoundrel than a plagiarist!
—Paul Gauguin
Sociologist Robert Michels spent much of his career studying the dynamics of power in organizations. His research resulted in a startling conclusion known as “The Iron Law of Oligarchy,” which suggests that all organizations, regardless of their original mission, structure, or how democratic they aspire to be, inevitably evolve to serve the interests of a small elite. Since its publication in 1911, many studies have attempted to seek exceptions to the Iron Law. Very few such exceptions were documented, and the Iron Law remains one of humanity’s most inconvenient of all inconvenient truths.
I was reminded of the Iron Law recently when a friend shared with me his experience of attempting to apply for an art grant. His art, like mine, is based on photography of natural subjects. To the learned eye, his work is indisputably distinctive in style within what laypersons may refer to generically as “landscape photography.” His application was rejected, in part, because his work was perceived as “aesthetic” and “convenient,” with the admonition that he should strive to get a sense of what’s being done in “contemporary photography.” Put another way, a public institution proclaiming to promote art rejected an artist on the premise that his work is not sufficiently similar to that of other artists, not provocative or obscure enough, and too pretty.
Although the term “contemporary” is not strictly defined, a general review of photographic art exhibited, taught, and publicly funded in recent decades shows an overwhelming bias toward work exploring human subjects and interactions, as well as decidedly obscure photographs deliberately void of purpose and personal significance. In particular, missing from the institutional notion of “contemporary art” is