To every thing there is a season

<p>In fifty years, everything that is in your photographs will be dead, gone, or changed beyond all recognition.</p>

<p>Do you take this into consideration when crafting your pictures?</p>

<p>Because photography is indexical, it's theoretically not good at doing generalities; ideas, concepts, like, for example, the metaphysical concept of death. But, on the other hand, if you step back from the immediate process, photography is *always* about death; from the instant the picture is made, one is looking at what no longer exists. ["indexical" = signs that acquire their function through a causal connection with what they signify; for example, smoke as a sign of fire]</p>

<p>I would guess that most casual photographer never give this kind of thing a thought. Their pictures will degrade to nothing almost as fast as the fresh fruit in the supermarket goes rotten. Art photographers, on the other hand, I would guess, almost always think about this kind of thing. To that end, they snip the indexical tether; <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pepper_No._30">Weston's famous Pepper No. 30</a> is not "a" pepper [indexical] or even about peppers at all. He ate "the" pepper shortly after photographing it, but the picture remains fresh to this day. To my eye, many great portraits are like the Weston pepper in that I have no idea what the person shown was "really" like. The portrait becomes neither a portrait-of so-and-so, nor even about a face so much as it is ... whatever that (properly) unspeakable feeling is that one gets from the Weston pepper.</p>

<p>Another option beyond snipping the connection, is the cyclical, the seasonal, and the ritual; that which ever returns. For example, in <a href="https://unrealnature.files.wordpress.com/2014/06/fuss_chrisgown.jpg">this picture</a> (actually a photogram) by Adam Fuss of a child's Christening gown [ <strong><a href="https://unrealnature.files.wordpress.com/2014/06/fuss_chrisgown.jpg">LINK</a></strong> ], it is <em>both</em> poignant, because the child is long gone, <em>and</em> life-affirming in that such Christening gowns are used over and over again in each successive generation of children. It remains fresh because, in the fullness of time, it returns. "A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up ... "</p>

<p>Iconic news photographs also remain vibrant, sustained within their historical narrative. In contrast to snipping or cycling, they amplify the indexical nature of what they show. "A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away ... "</p>

<p>I think that art photography can also knowingly use/amplify indexicality -- Walker Evans's work, for example.</p>

<p>Do you think about time's effects on your work? Do you deliberately work with or against the indexical nature of photography? "... a time to every purpose under the heaven ... "</p>

<p>As always, I welcome, <em>encourage!</em>, the in-line posting of any of your own pictures that are relevant to the discussion.</p>

<p>Interesting article, thank you. I wouldn't presume in any way to claim I am an art photographer (just look at my photos!), but I <em>do</em> try<em> to </em>give some thought to what I am photographing. Since I have an interest in certain aspects of history I often find myself drawn to photographing objects <em>with </em>a history. Many/most of these objects willbe around, on the face of it unchanged, in fifty years (although the people curating them may not be).</p>

<p>For me, your post is a reminder that I have been missing many great opportunities, by <em>not</em> photographing more stuff that won't appear unchanged in the future. People, obviously, but also more 'cultural artefacts' (posh description) which contextualise the capture to a specific time frame. We have only to look at photos from, say, the 1960s to see how that works. Reportage is the most obvious way that we notice this but the wider and broader trends in art (and thus art photography) can often be discerned. Some come out of the technical limitations of the time, some from more subtle clues within the frame.</p>

<p>I'm attaching a photo taken a few weeks ago. It's been digitally processed and I think that seen 'cold' it could be quite tricky to put a date on it. Since the people cannot be seen clearly, it could have been taken anytime from the end of the 19th century onwards (if using appropriate equipment). In a sense, nothing much seems to have changed in this scene for maybe 150 years, although in reality the whole site where the photo was taken has been extensively restored in the last two decades. A similar argument might apply to (art) landscapes: nothing much seems to change in Nature, although in truth it most certainly does, since we are riding roughshod over the planet all too effectively.</p><div></div>

Just came across a word: palimpsest.

It means an oft-overwrote collage of

texts, a layered, usually ancient,

stratified document. Perhaps apt for

our photographic histories?

<p>As a photojournalist I think about this from time to time. As we craft pictures to support stories we are aware that those photos will have a context and life beyond the family snapshot. </p>

<p>I enjoy old photographs and frequently find myself looking at the backgrounds to try to see what yesteryear looked like. I imagine myself in those places. The advent of color compresses time somewhat as we loose (or gain, take your pick) the sense of other-time in the photo. </p>

<p>The desire to contextualize my subjects, particularly in portraits, does affect my composition. The editorial croppers frequently thwart my efforts but.... </p>

<p>Some time ago I wanted to see what it was like to be a news photographer back in the day. I photographed one match in a boxing event with a Speed Graphic. When I scanned the photos and showed them to people they wanted to know where I got the old boxing photos. <br>

News photos are often printed in black and white and frequently I am struck by the retro nature of these shots. I see it in the work of others more than mine because it is hard not to 'remember' the event and contextualize the photos I take myself. </p>

<p>The shear magnitude of photographic libraries these days may make any effort along these lines by any photographer a mere personal quirk. Who knows what will survive the test of time. Certainly all of it may survive but it remains to be seen what we access in the future. Probably the most survivable photos will be those associated with news. Shear ease in research dictates that the future observer to a historical event will refer to the photographs already indexed with that event. So perhaps my paltry efforts will be in some tiny way effective. More likely they are a mere vanity on my part. </p>

 

Julie. I just turned 82. I would like to put this in a kindly way but to quote Clark Gable in Gone with the Wind "I don't give a damn" about my legacy except as I pass on what I know to my offspring (when they listen) . i am still very active in shooting sports and taking a lot of pictures. I have some framed pictures and several hard drives that my kids will get but that's it. I think what I have learned is that nothing is permanent. A few generations don't matter much in the two billion years that the earth has existed in this vast cosmos that we still know very little about. I do my pictures for my own pleasure as I really enjoy walking around with a camera. I also keep fit and do this by competitive swimming which still offers me a challenge to keep going and the stamina to take pictures. The seasons, as you mentioned, keep me coming back with the camera. I shoot Azaleas and Rhodies in the Spring. I shoot outdoor swimming in the summer when the light is good (and indoor swimming in the Winter when the light is bad) and I love the Fall in the White Mountains. I love shooting faces year round. Their are only a few Rembrandts and Vermeers and some Greeks because they did their work in stone that survive the ages. Oh and some cave artists. I look back at my work as rather mundane and so I have prospects of a very small and short lived photographic legacy. I do have some pictures in newspaper archives that will probably outlive me. I really don't ponder or worry about what I cannot control so I normally don't think about the subject. </address>

<p>Don't worry about fifty years from now. Gift your pictures to friends and family members - now. Let them enjoy your work and smile at their smile when they get it. That's enough and the most significant legacy you can leave. </p>

<p>" ["indexical" = signs that acquire their function through a <strong>causal connection</strong> with what they signify; for example, smoke as a sign of fire]" (Emphasis added.)</p>

<p>Julie: I'm curious about where/from whom you derived this concept of indexicality.</p>

 

<p>Michael Linder, you feel that photographs are not caused by what they are photographs of? Please explain.</p>

<p>*************</p>

<p>.</p>

<blockquote>

<p>The good photograph is not the object. The consequences of that photograph are the object. And I'm not speaking of social consequences. I mean the kind of thing where people will not say to you, how did you do it, or where did you get this, but <em>that such things could be!</em> — <em><a href="/philosophy-of-photography-forum/"http:/en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dorothea_Lange">Dorothea Lange</a></em></p>

</blockquote>

<p>.</p>

<p>As an example of someone who <em>did</em> care that her pictures would mean something fifty years later, I'm using <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dorothea_Lange">Dorothea Lange</a>. It's been about fifty years since she died, and I believe that she cared because, in <em>Camera Craft</em> in 1934, Willard Van Dyke wrote this of Lange:</p>

<p>.</p>

<blockquote>

<p>She sees the final criticism of her work in the reaction to it of some person who might view it fifty years from now. It is her hope that such a person would see in her work a record of the people of her time, a record valid of the day and place wherein made ... — <em>Willard Van Dyke</em></p>

</blockquote>

<p>.</p>

<p>.</p>

<blockquote>

<p>Dorothea Lange was finally another restless visionary artist, using film to make the point novelists and poets and painters and photographers and sculptors all keep trying to make: I am here; I hear and see; I will take what my senses offer my brain and with all my might offer others something they can see or hear, and doing so, be informed, be startled, be moved to awe and wonder, be entertained, be rescued from the banality, the dreary silliness this world, inevitably, presses upon us. She failed at times; failed personally, as she herself acknowledged, when she discussed the many leaves of absence from her home, her young children; failed artistically, when she lapsed into the photographer's version of coyness, rhetorical overstatement, repetitive posturing. But she succeeded repeatedly -- gave us our rock-bottom selves: a clear and trenchant portrait of any number of this earth's twentieth-century people. — <em>Robert Coles</em></p>

</blockquote>

<p>.</p>

<p>Many of you may be familiar with the story of how her iconic <em><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/5/54/Lange-MigrantMother02.jpg/591px-Lange-MigrantMother02.jpg">Migrant Mother</a></em> picture came about:</p>

<p>.</p>

<blockquote>

<p>I was on my way [facing a seven hour drive to get home on a rainy night] and barely saw a crude sign with pointing arrow which flashed by at the side of the road, saying PEA-PICKER'S CAMP. But out of the corner of my eye, I <em>did</em> see it ...</p>

<p>Having well convinced myself for 20 miles that I could continue on, I did the opposite. — <em>Dorothea Lange</em></p>

</blockquote>

<p>.</p>

<p>What motivates a photographer to make that "U-turn on the empty highway"?</p>

<p>Julie: I didn't take any position whatsoever. Your assertion grabbed my interest, and I was hoping that you could explain it further.</p>

<p>Michael, as I understand it, an indexical in Philosophy is a word like "I" whose referent changes depending on the context, in this case the speaker. When I say "I", I'm referring to a different person than when you say "I." The word is "indexed" according to the speaker. "Here" and "now" are also indexicals, whose meaning changes depending on where, when and by whom they are said. Two people can use the same indexical and refer to very different things. How that relates to photography might be interesting and I will think about how it might.</p>

<p>[i, too, would be interested to know where Julie got her usage of the term, which is different from my own understanding of it. Regardless, though, of the particular use of "indexical," the question posed here is an interesting one.]</p>

<p>_____________________________________________</p>

<p>In one sense, photos are not caused by what they are photos of. They are caused by a photographer who takes a picture of something. What a camera is pointed at doesn't have to be seen as a cause, though it may in some cases. Sometimes, what I point my camera at does feel like its compelling me to take its picture. Other times not. It can be something in me that causes me to notice and photograph something. Or it can simply be a desire to express or show.</p>

<p>_____________________________________________</p>

<p>Regarding longevity, some photos are more universal and timeless and other photos are more particular and local and of their time.</p>

<p>I think art that lasts over generations will usually have something timeless about it, though we may very well love it as well for its particularity to a certain time and place in history (like so much of Lange's work). Other art doesn't quite have that timeless reach but is important to its time. There's nothing non-artistic or wrong with art that is disposable or doesn't pass the test of time. Art is allowed to be fleeting. My guess is that some extraordinary art has not been seen by subsequent generations. I like thinking that much good art has been forgotten or didn't translate well beyond its era.</p>

<p>Musical contrast: Both The Beatles and The Grateful Dead were products of and leaders within their time and milieu. As much as I loved the Dead, I don't think their music survives well beyond its time. It's not universal in that sense. It's not everlasting. The Beatles, more so, are. Beatles music will likely have reach for decades if not centuries to come. The Dead are no less artists. But you had to be there. It doesn't work as well beyond its relationship to the era and to what else was going on at the time. It was a more localized sound and had more immediate rather than global purpose.</p>

<p>I'm not saying one is better than the other. The Dead were so in touch with the moment and, in a way, it's meaningful that they won't survive . . . maybe even the whole point of their music . . . not to survive beyond its life span. The Beatles were about a bigger picture.</p>

<p>Nan Goldin is not Edward Weston. I think her work is more of its era and place. It's of a particular moment and culture. I don't see it surviving to the extent Weston's work likely will. Ryan McGinley, more personal, more culturally defined, IMO, less universal. Steichen, more likely a survivor.</p>

<p>Yes, I've thought about it, though I can't say I dwell on it much. I'm happy to be a product of my time and place. I don't think much about the survival of my photos beyond me. I do think about their place in a current world and their communication to my fellows.</p>

<p>Art, whether timeless or more of a particular era, is to be shared. In the sharing itself, there may always be a sense of survival beyond the artist or maker. That going beyond oneself to another and to others, in the sharing, the expressive communication, the reaching out of myself, is more important to me than survival decades or centuries later.</p>

<p>This seems to me like a less universal and less survivable photo than the one I will post below it. It's particular. It's about George. It was, as I felt it, caused by George. If, for some reason, my body of work survives beyond me, it would likely only survive as part of that. I can't imagine it surviving on its own. That's fine.</p><div></div>

<p>This has a more universal and survivable feel to it. It's less about the particular individual, who we can't really recognize. It might have been caused by circumstances as opposed to a particular subject. It felt like it was caused somewhere within me. It was, as I experienced it, less caused than created.</p><div></div>

<p>Fred, your understanding of indexicality is substantially the same as mine. I still am interested in having Julie explain her idea of there being a causal connection between an indexical term and its referent.</p>

<p>The images you posted constitute an interesting take on the old particular vs. universal problem.</p>

<p>Probably I am reading things wrong, but I cannot help thinking "how can we plan ahead 50 years to understand today if our image will still have validity by then?". Maybe because I actually didn't live 50 years yet, so that by limits of my own memory I'm unable to project it. But I doubt it's me.<br /> Look at some of the more famous artists that were forgotten, misunderstood or ignored during their life. And those famous during their lives, rich and glamorous that go forgotten only a few years later? There is enough we do not know yet; Fred's assertion on likelihood to be more era-based than others seems right to me, but even so, I will not be surprised to find myself surprised somewhere in the future. <br />So, it's hardly ever on my mind how future-proof my images will be. Already now some continue to resonate with me, some don't. And they're just a few years old. We grow, move on and change. I cannot tell what I will like in 5 years from now, let alone all the rest of you. Tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis.</p>

<p>Plus, quoting Fred: "<em>In one sense, photos are not caused by what they are photos of. They are caused by a photographer who takes a picture of something</em>". The photos I personally hold dearest, aren't so much about what is actually shown in the photo, but the atmosphere and mood they invoke. Arguably they're more reflective on me at the very moment I made these photos than they are caused by whatever is shown on them (thought there is an interaction going on at the moment of shooting).<br /> <img src="http://d6d2h4gfvy8t8.cloudfront.net/17622906-md.jpg" alt="" /><br /> Maybe not the most eloquent example, but it fits the point I'm trying to make. The showerhead just happened to be there; as was I, and a camera. Something about the scene immediately connected with me and compelled me to make photos. While shooting, it connected to me in a way that transcended a showerhead as a symbol of showers, or waterdrops as a symbol of falling liquids. Something else was going on, and it connected deep with what I was feeling at that very moment. While I do not want to make any claims about longevity, artistry or likewise, but this image is an attempt at being far more generic. The notion that photography wouldn't be good at doing generalities, is a conclusion I completely can not understand.</p>

<p>Lately I've been working to scan a number of slides from my parents. Photos from travels, their marriage. Some of those are nearly 50 years old. They're still relevant, albeit to a very limited number of persons. Some people in those photos aren't here anymore, many still luckily are. A lot is changed, and a lot is remarkably unchanged. The comparison of changes and non-changes is fascinating, to me anyway. You can argue that they are about what no longer exists. I'm not entirely disagreeing, but that also makes them at the same time about what does still exist. It seems a matter of shifting point of view what you want to see most: continuity, or not.</p>

<p>I have the nagging feeling we're talking about the image on different levels. Is the image just itself, an object "photo", or is it about the photo <strong>and</strong> whoever sees it? Somehow when I read the statements "<em>Because photography is indexical, it's theoretically not good at doing generalities; ideas, concepts, like, for example, the metaphysical concept of death. But, on the other hand, if you step back from the immediate process, photography is *always* about death; from the instant the picture is made, one is looking at what no longer exists.</em>", it seems to be only about the object photo, as an entity in itself. I can't help to wonder if there is any use in looking at a photo this way; judging a photo as just being the object photo. Photos are about communication, about dialogue between artist and viewer, about trying to express something and trying to transmit that to an audience.<br /> If we cut loose the response from the audience, we're talking about half of what the photo really is, and arguably the less interesting half. It is in the response (emotional, rational, scientifical) that photos assume their larger meaning, where photos can become about ideas and concepts, where they are no longer about what isn't anymore, but about what still is. I think the part I quoted really does very little justice to what a good photo can achieve.</p>

<p>Wouter,</p>

<p>First, I <em>love</em> that picture! Unfortunately, I will be dead in fifty years, but hopefully future generations will share our good taste. :)</p>

<p>No question, it's hard to tell what will "keep" for the future. Yet, I can't help thinking that there are those that surely will -- for example, Sally Mann. Or, even during his lifetime, I'd guess that there was little doubt that Weston would endure.</p>

<p>On the other hand, I am currently reading a book about the color photography of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Henry_Jackson">William Henry Jackson</a>, who was an outstanding black and white photographer at the turn of the last century. The color pictures are from ~1900 (Yes, that's right; long before the invention of color photography. His were something called <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Photochrom">Photochroms</a>. Read all about it at Wikipedia.) Anyway, here is a man who led a long and woolly life; he served in the Civil War; he witnessed the wild west while it was still wild, and he was a more than competent photographer.</p>

<p>And so, these color photographs are good right? Talented photographer, exciting life? NOOOOOOOOOO!! They are incredibly, painfully, without-exception boooooooooooring beyond belief. I looked for one to scan and link as an example of the color quality (which is really interesting) and couldn't find a single one that wasn't painfully sleep-inducing.</p>

<p>[As an aside, <a href=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Henry_Jackson">Jackson</a> was living in a New York hotel at age 99 when, shortly after the end of WW II, an incredulous young photographer was introduced to him by his (the young photographer's) father. "When asked whether he still photographed, Jackson pulled out a tiny vest-pocket 35mm camera, a folding Kodak Retina. 'I like this little camera,' he said. It seems like a miracle after all that cumbersome stuff I used to pack around with a horse -- great big wooden cameras and wet plates and a developing tent.' ]</p>

<p>Wouter, before moving on to yet more facts and sources, I'd like actually to address what you've said and shown. </p>

<p>Like you, I think photos often both refer to their referents and don't do that. It's kind of the yin yang of photography, a neat little tension between what IS and what IS NOT. I remember seeing that photo (or maybe it was a similar one) in your portfolio and thought I commented on it but my comment seems not to be there, which is strange. Don't remember what I said, but I'll say in the context of this thread that negative space (what IS NOT) is an important part of it. That's not an object cause of the photo, it's a state of its being. And it's how you saw the <em>picture</em> rather than how you saw the object. The photo is as much about a kind of simple rhythm, staccato-like with even a few grace-notes thrown in as the droplets fall. They are droplets and they are NOT droplets and they are more (and less) than droplets. I may have said in my original comment that I'd like to see some detail in the shower head because that texture would add a little to the orchestration while still keeping your minimalist approach in tact. </p>

<p>What you seem to be getting at, or at least as I understand it as I read it, when you say <em>"it connected to me in a way that transcended a showerhead as a symbol of showers"</em>, is what I would refer to as the abstraction that takes place even in the most literal of photos. That shower head is as much a dark shape as it is representative of the "thing" you shot. And it works viscerally on that level as well as on the more literal or representative level. The diagonal of the structure behind it gives me a feeling without my needing or wanting to know what it is. Whatever it is didn't "cause" the diagonal. You did that with your chosen perspective and the photo did it by being framed in a rectangle that will usually be shown so its right angles line up with the right angles of the wall it hangs on or the screen it's displayed on. Rotate your image just a bit and it becomes a straight line, not a diagonal. The photo is as much a cause of what we see as the original object is. So, I agree with you that the cause includes not only the object but the photographer but also think the cause is the photo itself, as a photo.</p>

<p>Julie I kind of like this one of Jackson's http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Henry_Jackson#mediaviewer/File:El_Capitan_1899.jpg</p>

<p>He also was a terrific painter. Here's one. Notice the compositional effects (rules?)that we try to follow in photography. http://www.nps.gov/scbl/historyculture/index.htm</p>

<p>Julie,</p>

<blockquote>

<p>The color pictures are from ~1900 (Yes, that's right; long before the invention of color photography. His were something called Photochroms. Read all about it at Wikipedia.</p>

</blockquote>

<p>Thank you for assuming I have no knowledge whatsoever about the history of photography, nor old(er) techniques and that I need a trip to the world's most inaccurate encyclopedia to be enlightened. Especially since the whole point of Jackson's colour photos hardly replies to any point I made in direct response to your topic start.<br>

Are you willing to discuss, or just to lecture?<br>

____<br>

Fred,<br>

Thanks for actually responding,</p>

<blockquote>

<p>it's how you saw the <em>picture</em> rather than how you saw the object</p>

</blockquote>

<p>That is in my view a very pivotal point; I think at some point as a photographer you stop seeing objects as what they are in their literal sense. They become "graphic opportunities": a shape, a presence, tonality; starts or ends to a storyline. As you said, framing (which is also inclusion, exclusion), point of view are pretty vital to what makes an image work and how; ignoring that and only focussing on the subject matter is (in my view) disregarding exactly that which makes a photo a personal expression.</p>

<p>Wouter, only the first sentence of my previous comment was directed at you. The rest is addressing my OP and is for all readers.</p>

<p>*****************</p>

<p>Addressing the OP, a possibly more interesting, because more subtle, case study might be <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Szarkowski">John Szarkowski</a>. In addition to being one of the very best, most insightful -- all around best -- writers on photography, not to mention one of the most influential because of his position at MoMA and the many shows he chose to mount there, he was himself a photographer. His work is, not surprisingly, in view of his writings, beautifully composed. If you enjoy composition for its own sake, his pictures are deeply satisfying to look at. The description of Sandra Phillips, "kind, full of grace" seem to me to be just right. And yet, they don't "stick" with me. I think that ultimately, they won't stand the test of time. There is no "hook,"; no friction, no spark that burns. Below are extracts from letters found within the self-titled book about him that I think many of us can relate to. He was born in 1925, so you can find his age-at-the-time if you like:<br>

.</p>

 

<blockquote>

<p>Summer 1953<br>

"Dear Allen,<br>

... At the moment, while waiting for those who are clamoring for my services to get in line and stop all this vulgar pushing, I am freelancing. Freelancing (in northern Wisconsin) is a euphemism for sleeping late and being supported by one's parents. I tell my friends among the local tradesmen (who look askance at the slothful, purposeless life) that I am working on a book. This immediately puts them on unfamiliar ground, and in self-defense they steer the conversation back to trout-fishing. Where it belongs. ..."</p>

<p>15 March 1955<br>

"Dear David,</p>

<p>... I simply cannot accustom myself to the intransigent acceleration of time. At exactly what age, David, must we stop thinking of ourselves as the younger generation? I have been a promising young photographer for a good number of years now, and have come to love it; I fear that I shall miss it sorely when the line is passed."</p>

<p>Summer 1958<br>

"Dear Dorothy,</p>

<p>I am immersed in a lethargy deeper and broader and more sticky textured and sweet smelling than any I have known before. I must even screw up my sense of purpose to go trout fishing, and the fishermen who hold <em>salon</em> at the Menard Lounge are beginning to whisper that I arrive on the stream in the middle of the afternoon, yawning, and that I have taken to wading the stream downstream, with the current, like the old men do. This last is a vicious libel; in truth I have been lying supine on the bank, watching the leaves unfold.</p>

<p>... A week or so ago ... I got a letter from [Helen Clapessattle,] formerly of the U. of M. Press, [who said] that she hoped that I was now lying fallow, as I deserved. This put a whole new light on it, a respectable, almost shining light. So now when my fellow townsmen ask me if I am just loafing I cut them dead with my archest look and say, not loafing, stupid; lying fallow ...</p>

<p>One of my friends in the college here, not so easily put off as most of the townsmen, said the other day: well, if you are lying fallow why aren't you doing it in Mexico City, for example; why do you always show up here when you are out of work?"</p>

</blockquote>

<p>.<br>

[in 1961 Szarkowski was offered, and accepted, the position of director of the Dept. of Photography at MoMA. After his hugely influential tenure in that position, he retired in 1991 to the position of director emeritus]</p>

<p>.</p>

<blockquote>

<p>21 October 2000<br>

"Dear Greg,</p>

<p>... The whole process [of making a book of his own work] is fundamentally rather humiliating. It is rather like having an open house: you post the notice, and then prepare all your special dishes, get out your best booze, shower and shave and put on a good shirt, and then wait to see whether anybody will come. And if they come, they are likely to complain that there is no white zinfandel.* And it comes to you that you have secretly been hoping for praise from the kind of person who would drink white zinfandel when they could just as well drink ditch water.</p>

<p>It seems to me more and more obvious that there is no reward in art worth seeking, other than doing the work. Even when the public thinks that they are appreciating an artist, they almost always get it wrong, and the artist must choose between being rude and pretending to be grateful for the misunderstanding. I do not mean to blame the public; why should they know what it is that you are, or I am trying to do? Especially since neither of us is sure, the uncertainty being part of the fun, when there is any fun."</p>

<p>[*true wine lovers always snicker at anybody who likes white zinfandel]</p>

</blockquote>

<p>.</p>

<p>In that last, it seems to me that he is saying that we should not worry about the future -- while he is doing just that.</p>

<p> </p>

<p><em>"Wouter, only the first sentence of my previous comment was directed at you."</em></p>

<p>Yes. I believe that was Wouter's point. In a dialogue among peers, more than a quick one-liner in response to each other might be constructive and engaging. Building on <em>each other's</em> ideas <em>with</em> each other as opposed to regurgitating whatever knowledge one wants to dispense <em>at</em> the others. More quotes and sources will never be a substitute for the interaction and joint evolution of ideas.</p>

<p>You are, of course, entitled to your opinion.</p>

<p>I humbly thank you for allowing me that!</p>

<p>I asked: <em>Are you willing to discuss, or just to lecture? </em>And your answer could not have been made more clear than your 6:22am post. <br>

But I am glad you allow Fred his opinion; so kind. I'm afraid I'll require the same courtesy, if you'd be so kind.</p>

<p><strong>In a dialogue among peers, more than a quick one-liner in response to each other might be constructive and engaging.</strong><br>

<strong> </strong><br>

Exactly. Julie, I've made a simple request of you twice, and apparently you either felt that it didn't deserve a response or you just ignored it on both occasions. I understand that, in a very real sense, you do have some ownership of this discussion. At the very least, you have the ability to manage it. But don't you think that fostering honest dialogue, from which everyone can benefit, would have primacy? </p>

<p>In any case, we've pretty much beaten the the same horse to death before. So I'm outta here. You won't see me again on threads you post.</p>

<p>I'm usually as ready as the next person to take umbrage when my cup is half empty, but in this case I'm not seeing any offered by Julie's parenthetical comment...</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"<em>...(Yes, that's right; long before the invention of color photography. His were something called </em><em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Photochrom" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Photochroms</a></em><em>. Read all about it at Wikipedia.)</em>"</p>

</blockquote>

<p>...which I interpreted as harmlessly flippant rather than condescending.</p>

<p>Perhaps the shorthand hypertext method of referencing material outside the mainstream of a discussion (the foundation of the wiki article style), but of passing relevance to it, has supplanted the older tradition of parenthetical commentary. And perhaps we have less patience for parenthetical commentary. I know I find it a bit distracting in the writings of William S. Burroughs and wonder whether he used it so often as a deliberate device, or simply wrote quickly and sloppily and needed a good editor. I suspect the latter, since he revised some books several times over various publication versions.</p>

<p>And speaking of parenthetical digressions... there's mine for the day.</p>

<p>Semi-seriously, I'm enjoying reading this thread, I just haven't been able to compose my own thoughts well enough to offer any examples of my own. I hope you folks won't give up on the conversation over a bit of (...).</p>