The article below is a partial excerpt from an article with the same title in the (still mostly unedited) manuscript of my upcoming book, Be Extraordinary: Philosophical Advice for Photographic (and Other) Artists, now available for pre-order.
What usually destroys the experience of a photograph is to start criticizing it.
—Minor White
Critics have always been people less susceptible than other men to the contagion of art. For the most part they are able writers, educated and clever, but with their capacity of being infected by art quite perverted or atrophied. And therefore their writings have always largely contributed, and still contribute, to the perversion of the taste of that public which reads them and trusts them.
—Leo Tolstoy
In the age of social media, it has become a habit among artists, especially photographers, to view artworks (their own and others’) with the mindset of critics. Instead of aiming to behold art with the goal of experiencing elevated, reverent feelings: to find meaning or solace in it, or to become liberated by it from mundane preoccupations, viewers instead become preoccupied with things like subject matter, whether or not certain “rules” were followed, flawed or commendable use of certain techniques. Some intuitively want to know what tools the artist used, or whether the rendition matches “real” appearances, before (or without) first opening themselves to the work’s emotional effect.
While these aspects of the work may be considered important in some contexts, often missed by such attitudes is the one most important context: the inner, emotional, cognitive experience of engaging fully with the artwork for its primary function, which is (paraphrasing the lyrical characterization of music, according to Berthold Auerbach), to “wash away from the soul, the dust of everyday life.”
If you look at any work of art with the primary interest of analyzing it objectively as a critic would, you unwittingly and ironically deny yourself the greatest benefit that you may gain from it: the subjective experience of becoming, as Susan Sontag put it, “involved with a work of art,” which she described further as “the experience of detaching oneself from the world.” This detachment results not only in an emotional experience as we behold the work, but also (again in Sontag’s words) “returns us to the world in some way more open and enriched.”
My advice: make yourself conscious of the temptation to analyze works of art before first experiencing them intuitively and emotionally and assimilating their meaning and effect. Don’t allow your attention to be hijacked by irrelevant details and technical minutiae that may deny you the deeper rewards of experiencing an artwork as a source of meaning: as an aesthetic experience. As philosopher Roger Scruton put it (expressing the essence of what Kant meant by disinterestedness): “What demarcates aesthetic interest from other sorts is that it involves the appreciation of something for its own sake.”
Becoming mired in technical aspects of an artwork may serve you well in your early attempts at making your own art: during the (hopefully short) period when honing your own skills may legitimately take precedence over aesthetic experience. However, for the sake of your own joy in experiencing art, strive to move beyond this stage as quickly as possible.
“There is no greater obstacle to the enjoyment of great works of art than our unwillingness to discard habits and prejudices,” wrote art historian E.H. Gombrich. Another historian, Renaissance scholar Walter Pater, wrote, “For art comes to you proposing frankly to give nothing but the highest quality to your moments as they pass, and simply for those moments’ sake.” If viewing art does not reward your moments with such high qualities, perhaps it may be time to discard some habits and prejudices.
Guy. Thanks for always keeping us open to the real experience of photography. The art has been plundered by social media but luckily your constant words and staying off the web make the creative princess still creative.
Thank you, Tom!
Yes.
But not every photograph is a work of art.
I agree. So did Ansel Adams:
“We must always be logical in our critical estimates; most of photography is not intended as art and should not be judged as such. But if art is intended, compromise must not be tolerated.”
Thank you.
I had the honor of being on the panel for selecting artists in residence for Joshua Tree National Park. In the applications that were submitted I found art that was deeply moving. These artists were not selected. The artists that were selected are the ones that produced something unique. When I look at the photographs friends share with me, I try to respond with what I feel. If I don’t feel anything I don’t respond. Same with social media. I only like those photographs that trigger something within me. In my own work, I’ve recently come up with three types of landscape photographs – documentary, aesthetic and expressive. The intent of documentary photographs is to capture something that’s ‘cool.’ Aesthetic photographs convey the beauty of nature. Expressive photographs are subjective and trigger emotions, insights, etc. I’m eager to see your book. I’m still working on mine.
Thank you, Ralph! I agree completely that photography is not just one thing, and different photographs may serve different purposes. Minor White divided these purposes into 4 categories (informational, documentary, pictorial, and equivalent) based on how objective or subjective their intent is.
I’m curious whether my first thoughts are critical or receptive. I think they’re the latter, but I must admit than many photographs I look at have little impact on me and I’m soon looking for why they don’t. Maybe that’s as it should be.
Anyway, good advice and I’ll be on the lookout.
I think that’s to be expected, Tom. Especially in photography where so many images are repetitions and copies of things already done by others. When you see something for the first time, it surprises you and you pay more attention to it. When you see the same image of the same subject over and over, you inevitably experience the psychological effect of “repetition suppression,” which is a diminished response.
I think it also depends on the quality of the picture whether you first think “WOW! That really moves me!“or whether you try to break it down into its individual parts.
I think this desire to break down an artwork is to be resisted. The effect of an artwork is in its “gestalt”—the holistic impression it has as a whole. If you limit your aesthetic experiences only to images that are obvious and impactful, you may miss out on a world of art that “speaks” more subtly and quietly, or that attempts to communicate more complex ideas that require prolonged contemplation to experience. This is part of the philosophy that inspired impressionism and later movements to move toward greater abstraction: to prevent viewers from recognizing objects and details and instead to inspire emotions by way of “visual language” (the use of colors, lines, shapes, textures, tonality/value, etc. for their expressive rather than descriptive qualities).
“The noblest kind of beauty is not that which suddenly transports us, which makes a violent and intoxicating assault upon us (such beauty can easily excite disgust), but that which slowly infiltrates us, which we bear away with us almost without noticing and encounter again in dreams, but which finally, after having for long lain modestly in our heart, takes total possession of us, filling our eyes with tears and our heart with longing.” —Friedrich Nietzsche
The images that I love the most and that I don’t overlook are often the quiet and less obvious ones. Because they somehow resonate with me in depth. That triggers the aforementioned WOW effect for me in the sense of “I let myself be touched”.
But with both types of images, “obvious” or “still”, it always has something to do with me personally. And it is interesting for me to know why this is the case. Analysing why an image has an effect on me is like a process of self-knowledge that is constantly progressing. I can’t necessarily separate the two.
When pictures leave me untouched, I often ask myself why this is the case. It could be the case that they don’t find a side of me that could resonate. If I have never experienced wind, I don’t know what wind feels like when someone tells me about it. I must have had that experience.
There are many beautiful pictures, including many award-winning pictures, whose beauty I recognise. But this kind of beauty rolls off like the lotus effect. I forget about them in five minutes.
Thank you for putting it so eloquently. I feel the same way. Like you, I also find it important to understand why some images don’t affect me. Sometimes the answer is self-evident (e.g., I don’t like being in cities, so almost all street photography makes me instinctively uncomfortable). But sometimes it is more subtle, especially with abstract art, and I have to ask myself what I’m missing or if there’s a meaning to it that I haven’t yet learned to appreciate. Every now and then, I learn something that helps me appreciate and even enjoy kinds of art that didn’t touch me initially (for example, the work of the abstract expressionists).
I’m glad to read that! I couldn’t do anything with expressionist painting when I was a teenager either. Until I came across the “Der Blaue Reiter” in an exhibition. I couldn’t resist the pull of the paintings by Marc, Macke and Kandinsky. This enthusiasm then led me to other works that were less interesting to me, which I gave a chance. I have therefore become increasingly cautious when evaluating photos/paintings, perhaps they only show my own limited mind? 😉
Amen, Guy. I think the problem is concentrated in photography more than in the other arts because almost all critics — professional or amateur — are also photographers at some level. But few critics also paint, sculpt, or write poetry.
I love the picture at the end of your post. Did you use an ND filter for the sky? What lens did you employ?
Good point, Gary. I think photographers are also more inclined toward grouped activities and intensive socializing than artists in other media, and many photo communities have established (explicit or implicit) formats for mutual “critique” that become habitual and reinforced. While this may make for enjoyable social interaction, I think that in artistic terms it is also unfortunate since it perpetuates common tastes and traditions (also errors), encourages conformity and discourages experimentations outside the community’s norms.
The Roger Scruton quote brings to mind a quote by Alan Watts: “Life is like music for its own sake.” We could substitute art for life. He goes on to add “When we listen to music, we are not listening to the past or the future; we are listening to an expanded present.
Thanks, Andy! Watts is also describing what in effect is the idea of “disinterestedness,” promoted by Immanuel Kant and many of his followers. It means approaching art as an aesthetic experience in itself, not as a reference to other things in the world.
These are helpful thoughts. This idea particularly resonated:
“…first experiencing them intuitively and emotionally and assimilating their meaning and effect.”
I’ve found that both in the field and when editing, the intuitive experience of an image provides good guidance for choosing images to work up and the editing steps to take.
Practicing paying attention to my own internal response with all kinds of art works helps me photographically as well.
Excellent.