I can’t think of one art form that has died; perhaps this is
because art, by definition, depicts an enduring aspect of the human experience.
I have no worries that photography will be the first to perish. But there is something gnawing at its soul
that I find intriguing. A few things,
actually.
Photography is probably the most accessible “art” form we
have. Everyone takes pictures. Many, many people play an instrument, but
it’s unlikely that you’ll record your friend or family member’s playing and
listen to it daily. We do that we
photographic images, though. Our walls
and refrigerators are plastered with photographs, most of which were shot by
amateurs. It’s an art form whose price
of entry is almost nothing, which makes the price of being “exceptional” very
high. The talent, equipment, and
dedication required to rise above the ocean of camera-wielders is astounding.
And it’s a spectrum: Aunt Sally’s images blend
into the enthusiast’s, which blends into the talented professional, which
blends into top 2% of photographers.
This blending makes it difficult to evaluate and critique, two necessary
conditions of any art form. That’s a
nibble, I think; a gnawing.
So many photographers, working on so many levels, makes it difficult to find paid work: full-time photographers are undercut
by part-timers who will do the job at half the price; part-timers are undercut
by Freebies. All of this is being
discussed endlessly and hopelessly. The
unspoken challenge is that less work also means slower improvement; even the
best photographers improve by virtue of working.
Unlike ever before, artists are working in an environment
where “free” is a common price point.
There’s free music on the internet; free books in the library; free news;
free concerts; free performances; and apparently “free” (but often stolen)
images on the web. And when things
aren’t free they can be “bulk rate.”
Netflix gives you unlimited movies for a monthly, bulk fee. “Free” art is less common among artists who produce
a physical object that can be hefted around your apartment—like a painting or
sculpture; but if it can be turned into something intangible—a song, an image, or a movie—then there is a growing expectation it can be had for
free. Munch-much goes Death on the ankle
of Photography.
The accessibility of photography also leaves us drowning in
images in a way that has never happened in the history of our or any other art
form. Our hard drives are clogged with
unprinted and forgotten images. I worry
that this surplus devalues truly exceptional images. My mother passed away last year, and each of
the limited number of photos of her are a treasure. I don’t think I would feel so attached to them if I had inherited a hard drive with a thousand images. Worse, I don’t think those few would have
stood out in a sea of mediocre images. Historically, painters have had the same
complaint of museums: hang a work of art next to twenty other paintings and what do you get? A mind-numbing experience. I can think of few things more chilling than
my work contributing to the numbing of the public’s response to photography. Munch-munch.
On the bright side, there has never been more of a demand
for images. With the internet, we live
in an increasingly visual world. This means opportunity for more money, creativity,
and excellence. Two forces are clearly
at play here. How will we navigate them?
