GALLERY
Is Photography Dead?
The last art form to be tethered to realism, its factual validity has lately been manipulated and pixelated to the point of extinction. Photo: Cindy Sherman
The last art form to be tethered to realism, its factual validity has lately been manipulated and pixelated to the point of extinction. Photo: Cindy Sherman
How is that even remotely possible? The medium certainly looks alive, well and, if anything, overpopulated. There are hordes of photographers out there, working with back-to-basics pinhole cameras and pixeled images measured in gigabytes, with street photography taken by cell phones and massive photo "shoots" whose crews, complexity and expense resemble those of movie sets. Step into almost any serious art gallery in Chelsea, Santa Monica or Mayfair and you're likely to be greeted with breathtaking large-format color photographs, such as Andreas Gefeller's overhead views of parking lots digitally montaged from thousands of individual shots or Didier Massard's completely "fabricated photographs" of phantasmagoric landscapes. And the establishment's seal of approval for photography has been renewed in two current museum exhibitions. In "Depth of Field"— the first installation in the new contemporary-photography galleries at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, on display through March 23—the fare includes Thomas Struth's hyperdetailed chromogenic print of the interior of San Zaccaria in Venice and Adam Fuss's exposure of a piece of photo paper floating in water to a simultaneous splash and strobe.
At the National Gallery of Art in Washington, "The Art of the American Snapshot, 1888–1978" (up through Dec. 31) celebrates average Americans who wielded their Brownies and Instamatics to stunning effect.
Yet wandering the galleries of these two shows, you can't help but wonder if the entire medium hasn't fractured itself beyond all recognition. Sculpture did the same thing a while back, so that now "sculpture" can indicate a hole in the ground as readily as a bronze statue. Digitalization has made much of art photography's vast variety possible. But it's also a major reason that, 25 years after the technology exploded what photography could do and be, the medium seems to have lost its soul. Film photography's artistic cachet was always that no matter how much darkroom fiddling someone added to a photograph, the picture was, at its core, a record of something real that occurred in front of the camera. A digital photograph, on the other hand, can be a Photoshop fairy tale, containing only a tiny trace of a small fragment of reality. By now, we've witnessed all the magical morphing and seen all the clever tricks that have turned so many photographers—formerly bearers of truth—into conjurers of fiction. It's hard to say "gee whiz" anymore.
Soon, photography escaped the exclusive grasp of the professionals and moneyed hobbyists who could afford its cumbersome equipment, and the public began to take its own pictures. In the 1920s, small, inexpensive fast-shutter cameras like the Kodak Brownie appeared. By 1950, according to Kodak, nearly three quarters of American families owned cameras and took 2 billion photographs with them. By the 1970s, they were taking 9 billion pictures a year, most of them quick, informal snapshots. To be sure, some masterpieces did emerge—mostly accidentally—from this Everest-size heap of images. The person who pointed his Brownie at the woman in "Unknown [photographer], 1950s" in "The Art of the American Snapshot" probably didn't anticipate that she'd cover her face with her hands just as he clicked the shutter. And he (or she) couldn't predict that the result would be a great composition—long fingers and angular elbows set against the gentle downhill sweep of a field—and a wonderful metaphor for photography's tango with the truth. What the inadvertently great snapshot shared with the work of realist artist-photographers like Dorothea Lange and Walker Evans in the 1930s and '40s, and Diane Arbus and Robert Frank in the 1950s and '60s, was that the people in them were who they looked like they were—raw-boned farmers, gritty miners, harried housewives, burly bikers—really doing what they looked like they were doing.Art and truth used to be fast friends. Until the beginning of modernism, the most admired quality in Western art was mimesis—objects in painting and sculpture closely resembling things in real life. William Henry Fox Talbot, who produced the first photographic prints from a negative in 1839, immediately saw the mimetic new medium as an art form. Talbot wanted only to be able to "draw" more accurately than by hand. In fact, he called his first book of reproduced photographs "The Pencil of Nature." For at least a century thereafter, any photograph with a claim to being art had in its DNA at least a few chromosomes from Talbot's "The Open Door" (1844), a picture of a tree-branch broom leaning just-so-esthetically against a dark doorway. Of course, great photographers have never merely recorded visual facts indiscriminately, like a court stenographer taking down testimony. They've selected their subjects carefully and framed their views of them precisely, in order to give their pictures the look of "art." Later in the 19th century, "pictorialist" photographers used soft focus, toothy paper, sepia tones, multiple negatives and even scratching back into the image as ways of getting photographs to look more like paintings.
In the late 1970s, however, the concept of fiction in photography reared its little postmodern head. "The big change in attitude from realist photography," says Lawrence Miller, who owns a prominent photography gallery in New York, "was when Metro Pictures [one of the hippest galleries in SoHo] showed Cindy Sherman in 1980." Sherman's fictional self-portraits—fake "film stills" with the artist posed as a negligeed blonde on a bed, or a dark-haired femme fatale in a chic apartment—weren't photography's first turn away from the straight, nonfiction reportage most people think of as great photography. But her pictures represented something new in the way that photography was considered as art. It wasn't just for reportage anymore. The Talbotian esthetic door was now fully opened for photographers to make photographs just as well as to take them. The advent of digital technology only exacerbated photography's flight into fable.
We live in a culture dominated by pixels, increasingly unmoored from corpor-eal reality. Movies are stuffed with CGI and, in such "performance animation" films as "Beowulf," overwhelmed by them. Some big pop-music hits are so cyberized the singer might as well be telling you to press 1 if you know your party's exten-sion. Even sculpture has adopted digital "rapid prototyping" technology that allows whatever a programmer can imagine to be translated into 3-D objects in plastic. Why should photography be any different? Why shouldn't it give in to the digital temptation to make every landscape shot look like the most absolutely beautiful scenery in the whole history of the universe, or turn every urban view into a high-rise fantasy?
Photography is finally escaping any dependence on what is in front of a lens, but it comes at the price of its special claim on a viewer's attention as "evidence" rooted in reality. As gallery material, photographs are now essentially no different from paintings concocted entirely from an artist's imagination, except that they lack painting's manual touch and surface variation. As the great modern photographer Lisette Model once said, "Photography is the easiest art, which perhaps makes it the hardest." She had no idea how easy exotic effects would get, and just how hard that would make it to capture beauty and truth in the same photograph. The next great photographers—if there are to be any—will have to find a way to reclaim photography's special link to reality. And they'll have to do it in a brand-new way.

Note: This is by no means an end all be all, but it’s what I could pull off the top of my head. Otherwise, I could think and respond to this for quite a while. I also noticed that what seemed like a strength also seemed to lead into weaknesses and vice versa.
Strengths
First I’ll start by saying that I probably have no shortage of ideas. Since most of my work deals with social/political issues, content is everywhere. Some projects are more thought out, whereas others simply pop into my head. On the flipside, I wonder what other kinds of things I would be exploring if I weren’t so fanatical about the whole social/political commentary. Hmmmm………all of a sudden it seems possible to stick with my preferred content as a vehicle to exploring other area’s of expression, regardless if it’s relevant to my content of choice.
Second, I think I may be a bit of a masochist when it comes to creating projects. For some reason I always find it necessary to make the entire project rigorous and enduring. Something about my unconscious need to always go over the top, which seems to be motivated by two places; As a student I’m definitely overly ambitious to explore and accomplish as much as possible (whether I carry through on this statement is another story), also, I seem to have this underlying desire to make chaos beautiful. What this all adds up to is me putting myself into situations that often seem ridiculous and completely unnecessary at this stage of my development. At the same time I’m not afraid to experiment, to try new things, and to put myself into both revealing and often compromising positions.
Thirdly, I’m finding that I am indeed my own worst critic. It always seems that I manage to know exactly what’s wrong with a piece before I even show it. When I do share the work, the common problems people have are usually the same things I noticed. Again, this works against me, because I to often begin to create a premature negative response to my own work before I even show it to others. In the end though, I’m getting better at seeing the problems and working them out before I waste the time of others.
Lastly, I noticed that due to my rigid thinking, I’ve developed this intuitive ability to work out the ruts as I progress through a project. It’s kind of like a personal editing device that works in real time. Though I think I need to learn how to listen to this ability more often, I might save myself some reshoots.
The Weakness
Theory and the professional art word still intimidate me. Although, I’ve committed to seeing more art lately, I find that I have problems comprehending anything deeply theoretical. In terms of my own process, I have problems figuring out where my own work stands in relation to others, if it even relates at all. Most of the time I feel as though I’m missing the true message, and in exchange I selfishly take and interpret what I want. This probably relates to the fact that I need to read more.
It’s been said before that I can be a little over-ambitious. I try to take on the world through art, and I always end up totally overwhelming myself. Though, I admit, I love it when I do manage to pull out of such situations. The problem is that often my work tends to get compromised in order to make the deadline. Another problem here is that I tend to over think projects way too much. Sure I’m good at planning it all out, but going back to taking on the world, I’ll try thinking about something until it’s perfect, which often takes a while. Knowing that nothing is ever perfect, my ideas can end up disastrous because the results are always different from anything I could possibly imagine, and then it’s like, “shit, I totally thought that out, now what am I going to do”.
I do feel like I should be utilizing the faculty more, but with a full life, those kinds of decisions also get compromised.
Bitching aside, I do feel as though I’m making progress, but since I can be overly self critical at times, there are moments when I feel as though I’m going nowhere. I need to work on self-editing, as well as making sure that I start working on something the moment it manifest, rather than just sitting on it until it feels perfect enough to act upon.
The Process
For this particular project, I started with an idea for one video, and then thought of a series to accompany the starting point, which would also expand upon the original idea. Then I kind of sat on the idea for a week or two thinking of various ways to execute the project. This process could’ve been sped up a bit, but I need time to cultivate an idea, rather than just shoot aimlessly. Once I figure out a method of execution, it’s a pretty straightforward process at that point. I change things as needed, and in the process, I occasionally come with additional ways to enhance the final image, an example is in the case of the power-cord that I used in the Pollock video. I hate to reshoot as well so I really try and do my best to get exactly what I want. The problem is that, if the final image fails to capture what sought out to achieve, I can get stuck trying to figure out a solution. I get so invested in a particular idea, that’s its difficult to think of another solution. Luckily, that hasn’t been an issue with this project, yet. For the most part everything is coming out pretty close to what I was aiming for, and I like that through editing there is still room to push my videos further, which will be an additional goal for the final videos. One thing that does keep coming, however, is that I lack some knowledge in the technical aspects of the digital realm. It kind of freaks me out a little bit, it seems like learning photography all over again, so I’ve decided that I’ll just tackle those issues when they arise, otherwise I’ll get overwhelmed trying to figure it all out.











