What do you have to say for yourself?

NYC 112410

There's nothing to writing, all you have to do is sit down at the typewriter and open a vein. - Red Smith

A few recent events have made me write about or explain my photos.  I had to write an artist's statement on a series that are part of an exhibition.  A week later I had to explain some of my other photos to a few viewers.  This is one of my (and many other artists) greatest weaknesses.  We are either reluctant to devalue our work by writing about or are lousy at explaining our art.

I recently read an essay by the great photographer Robert Adams titled, Writing from his collection of essays, Why People Photograph.  In the essay he shares many of the challenges and reasons artists do not like describing their work.

Photographers seemed so strikingly unable to write at length about what they had made, in fact, that I came to wonder if there was any exception at all, a single case where an artist's writing did not end up making a picture smaller, less complex, less resonant, less worthy of comparison to life.

I have two views on why I don't like explaining my photos.  The first is that I don't want to give the viewer preconceived commentary before they view the work.  I enjoy hearing critiques where the viewer had a completely unique interpretation of the piece that I had never considered.  I may disagree with the interpretation, but I am glad to have heard it.

The second view is that by explaining my art, I didn't do a good enough job creating it.

The main reason that artists don't willingly describe or explain what they produce is, however, that the minute they do so they've admitted failure... ... Characterizing in words what they thought they'd shown is an acknowledgment that the photography is unclear - that it is not art.

If I have to explain that my California Delta series is a statement on the death of the old west and the soulless new world of agriculture/ranching, then why did I even take the photos?  I have failed if you can't get that by the titles and the images you see.  Wow, how condescending is this paragraph?  I basically called my viewers idiots for not "getting" my photos. 

Of course if you believe in the merit of your work you reject the accusation of failure that is implied by a request to explain it.  In this respect all artists are elitists.  They are convinced that some viewers lack patience to see what is clear.

If I showed you my portfolio of truck images without any introduction, you may miss my point.  You would maybe see nothing worth a second glance or may have your own unique observations.  In that area of confusion is one of the key points of art.  The mixture of the viewers individual tastes, experiences, and insights vs. the artist's intent.  We must recognize that not everyone will get, yet alone appreciate our art.  I've seen Diane Arbus's photos and I neither like, nor fully appreciate their importance.  It falls into that area of agreeing to disagree about something.

I had an important breakthrough in my art this weekend.  It seemed minor at the moment, but a long-time friend and fellow photographer, Michelle, looked at this photo of Courtney and said, "Karl, your photography has turned.  I never expected this from you.  It is a new world."    I thanked her for the compliment and went on looking at the photos.  As I reflect on this topic of explaining art vs. "getting" it, Michelle got it.  Most haven't and that is fine.

Photographers, like all artists, choose their medium because it allows them the most fully truthful expression of their vision.  Other ways are relatively imprecise and incomplete.  Why try the other ways?  As Charles Demuth said, "I have been urged... to write about my paintings...  Why?  Haven't I, in a way, painted them?"  Or as Robert Frost told a person who asked him what one of his poems meant, "You want me to say it worse?"

Is there a solution on how to write about my own photography?  I am learning a few lessons by looking at other artist's statements and reading key points from Adams' essay.

Experience has shown, however, that the best way to avoid talking about the pictures is to talk about their subjects... If you have to fill the quiet of a picture, the least destructive way seems to be to speak about what was in front of the camera rather than about what you made of it.

Adams' advice is simple and makes sense.  Writing about the subject briefly, and giving the viewer a gentle nudge into my art sounds like a gentle comprise.  After that, the critics can try discern any meaning, and importance out of the work.