Excellent David, ty ----- Original Message ----- From: "ADavidhazy" <andpph@ritvax.isc.rit.edu> To: "List for Photo/Imaging Educators - Professionals - Students" <photoforum@listserver.isc.rit.edu> Cc: <andpph@vmsmail.rit.edu> Sent: Tuesday, April 22, 2003 6:21 AM Subject: Vestal "On taking yourself seriously" > I read the following words-of-wisdom (in my opinion) and have been saving them > for many years in a file cabinet that I emptied today. In light of the present > discussions on the list (or lack thereof) I thought they might be appropriate > to share since I believe there is a ready application for them in photo courses > as well as professional situations. I am posting this with what I hope would be > the blessing of the author although I have not been able to contact him. > Andy Davidhazy - andpph@rit.edu > > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---- > On Taking Yourself Seriously > By David Vestal as it appeared in Popular Photography magazine > > One of this century's livelier art movements was Dadaism, which began in > Switzerland during World War I. Dada was mainly negative and took an anti-art, > anti-rational stand. Dada works were meant to shock, but most of them were > purely silly. In this it was prophetic (look around). > > In its futile way, Dada was an apt response to the world of 1916, as it is to > our own: foolishness in answer to craziness. Sorrow and anger are unavoidable > and just, but they do not turn evil into good. The hell with reproach, then. > Ridicule fits better. The Dadaists regarded the world as a stupid joke - a > viewpoint that's hard to argue against. > > My favorite act by the Dadaists was when they expelled one of their number for > taking himself seriously. Did they realize that in doing so they were taking > themselves seriously? I like it. > > I have noticed that in photography, whether it's a photographer, a critic, or > whatever, one thing usually goes with quick recognition and what is called > success: the person takes himself seriously to the point of obsession. Nothing > else is allowed to matter as much. > > The required insane belief that you are more important then anyone, and that, > as a result, your work is more important than anything, cannot survive > intelligent scrutiny; but it is hardly ever asked to. And it's one of the most > effective sales devices on earth: even when it's mistaken, total conviction is > contagious. > > Sometimes it isn't conviction, but simply a bold lie. The more preposterous a > claim is, the harder it is for honest people, who feel ashamed when they lie, > to > disbelieve. This may be why absurd and stupid photographs get so much attention > and applause. People just can't believe they're as bad as they look, although > they generally are. It's easier to ignore and dismiss good work for which no > great claims are made; and that's what happens. Art history consists largely of > this. > > I'm not against ego except when it runs wild, but I recommend cultivating a > sense of proportion. You may come to see that however much you like your own > work - as I like mine, for instance - it won't save the world. Photographing > makes little difference as the rest of the things people do: we live and die, > and the world goes on. When you realize this, you may not be able to take > yourself seriously enough to make a career of it. I hope so. > > This has good and bad sides. Good: It lets you take your pictures seriously > instead of yourself. You look at them critically as well as fondly and reject > the ones that don't work. This helps, because those who think they can do no > wrong have a blind spot that leads them to accept poor work. > > Your work may well be as important as anyone else's; but how can anyone tell? > Don't look down on others too readily, but look up to no one. This spares you > the need to imitate and to play at being important, leaving you free to work as > you choose without worrying about people's reactions. If you take your work > seriously enough to keep doing it as well as you can, regardless, that's what > seems to matter. > > The bad side is that photographs are made to be seen and felt by others, and > you may sometimes get the depressing feeling that no one will see yours. Then > what good is it? The only answer is that if you work sincerely, it does you > good to do the work. If nothing else pans out, that will have to serve. > > I notice that Pissarro's paintings have now been discovered by the museums on > whose walls they've been hanging all along. The museum people just didn't pay > attention until now. They knew about Pissarro, but they didn't know him. Then, > apparently, after many years, someone said, "Wow! Pissarro!" and they latched > on. Our art authorities keep demonstrating that they're clods. Now they are > busy selling Pissarro to the public, and they feel like pioneers. It's a Dada > joke. > > I doubt that Pissarro took himself very seriously. He was known for helping > other painters, not for chasing after fame. You see the results. > > I'm on some strange mailing lists, so sometimes I get letters written by art > photographers to tell collectors about their latest opuses. These letters are > models of pomposity, written in the third person for grandeur and sprinkled > with magic words calculated to impress and sell. No plain word is used if a > fancy one can be found. They go like this: "Mr. E. Gregious announces that as > of November 31 the price of his historic Blah-Blah Series will go up from $750 > to $1,000 per print. "Mr. Gregious is presently preparing a definitive archival > edition, strictly limited to 100,000 sets, after which the negatives will be > retired, of signed, silver-gelatin chlorobromide prints of his celebrated > Yeah-Yeah Series, widely considered by informed connoisseurs to be among his > most significant images. In the words of the noted critic, I.G. Norant, "Int he > ontological paradigm with which they confront the stunned viewer, these Angst- > filled images form the ineffable quintessence of this transcendent artist's > oeuvre". > > "Exquisitely slipcased in antique buckram with an overlay of rare glazed chintz > and hand-laid, acid-free, rag-paper linings, these extraordinary images may be > viewed by special appointment at the artist's atelier." > > And so on. I'm not exaggerating much. They do go on like that, and at much > greater length. Sometimes the pictures are fairly good; more often they are > lousy. > > Once in a great while the pictures are excellent. I can think of one very good > photographer who sends letters much like this. I don't know how he can stand > writing them. > > If you're not a fraud, you have to take yourself awfully seriously to write > such bilge about your work. It's ridiculous and embarrassing, but apparently it > sells. > > Sometimes I wish I could do it. More often I'm glad I can't. > > When good photographers fall into this routine, I groan and wish them luck. > When the usual incompetents do it, I wish them justice, not mercy. > > To picture buyers: When faced with the solemn and ludicrous pomposity of art > photographers and their dealers, ignore the pitch but look well at the > pictures. Don't try to impress anyone. Just follow your feelings; that's the > only way to judge pictures. And of your feelings, you are the only judge. No > matter what is said, buy the photographs you like and leave the rest. > > To photographers: If you can possibly help it, don't take yourself too > seriously. If you can't help it, I can't help you. Either way, you're stuck, so > take yourself as you are. > > > >
