When is an artist an artist?

I'm going to stray from my usual political rantings here for some quiet reflection on the arts. Seriously.

The wife and I were out recently with some friends of ours, an extremely talented photographer and his lovely and talented girlfriend. We, being new and aspiring photographers, enjoyed the conversation, which invariably turned to the business of photography.

The comment was raised that one of the problems with the photography industry is that anyone can buy a nice camera and say that they're a photographer. This causes an over-saturation of photographers in the market. "Fake" photographers undercut prices of highly trained photographers. Then the client in your office is saying they don't understand WHY in the world YOUR photography costs so much when so-and-so says he'll do it for $60 bucks.

I've thought a lot about that comment since then, because I have very mixed feelings about it. First off, it's definitely true. There's an over-saturation of crap photographers. And there are a whole lot of people that spend some money on a camera and think that they're creating art. And it's really easy to get bitter about that. Especially when you see clients walk out your door and hire a "crap photographer" over you.

But then you have to ask yourself, "Well, who defines what art is? Maybe the client actually LIKES their photography."

And on top of that, "Well, isn't that exactly how I started out? Wasn't I just a guy with a camera once? Who got to decide when I was good enough to be 'pro'?"

And on top of that even, "Why do I get to pass judgment on these photographers? Isn't there always some amazingly talented photographer out there who is better than me, who could say that I'M not really an artist? That I'm just an amateur hack clogging up the industry?"


It's an interesting dilemma. I've had the same questions. What is the difference between your uncle taking a snapshot of your birthday party and the photos I take? Who decides which is art? There are photojournalists who argue that the raw, real moment is the art. There are photoshoppers who say it's not art unless you've spent 13 hours in post production. Who's to say they're not both right?

I've always said this about music: It doesn't matter how much training you have, or how technically proficient you are - there's a whole separate quality that makes it art. Which is why I can't stand Steve Vai (who is a wonderfully talented guitarist), and I love Damien Rice (who is a moderately talented guitarist at best.) It's not a question of skill or technique - those things are cold, lifeless tools. It's a question of art.

But art is entirely subjective. What one person adores, another could find contrived, boring, lifeless, dull, cheesy, or any number of adjectives. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as they say.


Another good friend of mine said something like this (this is a gross paraphrase): "It's a fallacy that 'there's not enough to go around.' Go out and do what you love and you will succeed."

I think that, in the arts in general, it doesn't help us to point to the newbs who are just starting out and learning and enjoying their new passion and blame them for destroying the industry (even if there is some truth to it.) We should help them along their journey, because no matter how good they get, they will never be us. They will never have our eyes. Our brains. Their art will always be different. As Victor Wooten said about bass playing, "You could put a newborn baby on the instrument and they'll be able to get sounds I can't produce."



The real problem is with the consumer! They're the ones who keep hiring these fools. Okay, I'm joking. But at the same time, I'm not.

A client who has no photographic training (or musical training) may not be able to see the minute differences in lighting, post production, depth of field, exposure, etc. - the same way that the general listener doesn't understand the way a dominant 7 chord resolves down to the tonic in such a beautifully elegant way.

They just know what they like. They know when they see a picture and it affects them emotionally. They don't know why, and they don't care. They only care about the impact on them.


Whew. My big conclusion (after reading The Fountainhead a few years back) is that as an artist, you make art. Most people might not like your work - they don't matter. There may be thousands of other people doing it differently - they don't matter. What matters is you, and your art. You are the creator.

Some people will like what you do, and those people will find you.