C. S. Lewis wrote that art is measured by the effect it has on art lovers, not the reviews of critics who seem to want to close doors rather than open them.
But he also distinguished between trite literature that wouldn’t penetrate the crust of indifference (his example was “bathed in a flood of silver moonlight”—for him an example of decoration rather than communication), versus writing that probed deeply (his example here from Malory was “the moon shone clear”—utterly undecorated but evocative enough to make me shiver with cold, and the fear of what the light would reveal). His theory was that the more experience people had loving art rather than being seen to love art, the more their taste would gravitate from the former to the latter. (From
An Experiment in Criticism)
But even trite and cliche art is still art. Mozart sometimes composed dull music, but he never composed
bad music.
As for me, a photograph has to draw me in. It may be visual mystery, or it may be clarity (the visual equivalent of “the moon shone clear”). It may be technique, though it has to be in the service of something, even if simple beauty. Composition is important. It has to include what supports the point, and exclude what doesn’t. But what supports the point, or even what the point is, can be subtle to the point of being obscure or inscrutable. It’s not the artist’s job to be obvious, after all. Consider the work of Lee Friedlander, whose photographs may seem like random scenes, but are tightly and formally composed, and thus invite deeper consideration.
But I am warned: The great tuba musician and pedagog Arnold Jacobs once told a student he was better with words than with music, and the student abandoned his musical ambitions and became a journalist. I fear that threads like this can invite such observations. Back to working through my Alaska photos.
Rick “having a point to make is required before knowing how to make it matters” Denney