Can we talk about art writing?
In the following, I will write about the ideas and/or goals behind my own writing. If that’s not your cup of tea, please wait for the next email.
The idea behind the following is to talk about where exactly I’m coming from (I’m arguing below that this ought to be an essential part of contemporary criticism) and also — ideally — to trigger some discussions around photography writing (which, I think, is in crisis for a number of reasons).
As always, your feedback is encouraged. Thank you in advance for taking the time to read this!
If we want photography to be art, we will have to have the corresponding kinds of conversations around it. I think that’s what it comes down to. If you don’t want those conversations, don’t call yourself an artist. Remain being a photographer. There’s nothing wrong with either choice.
What I mean by “corresponding kinds of conversations” obviously does not mean the unreadable drivel that’s called International Art English. If a bunch of (academic) insiders want to engage in that, that’s perfectly fine.
But as Ludwig Wittgenstein noted, what can be said at all can be said clearly. Thus, first and foremost we ought to strive for clarity — to the extent that it can be achieved. And then we also ought to aim for style (whatever it might be): art writing should be a pleasure to read.
After years and years of writing about photography I have arrived at thinking that productive conversations around photography would entail a mix of old-school criticism and of explicitly interrogating one’s own position vis-à-vis what is being discussed.
As a writer, I’m no fan of either if they remain on their own: I personally do not want to fill the role of the judge. I also do not want to talk about my personal life (because that’s nobody’s business).
But in that combination, I feel that there’s the chance to get at something larger, mostly because of the inherent tension between the two aspects.
I should note that by forcing myself to engage in both, I’m adding discomfort to the act of writing. It’s not that I’m a big fan of discomfort. But I know that without discomfort it’s very hard to write a good text: I need something to push against, and that something must not merely be external.
If you look at a lot of photography writing, what I outlined above is not what you typically encounter. I think it’s probably fair to say that most publications (magazines) either aim for the photoland equivalent of International Art Speak, or they want their writers to act as stenographers for the photographers.
Someone releases some new work, and the discourse around it (if that’s even the word) either is something around liminality or some other academic buzzword, or it’s basically a distilled summary of the photographer’s (or publisher’s or gallerist’s) press release.
Photographers occasionally tell me that criticism is dead, or they bemoan a lack of it. I am not sure how common that sentiment is. I actually don’t know whether most photographers want real criticism around what they do.
I do not intend to judge anyone for what they want. It’s just that I write for people who are interested in real criticism (as opposed to dressing up a photographer’s work with some fluffy words around it).
On my site, I published a slightly longer article this past week that dives into some of the aspects I discussed above. If you read it, you’ll see that I’m struggling with a number of topics, and I’m torn between different poles.
I consider that piece to be one of the most important ones I have written recently, mostly because it provided me with a lot of insight. It also forced me to write down some things that had been in my head for a while (for example why I am mostly indifferent to the pictures of the sticks-and-stones crowd).
An aspect that I think isn’t fully resolved is the form. The general idea is there — the dealing with conflicting pieces of information without trying to resolve them all. But I probably need to produce a few more such pieces to resolve the form.
I do think that the general idea is interesting, and it potentially might make for interesting ways to discuss photography: moving away from the producer-receptor model, which assumes that there is no connection whatsoever between producer and receptor, and mashing it all up.
Ultimately, such an approach would mean that as a reader, you don’t only read criticism. Instead, you’ll also consider your own position regarding what is being discussed. Obviously, that position would not always be the same; some pieces might concern you a lot more than others.
But you could then imagine art making as essentially a long conversation in which different people play different parts.
How realistic it is to strive for that online, I don’t know. I’m not overly optimistic; for sure I don’t want to assume that my writing does more than it does.
However, I believe that it’s good to have aspirations and to consider what one is doing, whether as a photographer, writer, or someone reading or looking.
If anything, insisting on a more active role as a reader and/or viewer would entail an act of rebellion against the neoliberal consumer model, in which a consumer is a passive — and only passive — entity.
Ultimately, there might need to be a different form or forum for such writing to exist in. I don’t know what they could look like. For sure I know that it would have to be created by a group of people in which each member brings something to the table that the others don’t have.
Regardless, if you’ve made it this far: thank you for reading! As I said, feel free to be in touch with whatever feedback you might have.
— Jörg