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1998 october 15 the pretensions of memoryi have been arguing with gene lately about photography: art or scrapbook fodder? masterpiece or memory manifestation? the argument started when i went off on a clever but longwinded rant after reading a webjournal entry about a photography session. the journalist started her entry by stating the ideal model is "drop-dead gorgeous." well, i guess if you are looking for a career at glamour shots ™, then you can spend your time taking pics of what you perceive to be the beautiful people of the world, but i'm going to have a hard time calling it art. in her defense, she never claims to be an artist, but i am betting she has pretensions of artisthood. so, what is art? like most things, there is no clearcut answer, at least for me. ansel adams, art. robert mapplethorpe, art, mostly. d hyde, art, at least the piece hanging on my wall. me, memory, definitely, although once in a while i take a picture that knocks even my picky socks off. my mother, scrapbook fodder. gene remains unconvinced and i think i know why. anybody can pick up a camera and say, "hey look!! i'm a photographer!!" some of these people even spend thousands of dollars and months worth of hours pursuing their craft, but that doesn't make it art, just as not everyone who picks up a crayon produces work that will hang in moma or the louvre. maybe that will be my criteria -- would i want it hanging on my wall, would i want to see it in a museum. i have to admit, though, there are photography pieces in museums that i think would look better in someone's scrapbook. art or not art. the world may never know. ta, claire
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