The Critical Analysis of a Snapshot

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WHAT MAKES A GREAT SNAPSHOT? As a general rule, many of the same things that one might use to judge any artwork fall into play. Connoisseurship in any field has its criteria. My good friend Brian loves great automobiles. If I were to ask him what makes a great automobile, I would guess him to say craftsmanship, performance, design, quality—those kind of things. Notice I didn’t say anything about cost. If I had asked him “what are the qualities of the most expensive cars in the world?” that is a different question altogether. Then, he might say something like rarity, being first. To that point, an 1898 one-off prototype of a steam-powered car (ugly, by many standards) might trump the very first Mercedes, for example. But then again, maybe not. But I have opened a can of worms here—in a field I know little about. I do know that the art—the design— of an automobile can give it immortality. Raymond Loewy’s Avanti, for example, still turns heads today if you would be fortunate enough to see one.

In the world of snapshots, or “vernacular photography” as they call it today, we have to understand the difference between the work of a trained photographer and that of an everyday snapshot shooter. We’ll call the everyday snapshot guy “Uncle Charlie.”

Uncle Charlie, who has his Brownie camera with him one day to get a few shots of his friend’s retirement party, is leaving work when sees a blimp flying overhead and remembers he still has a picture left. He thinks the sighting of a blimp unusual enough to want to record it. He tried to get directly under it but it is moving too fast. Charlie thinks: “Damn that building! If only I had a better shot! Oh, what the hell!” *Click!* When the pictures come back from the drugstore, he is probably bothered a bit by all the intrusions that came with the picture, like the pole, wire, the two buildings—but, he thinks, at least I got my picture. Mission accomplished.

Now, if the great modernist photographer Lee Friedlander happened to have been there on the same day, the last thing he would have wanted was a single shot of the belly of the blimp. Chances are he would have run to the alley and tried to get a shot similar to the one that Uncle Charlie took, which was basically by accident and default. Friedlander would have reveled in the juxtapositions of the blimp to the wire and the buildings to the blimp and seized upon that very moment. Could he have taken a better picture of that blimp on that day? Probably. But Uncle Charlie stumbled onto this great photo—in spite of himself. It is doubtful that this anonymous snapshot shooter allowed his mind to make the critical analysis that a trained photographer might have done.

So, what about that criteria? What do I look for in a great snapshot? Well, the great snapshots are absolutely rare. You have to figure that 99% of the time there is no negative, so this is all you will ever have of this particular view. What you are holding in your hand is the only existing image of this particular shot. For example, there are millions of pictures of men in hats. But only ONE like the one you see above. That makes it a one-of-a-kind. Add to that the qualities I list for you below—and you have a great photo.

When I look at a snapshot I look for the following things: (1) composition: simply, does it work as a picture? (2) tonality: does it have a full-range of values, from white to gray to black? Or, does it break this rule for something more dramatic or sublime? (3) content: what is it a picture of? Is the image unusual, with uncommon subject matter? Does it challenge me visually? Is there a surprise, something unexpected? Do I continue to see more the longer I look? (4) condition: Is the photo is good shape? Is it bent, wrinkled or damaged? Or, is it pristine?

(5) My last criteria, and this is personal to my collecting eye: does the snapshot remind me of something a great photographer might have taken? Is it a little Diane Arbus? Is it an “accidental” Weegee, Friedlander, Siskind, Steiglitz, Strand or other?

I’ll be showcasing some other snapshots from time-to-time. Thanks and stay tuned.

An AM repost from 1/15/09.

The “Other” Santa Photos

A child (above) wearing a Santa mask in what appears to be summer, turning her into a suburban gnome.

Above, one of my all-time favorite department store Santa Claus photos.

In this snapshot from wartime Germany (above left) check out the picture on the wall. Their tradition was Kris Kringle, a supposedly Santa-type fellow who came in the night bearing gifts. Yikes!

And this department store Santa (above), with the full mask on, next to the Samsonite luggage. Eeek!

Have a happy holiday 2011!

John


An AM repost from 12/25/08

Gus Fink: Transformations

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GUS FINKLESTEIN IS AN ARTIST WHO, AMONG OTHER THINGS, REPURPOSES found photographs to create a new artistic image. Fink’s world of paintings, drawings and sculpture are all surreal and dark... creepy and fun.

Learn more here.

The Beauty of Accidents

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MANY YEARS AGO, WHEN I WAS YOUNG AND FIRST FINDING MY WAY as an artist (or, at the very least, training my eyes to see), my college art professor said: “Don’t be afraid of accidents! Learn to work with them, explore what they give you and learn from them.” I thought about that and began to see that an accidental drip of paint could become a good thing, or that the color I mixed by mistake just might be better than the color I had intended to make.

When you think about that, it’s a rule that should be learned by everyone. How many “accidents” in the science lab has resulted in new products? How many favorite foods have we enjoyed by a mistake in the kitchen? Or, how many times has a wrong turn led you to something wonderful?

And so it goes with art. The pictures above, of “photo mistakes” are from the collection of one of the most important collectors in snapshot photography today. Robert Jackson, whose incredible collection of snapshots was shown at the National Gallery of Art in 2007, shared these images with me because he is the kind of collector who is always searching for new meanings within the vernacular photography field. Robert’s book, The Art of the American Snapshot, can be found here on Amazon. It is a fabulous book to have in your library.

With photography today, you rarely see mistakes such as these. The reason for that is that the process has gradually been improving, so you don't have “in-camera” mistakes like lens flares, light leaks and processing errors anymore. Light sensitive emulsions occasionally go awry, especially with the instant photos like Polaroids. Of course, some of the mistakes in older “found photos” could come from fading colors or even damage from water or sunlight— but the point made is that occasionally mistakes can actually create a more interesting photo. Other mistakes can come from human error—like forgetting to advance the film (resulting in double or triple exposures), or accidentally having your finger in front of the lens.

So, enjoy these rare mistakes for what they are. Mistakes don’t necessarily make a photo great—they just add to the overall visual process of “seeing.”

From the Archive: Five Great Snapshots

(Above) Number One, silver gelatin print, c. 1945; Talk about a powerful, mysterious image! These two men appear not to want their photograph taken. It’s just a very different, unique kind of snapshot.
(Above) Number Two, silver gelatin print, c. 1950; Ooo-h baby, I love this. I has all the qualities of a great mystery novel, or classical art. You have purity (innocence, with the baby); you have evil (the dark shadow); and you have the garden hose serving as the “snake” in the garden.
(Above) Number Three, silver gelatin print, c. 1935; You couldn’t prop a photo as wonderful as this picture today. I could talk about this image a lot. The child warrior rides again, the last of her lost tribe! It’s magical.
(Above) Number Four, silver gelatin print, c. 1955; If you know the work of Sally Mann, this is a perfect match. As an image, what I find compelling about this image is the subject matter. On the left, you have this little girl, kinda awkward and goofy, eating a watermelon. On the right, a girl of the same age either putting on or taking off her shirt. What a beautiful shoulder, the angle of her arm! It’s a statement about the emergence from adolescence to adulthood—an American “Venus de Milo.” This image has it all.
(Above) Number Five, silver gelatin print, c. 1940; This picture, a mistake made during the exposure, actually has perfect tonality. For some reason it is looking lighter online. The light spot sits perfectly around the little girls head, like a protective bubble. The mother looks none too happy.

WHENEVER I EXHIBIT MY COLLECTION OF VERNACULAR PHOTOS, I always leave each image “untitled.” That is because I do not want to contaminate a viewer’s thinking as to what they are looking at with my wild guess inference as to what is going on in the picture. I wasn’t there—so your guess is as good as mine. And I sincerely mean that. These images are mysteries as to who, what, when and where. We might be able to get close—but unless someone in the photo steps up to identify the situation, we are left with our own resources to figure it out. Things are not always what they seem.

Why do I call these great images? Well, since I didn’t take them, I feel much like a curator at a museum. I found the images, selected them, gave them a new life. Therefore, I should be able to discuss them with a critical eye.

Here are my criteria for the qualities of a great photograph.

1) Compositionally, it must be extremely good if not perfect. It must work, and deal with formal design issues, if even abstractly.

2) Tonality must be extremely good. There is nothing more frustrating than a photograph that is missing this quality. A severely over or under-exposed image that is great in all the other categories can make a good (but sensitive) man cry.

3) Subject matter: can be anything, but the image must be powerful. It must leave room for interpretation, beg for answers. It must have several levels of interest, both visually and intellectually. As an image, how rare is it that you would ever see something like this again?

4) Condition: The physical condition of the picture must be at least “good,” to excellent.

5) Comparison: This is very personal to my collecting eye, but the image must remind me of some great photographer’s work. Does the piece remind me of little Sally Mann, WeeGee, Friedlander, or any other photographer of the 19th or 20th Century? If it does—it “connects” to art history. I like that.