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This photograph of six-year old Roosje acting away was taken anything but
accidentally by an amateur, i.e. her dad, who is convinced that one day he
will take the best picture in the world but who gets cold feet every time
even though the result is sometimes not too bad at all. And where there's
hope, there's life, innit.
This piece has its origin in a mix-up. I spotted a particular headline in "Het Parool" of 6 November 2000, and it was not until later that I read through the accompanying text. And as is so very often the case with headlines, this one gave the impression of a different reality (what an elegant way of putting it), although the ensuing exposé was no less worthy of consideration notwithstanding the dubious point of departure (such an elegant turn of phrase, don't you agree?). The headline read: "Accidental Witness: Silver Camera". I remember thinking, my goodness, whatever will professional photographers think, travelling all over the place dragged down by their own weight in lenses, enduring the demoralising presence of dozens of colleagues who thus turn this most noble of professions into a game of bingo, and all of this in return for a pay check that would hardly inspire a primary school teacher to get up and teach (as they do), just so that an accidental passer-by can come away with first prize, someone who just happened to be carrying a camera and who at exactly the right moment happened to look through the lens, or worse still, through the viewfinder of a compact camera which doesn't need an operator to produce a picture? This as such is nothing short of disastrous - gone is the luxurious feeling that many generations have grown up with: the single-lens reflex camera, that perfect tool that makes amateur status bearable. No matter how automated it is, the viewfinder shows the world in its proper proportions, leaving it up to you to choose which part of it to record. I don't really know what to do with the digital viewfinder - not only is it very difficult to gauge what's going on, but the image is first digitised into bits and then presented back to you in bits as an image which although it could be real could also be due to a glitch at some socio-crazed cable operator. But never mind all that. This accidental passer-by happened to cast a glance and press the button. If it weren't for the fact that digital technology has robbed passionate photographers of the summit of ever-recurring excitement (there used to be a time when you had to develop your picture before finding out whether or not it was a success, whereas these days all you need to do is check your laptop after a couple of minutes or peer at the LCD screen on your camera - you could pull the blankets over your head and drift off together) I could be tempted to devote a cosy little discussion to this. But let's not digress. The crux was that it is nevertheless possible for a complete amateur to take the photograph of the century. As someone who participates in the circle of people involved in the visual arts I have more or less come to recognise the hotspots. Leaving aside for the moment my never-ending attempts at formulating mild world views, I myself have spent time carefully listening to brash noises such as "My three-year old could do that" - the sort of comment that gives you an instant idea of the age up to which people tend to remain capable of opening up to envisaged innovation. Although this is not new either, it has never been said so succinctly. In short, if it wouldn't presumably be for the admission requirements imposed on entrants prohibiting any old amateur from stealing everyone else's thunder, the unexpected could come to pass. Now this would present us with a dilemma. How difficult can it be to imagine that the exhibition's visitors will expect to be presented with the best photographs taken all over the world? If they were in some way or other to cotton on to the fact that there is a further category of photographers who also make the best photographs in the world without them even being aware of it, I can't imagine that they'd keep flocking to the exhibition. Then again they just might. My mild-mannered malice made me forget for an instant that everything with which third parties succeed in drawing the viewer's attention is based on something which catches the viewer unawares as he or she considers it unlikely that he or she could do it him or herself. On second thought I should add that amateurs have been known to outperform professionals for that very reason. Let me briefly address those who consider themselves to be above this. I'm sure you too have your heroes. I may not know them, I may not rate them highly, but they're your heroes nonetheless. In a worst-case scenario you yourself could be such a hero, which would make it a real compliment for you to be reading this. Let me recap. Prior to picking the world's top photograph we should at most exclude certain themes such as parental devotion and love of animals. Of course I too can conjure up images of that huge mountain of desperately awful pictures (the time will come when we will be able to conjure up photographs - how about that?), but surely I don't need to convince anyone that the search for true beauty - be it cruel or otherwise - must not be dictated by administrative restrictions. Doesn't this very question affect any artist, as well as any lover of the arts and all those who intend in future to joint their ranks, i.e. isn't this question everybody's business? So should I let go of my disapproval of the seemingly slapdash way in which headlines are placed above newspaper articles for which the writers never feel responsible (I mean the headlines, not the articles) because they fall outside the scope of their employment-defined jurisdiction, and let the blessing of surprise prevail, in the sense of "count your blessings rather than your worries"? You tell me … |