Harleybones, originally uploaded by twoblueday. Pretty pricey for a bare-bones motorcycle! Okay, bad pun. This thing is on display in a storefront window in Daytona Beach. I spent hours getting rid of unwanted reflections in the window, the hardest part being cleaning them off the bones themselves. It took for-freaking-ever. Now I’ll wax philosophical:
Effort alone does not make a final product worthwhile. Technique alone doesn’t either. Simply put: Effort does not equal Art. [I'm gonna leave the naked question What Is Art? for another day, if ever.] At a more mundane level: Effort does not make Interesting. Take the above photo. I’ve walked by that window before, and seen the display. I got a kick out of the bones-as-motorcycle idea, and, to my eye, the execution is terrific. Me, I woulda left the Budweiser-swilling armadillo off, but what the heck do I know? A few days ago I decided to photograph it. Now, a side trip into photophilosophy with a digression into movies and the suspension of disbelief.
Let’s take an iconic subject that has been photographed, by the latest count, more than a bazillion times. There are several, but let’s say, oh, The Eiffel Tower (for those who speak of Freedom Fries, think of the Statue of Liberty—oh, I forgot, that’s French, too. Go with the Brooklyn Bridge). The Eiffel Tower is an interesting (some say beautiful) object. It has historic significance in the evolution of engineering/building/architecture. It is in Paris (I loved Paris in my one short visit), the City of Lights, Romance, etc., etc. It is a visual subject fraught with much emotional and judgmental baggage that it is, by my lights, Iconic. So, you take a picture of it (let’s say you even resist placing your lover in the photo, and refrain from asking a passerby to take the picture with both of you in it). The subject of your picture is not: I Visited The Eiffel Tower On My Trip To France. No, the subject is: The Eiffel Tower.
Now let’s posit that you are not a complete tyro with a camera, and that you have a reasonably decent camera with you (compact digital cameras now rise to that level–or at least some of them; the daughter-unit just got one with 10 megapixels and a 10-1 zoom). You think to yourself (being as philosophical, or nearly so, as Mr. Twoblueday): I’d like to take a picture of this thing which surpasses the “another picture of the Eiffel Tower, ho hum” sort of thing. Here you run into a major existential obstacle (okay, I ain’t all that sure what existentialism is, but the cadence of the word in the sentence made me happy): you are attmpting something which is nigh impossible—anyone who sees your photo won’t see your photo, they’ll see the Eiffel Tower.
In movie terms: I love (good) science fiction/fantasy films, but that isn’t Han Solo, that’s Harrison Ford. Mr. Ford is so famous that he can no longer be the character. He can only be Harrison Ford playing the character. His iconic fame is the enemy of my suspension of disbelief. [Don't worry, Mr. Ford, there is no chance at all I won't go see the new Indiana Jones movie!]
So, you stand there in Paris, full up with tasty food and wine, and perhaps the best part of Paris in my short visit: the life of the streets (oh, to watch those zillions of people at lunchtime, with their little sandwiches and cigarettes). You’ve been strolling for days wishing you could eat in every one of the cute cafes, preferably outdoors. Now, a sweat breaks out. You have your camera, and you are gazing at The Eiffel Tower. The pressure is almost enough to stay your shutter finger. Almost, but not quite. You will not resist; you will shoot. Well, that’s okay. You will shoot, and you will show your picture to your family and friends. You will post it on Flickr and your blog. Your scrapbooking life partner will create a cool page for it in the Travel Scrapbook. You will (is it hope, finally, which distinguishes us from our fellow creatures?) await glowing praise. Someone, perhaps, will say: “Oh, dude, you really saw the Eiffel Tower. Nobody, ever, should take another picture of it. Yours is the Crown of Creation.” But, you are doomed to disappointment. You may get a few “Nice Image” comments, and maybe not even that. You have bravely tried to buck one of the Eternal Verities. A picture of something famous will always be the something famous and not your picture.
Let’s recede from fame, and leave the cast-iron towers of the world to themselves. Let’s just cast (another bad pun?) our eyes upon anything which is just so damned cute it needs to be photographed. At random, let’s select a bone motorcycle on display in a town much identified with motorcycles. Let’s make sure the exposure is correct, and the camera is focused, take the picture, and go home and use the clone tool (and others) until our eyeballs bleed. Sadly, we end up at the same place as our fellow in Paris–without the compensating virtues of that city.
So where does that leave us? Leave me? Muddling along, that’s where. Muddling along.
