[15 / 4 / 10]
Street "photography" is the dullest franchise in the history of photography.
Seriously, each shot following random people from some urban hellscape as they endure their suicide-inducing environment is indistinguishable from the others. Aside from the gloomy imagery, the genre’s only consistency has been its lack of excitement and ineffective use of black and white, all to make life unmagical, to make action seem inert.
Perhaps the die was cast when street "photographers" decided unauthorized candid snaps were the way to go; they made sure the genre would never be mistaken for a work of art that meant anything to anybody - just ridiculously profitable cross-promotion for their books. Street "photography" might be anti-human (or not), but it’s certainly the anti-aesthetic genre in its refusal of wonder, beauty and excitement. No one wants to face that fact. Now, thankfully, they no longer have to.
>a-at least the photos were clever though
"No!"
The juxtaposition is dreadful; each street book is terrible. As I look at each one, I notice that every time a the opportunity appears the snappers take a picture of someone making it seem like their head is the one on a sign and showing their legs or vice-versa. Then, some picture of a puddle, an umbrella or a hobo. Art!
I began marking on the back of an envelope every time that pattern was repeated. I stopped only after I had marked the envelope several dozen times. I was incredulous. The street snapper's mind is so governed by cliches and dead metaphors that they have no other style of communicating. I once read a lavish, loving review of the genre by the same Elliott Erwitt. He wrote something to the effect of, "If these kids are enjoying street photography at 21 or 22, then when they get older they will go on to enjoy Elliott Erwitt." And he was quite right. He was not being ironic. When you consume street photography you are, in fact, trained to consume Elliott Erwitt.
Seriously, each shot following random people from some urban hellscape as they endure their suicide-inducing environment is indistinguishable from the others. Aside from the gloomy imagery, the genre’s only consistency has been its lack of excitement and ineffective use of black and white, all to make life unmagical, to make action seem inert.
Perhaps the die was cast when street "photographers" decided unauthorized candid snaps were the way to go; they made sure the genre would never be mistaken for a work of art that meant anything to anybody - just ridiculously profitable cross-promotion for their books. Street "photography" might be anti-human (or not), but it’s certainly the anti-aesthetic genre in its refusal of wonder, beauty and excitement. No one wants to face that fact. Now, thankfully, they no longer have to.
>a-at least the photos were clever though
"No!"
The juxtaposition is dreadful; each street book is terrible. As I look at each one, I notice that every time a the opportunity appears the snappers take a picture of someone making it seem like their head is the one on a sign and showing their legs or vice-versa. Then, some picture of a puddle, an umbrella or a hobo. Art!
I began marking on the back of an envelope every time that pattern was repeated. I stopped only after I had marked the envelope several dozen times. I was incredulous. The street snapper's mind is so governed by cliches and dead metaphors that they have no other style of communicating. I once read a lavish, loving review of the genre by the same Elliott Erwitt. He wrote something to the effect of, "If these kids are enjoying street photography at 21 or 22, then when they get older they will go on to enjoy Elliott Erwitt." And he was quite right. He was not being ironic. When you consume street photography you are, in fact, trained to consume Elliott Erwitt.
