Photographer Magazine (2001)
It is impossible to enumerate and analyze accurately the many and various reasons that make a photograph significant and valuable, while another is simply mediocre. And fortunately, things are this way, otherwise there would be no room for the artistic genius of each creator. Even if the eye of an experienced and sensitive viewer recognizes the value of a photograph, this does not mean that they can fully describe the reasons that made them recognize it.
However, since artistic judgments about photographs usually have recipients, it is useful to support these judgments with arguments. For this reason, common parameters that appear in more valuable photographs are identified, so that, even if we cannot fully justify our admiration, we can at least offer it some rudimentary theoretical support.
Such supports are often drawn from peripheral areas that are not directly related to Art in general and to Photography in particular, but which offer a broader selection of logical arguments. It is rarer, but much more interesting, to seek arguments through the world of the artwork itself, which is the always abstract world of artistic creation. Then, the observations and arguments are less likely (at least not as much) to be considered authentic interpretations of the work or to offer the illusion of a complete understanding. The artwork must be approached, but also allowed to retain its secrets.
Repeated communication with great photographs and the enjoyment derived from them gradually lead us to recognize certain common characteristics, which, without constituting a rule of behavior, help us detect similar elements in subsequent photographs of unknown value. After all, our criteria are always (and mainly) shaped by comparison with an artistic past. Our admiration for a work of art consists of our automatic and rapid reference to the works that make up what André Malraux called the "Imaginary Museum" or, more freely, "Our Museum of Imagination." The comparison with the artworks included in this personal museum, works that have secured our esteem and have provoked our admiration, is what will grant our personal accolades to the work under judgment. Therefore, it is not unreasonable to try to identify, always with the risk of arbitrariness and exaggeration, some common characteristics.
One of the many characteristics that guarantee the dynamism of a photograph is a "dialogue" enclosed within it. And it is a fact, although nowadays it tends to be forgotten, that whatever constitutes the artistic proposal, its dynamism, its originality, and its intensity must be enclosed in the artwork itself. The battlefield for the artist is this very work. Otherwise (and this otherwise characterizes many artistic trends of our times), we would be dealing with a dish whose originality and quality are derived from the garnish or the way of serving, and not from the taste itself.
Above all, we must get used to the idea that whatever is included in a photograph is equally important. And the final result (to continue the food analogy) must have a cohesive taste, without flattening the ingredients. A photograph, therefore, constitutes a unified overall proposal, consisting of equally potent elements. If there is a dominant element, which somehow tends to monopolize the viewer's interest, there is a risk that all other elements are relegated to the role of decoration. And this usually happens in unambiguous photographs that are commercially ambitious and aimed at a broad audience. However, in a photograph that claims the character of an artistic work, the final goal is (abstract and overall) emotion. This emotion is ultimately an intensity that is enclosed in the photograph and arises from the simultaneous presence of opposing or parallel forces. These forces are in an undefined but evident "dialogue" with each other. If such forces are not detected, the photograph is read in one dimension only and with great speed and ease. Conversely, if the forces operate and the "dialogue" begins, then the photograph acquires rhythm and intensity, and its reading maintains the mystery, the many dimensions, and the enjoyment in depth of time and quality.
For this "dialogue," at least two elements are required, although we often encounter more. A plethora of elements does not necessarily mean a more interesting photograph, as it can cause confusion and lead to unpleasant aesthetic verbosity. More elements, then, should be presented unified in smaller units, so that the "dialogue" is clear and dynamic and does not exceed the capabilities of the limited space and time of a photographic reading. Such elements may be related to the depicted subjects, the degree of motion of the subjects, or the depth of field percentage, with shadow and light, with volumes, with the lines of the composition, with the position they occupy within the frame, or with anything else enclosed within an image. However, what gives them their particular significance, which in turn generates the "photographic event" and utilizes the photograph, is their relationship with each other. That is, the "dialogue." And ultimately, the quality of the "dialogue" is directly proportional to the quality of the photograph.
Plato Rivellis