Από τον Πλάτωνα Ριβέλλη
|
The printed photograph has fortunately not lost its charm and value in the era of televisions and monitors. Photographs can be part of a collection or even contribute to the decoration of spaces. Therefore, they should also be available for sale. However, the reasonable question that arises is the monetary value of a photograph. That is, on what basis can this be defined and what parameters can it fluctuate?
It is commonly accepted that each photograph is a personal creation and, consequently, the photographer has certain intellectual rights that derive from it and are valued in money, and only they have the right to reproduce and distribute it. But to define a value, a price, we must follow a series of thoughts. First and foremost, a photograph is always a copy, a duplicate. There is no concept of the original. The negative of analog and the file of digital photography are simply the starting point for the production of copies. However, it is not exactly the same as printing multiple copies, as with typography (books, posters, etc.), because each photographic copy is an individual copy. This distinction already makes the photograph more valuable and naturally more expensive than a well-printed poster and, most importantly, non-commercial. That is, the photographer does not have an industrially reproducible product to "flood" the market, but individual samples (copies) of their own choices and preferences that will possibly meet with the choices and preferences of a buyer.
Furthermore, if the photograph bears the signature of its creator (usually on the back and never on the image itself) and is accompanied by a certificate of authenticity (again signed by the creator or their representative), then the price can rise further and distance itself even more from industrial reproductions. Beyond this, price differentiations will certainly consider the size of the print, the reputation of the photographer, the recognizability of the specific photograph, as well as the rights that may accompany it, such as the right to publish it or its professional exploitation.
However, what complicated things is the involvement of photographs in the art market, that is, the market of paintings, which in the 20th century took an upward trend, indeed steeply. Initially, photographs were considered a commercial opportunity for a broader audience to be tempted by the purchase of cheaper artworks, as photographs were presented at their commercial outset. But very quickly the prices of photographs spiraled out of control and logic, leading many photographers to avoid even being referred to as photographers, preferring designations such as "visual artists" or simply "artists," for fear that acknowledging their status might contribute to the reduction of their works' prices. Today, there are photographs by contemporary photographers that reach the price of five million euros, and there are also major New York galleries that show no interest in dealing with a photograph sold for less than five thousand dollars.
The involvement of photography with painting is not something new. Many photographers, since the 19th century, underestimating their art, envied painting, while even more painters, overvaluing their own, despised photography. The novelty today lies in their financial involvement. The prevailing view was their potential kinship. But every art form has affinities with others. Just as photography has with poetry and possibly with cinema. However, these two arts do not have, at least at this time, the favor of money and the incentive of economic investment. Therefore, photography had to be promoted in such a way as to benefit from the economic boom of the art market. Of course, no one would object if this was not done in anti-photographic and often outrageously illogical ways.
The kinship of a painting and a photograph is limited to something very superficial: they are both images. Nothing more. But their differences are more numerous and more substantial. A painting has material substance. It is an object, irreplaceable and non-reproducible. It carries the physical presence of the painter. The viewer conventionally does not "believe" in the reality of the subject, but in the painting itself. That’s why paintings, when within religion became "icons," were objects of worship, something a photograph could never claim. The price of a painting can exploit all of the above, and especially its commercially valuable uniqueness, and reach very high levels.
The photo from the other side is a "trace" that turns into an object, but never unique. The photo is reproduced in unlimited and identical copies. Now, with the faithful reproduction of digital files, the similarity of each copy to all others is even more precise and guaranteed. The physical presence of the photographer on the photographic copy is not a given. Most famous photographers do not print their own photos, which, after all, is of no importance, since whoever prints follows the photographer's instructions, who controls and approves the result.
The art market saw from the beginning as a threat what actually constitutes the advantage and uniqueness of photography, namely the possibility of unlimited and identical copies. It has therefore devised various ways to negate this property and differentiate the prices accordingly.
One way is the establishment of the characteristic of the old copy (since there is no original) known as a vintage print. This term means the printing of the photo by the photographer himself (and because full certainty in this regard is almost impossible to achieve) at least the printing while the photographer was alive. Consequently, a photo proven to be printed before his death will be priced much more expensively than an identical one (from the same negative or digital file) printed after his death. In recent years, a limitation of the term vintage has been devised meaning that it should only include photos printed within five years from the day the specific photo was taken. Logically, the price can increase if it is proven that the previous owners of a copy were famous. It is obvious that all these inventions may concern a market but not an art.
Another way is the artificial limitation of copies, which somewhat copies the habits prevailing in the market of engravings and other visual works that are reproduced from a matrix, although photography (unlike the above) does not have an upper limit of reproduction restriction, as is the case with the physical endurance of any matrix. Therefore, photos are sold with the assurance (?) that they are part of a "series" of a limited number of copies, usually 1 to 5 or 6. This means that the artist or his representative will limit the prints to this number. Obviously, such a thing cannot be guaranteed or proven, and no ceremonial burning of negatives or destruction of digital files has been known, besides that neither would protect from a prior reproduction of the negatives and files to be destroyed. However, what is worse is that those involved in the paths of the art market have made it clear and accepted that the limited number of each "series" concerns specific dimensions of the photographs. Thus, if from a series of which the photo for sale has dimensions e.g., 40X60 cm, and all six copies are sold, another six copies of the same photograph with different dimensions, e.g., 50X75 cm, can wonderfully and legally be sold. Meanwhile, the photographer retains the right to circulate (for example, to gift) other similar photographs as long as they bear the mention "from the personal collection of the photographer," or something similar.
The inventiveness and flexibility of the artistic stock market are such that it very often does not hesitate to contradict itself if it suits it. Recently, a famous American photographer, known for his relatively small and flawless color prints, "switched" to very large digital ones. This was greeted as modernization, and the prices of his photographs immediately exceeded half a million dollars. However, the most interesting was the rationale that supported the change, which stated that the quality of the prints or their date should no longer matter as much as the subject itself. Therefore, everything is legitimate as long as it can be justified on a case-by-case basis, even temporarily, to justify the exorbitant prices.
It is obvious that all these theoretical acrobatics sound and are comical. And they have nothing to do with the essence and nature of photography. Beyond the general theoretical disdain, it is clear that the negative or digital file can produce an infinite number of identical copies, and the dimensions of the print do not constitute part of the essential identity of the artwork in the case of photography, but simply an indication of the specific copy. The dimensions concerning the identity of the work are those of the basic image that "is to be" reproduced and have to do with the ratio of the sides or the photosensitive medium that forms its basis. In terms of the analog era, for instance, we could distinguish whether the photograph came from a slide or negative, whether the negative was color or black and white, whether the negative or slide came from a 24X36, 6X6, or 10X12.5 film, etc. Similar, albeit more subtle, differences could also be identified in the digital era (type and size of the camera, aspect ratio of the file, etc.). However, the dimensions of the print, i.e., the copy, concern the respective presence of the photograph. For example, in a large hall, the exhibited photograph may need to be printed in much larger dimensions. Yet, even if a photographer decided to swear that he would never print a photograph in dimensions other than those he once defined, nothing could force him to do so. Unless he changed the original and fundamental dimensions of his file, which meant that he would cut part of the photograph, then indeed we would have a new photograph.
Selling photographs is one of the natural outlets of artistic creativity. It is a form of communication, recognition, and reward. The photographer exhibits (copies of) his photographs, publishes in magazines, and releases in books reproductions of his photographs, and, finally, may sell (again copies of) his photographs to people who recognize their work and thus reward it. The price should be set, possibly different for each photographer, but probably the same for all photographs of the same size, within a framework that approaches market logic and not that of the stock exchange. Each photograph has a production cost, certain intellectual property rights, a tax, a brokerage fee, and an additional artistic value. All these considered lead to a price of a potentially privileged and precious product, but by no means luxurious or outrageous, otherwise the sale as a means of communication and reward becomes an end in itself and sleight of hand.
Plato Rivellis