Camera Work: A Photographic Quarterly (1906 (Heft 14))

Lewis and Clark Exposition, at this year’s London Salon, and of other work. Running through
December, this exhibition will be followed by exhibitions devoted to Viennese, French, and
British photographs, and by other exhibitions of modern art not necessarily photographic. These
exhibitions will be open to the public on presentation of visiting-card on week-days, between 10
and 12 a.m., and 2 and 6 p.m.
The conception of the galleries is an extension of that of Camera Work and the Photo-
Secession generally, “a protest against the conventional conception of pictorial photography " ;
and in these little rooms one can see an epitome of the life-work of Alfred Stieglitz and his
collaborators. The immediate idea is to reach a larger public and present to them the very best
that has been done in photography. But the Secession is esoteric if it is anything, and altogether
apart from advertising to obtain this larger public, it seems almost to have made an effort to avoid
it. Aside from the few prospectuses already referred to, and a small and almost unnoticeable sign
on the street of No. 291 Fifth Avenue, there has been, and will be, made no endeavor to attract.
Those who love and understand and have the art-nose will find their way; those who do not
recognize art when they see her, although they may come and look if they like, are not
appealed to.
A further object of the “Little Galleries,, is the bringing out of new talent, of hitherto
unknown or ignored men ; and not merely is it intended to give young talented photographers an
opportunity to show what they can do, but painters and sculptors, as well as others, will have an
opportunity, the only requirement being that their art is art in the true sense of the word. The
nature and arrangement of the exhibitions will be decided upon by the whole council of the Photo-
Secession, neither one taking more part in its decisions than any other.
In its intention I know none like it in this country. It reminds me much of that of a certain
Frenchman (I am sorry that I can not remember his name this moment) who, recognizing what
great difficulties, and, in cases, almost insurmountable obstacles, were put in the way of young
painters by the wire-pulling and political methods of the Paris Salon, decided to give these young
men all the help they required to make themselves known. With this object in view he engaged
two or three small rooms in the Rue Druot in Paris — they were still there a few years ago — and
in them it was that Monet and Manet, and others made their debut.
There probably exists no country of importance in which such work is more necessary than in
our land. We are, par excellence, a race of big and little shopkeepers; our ideal is the utilitarian,
the commonplace our standard, and the conventional our goal. So I feel, and strongly, that any
fight against this bourgeoisie is the fight of all fights to be fought; and those who lead it should be
encouraged and helped in every possible way ; they should be welcomed as champions come to
the rescue. But such a fight as the " Little Galleries" propose is intensely difficult; for true art
can not advertise. It must stand aside and wait for the public to come to it; it must attract
through its inherent excellence (an almost mathematical impossibility in America) ; it must wait
for those who understand it to speak for it; it must, without protest, suffer the vilifications and
ridicule of the pseudo-artist, the pretender, and the Canaille.
Now, in speaking for these “Little Galleries," I can do so with a clear conscience, for I am
not a Secessionist. I am an entire outsider. It is their results and principles which I believe in.
But let me take you to the galleries and show you what they look like; you will then be able
to judge for yourself. The first thing that strikes one is the elevator; it is unpretentious in the
extreme — but effective — and takes us to the rooms at the top of the house. My sensations the
first time that I entered them were confusing and not easily described. I knew I had come to see
photographs, but the instant I was in their presence I forgot about photography. It did not seem
photography at all, nor even (with very few exceptions) black and white. It was a series of
sensations. I was in the fields and rambling through the brush ; the sun was brightly shining and
the wind gently blowing; I was transported into deep, cool shadows and startled by Rembrandt-
esque light; I saw the sun sinking in splashes of vermilion and gold. Then gray mists enveloped
me ; I was in the twilight, the lamplight, and the night. For a long time I wandered through
the rooms, unconscious that there were others there. Suddenly a voice awakened me. " How
do you like our illumination ? ’’it asked. I had never noticed it; I had forgotten that it was
evening, and that there must be some kind of light; I had never seen the series of beautiful electric
lights that by their quality and disposition gave such a natural illumination that you did not notice
36