Camera Work: A Photographic Quarterly (1911 (Heft 33))

WHAT REMAINS

THE photographic exhibition at the Albright Art Gallery is a thing of the
past. There are many rooms in that white marble mansion and they
will be devoted as heretofore to the display of art in all its varied aspects.
But its hospitable doors may never swing open again for a similar array of pho-
tographic prints. It was not an ordinary exhibition, this November show at Buffa-
lo. It was a conquest, the realization of an ideal. Its triumph will rarely be
repeated and even if repeated will assume a different aspect. It is not my
intention to dwell upon any official reports of this successful venture. It is not
a question of favorable comments or the number of visitors that availed them-
selves of the intellectual treat. They fail to tell the story. May it suffice to say
that the general consensus of opinions agreed that pictorial photography had
never been presented to the public in so effective, comprehensive and
beautiful a manner. I endorse this estimate with absolute sincerity. I have
seen numerous exhibitions, photographic and otherwise, but I do not remem-
ber any which excelled this one in clarity and precision of presentation. This
is now a matter of history and its harmony of lines, the charm of its individual
exhibits, and the artistic excitement which was evident in assembling them, is
merely a memory.
After hearing a symphony the score remains. After seeing a play the text
remains. An exhibition, as soon as it is dispersed, leaves nothing but the
general impression and a few cherished recollections, that we may realize again
only according to their original sensitiveness and strength.
What is it that remains of the exhibition ? Of what significance is
photography artistically in these days of eclectic art expressions ? This, I main-
tain, is what interests the true lover of photography most of all. Questions
like these have nothing to do with the style of presentation, of mounting,
hanging and the exquisite proportions of the exhibition halls. It is the print
itself, stripped of all embellishment, and the eye, brain and hand behind it
which must tell the story.
I believe the old cry “art for art” has become meaningless. That some
pictorialists have fashioned for themselves a personal mode of expression is
an established fact. The victory over the photographic bureaucracy has been
won long ago. It needs no further argument. We have learnt that a photo-
graphic print can be a thing of beauty aside from reference to any subject it
portrays. The high average of excellence throughout the exhibit was astound-
ing as it was exquisite.
Now, as heretofore, the pictorial army is divided in two camps, the
Demachy-Eugene-Steichen camp who favor painter-like subjects and treat-
ment, and the Stieglitz-White-Craig-Annan class who flock around the standard
of true 'photographic themes and texture. The camp of the former, true
evidently, becomes more and more deserted, the old flag hangs limp and the
fires burn low—only the dense and indifferent public, which is always behind
the time, begins to patronize what was popular ten years ago. But in the rank
and file the old feuds are forgotten. The artist who rose at dawn and measured

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