Camera Work: A Photographic Quarterly (1914 (Heft 47))

WHAT IS 291?

Gertrude Stein once asked me that question. I told her as best I could,

but I do not remember telling her adequately. Since that she has learned
herself more of its character and personality, for it has served her in quite
a similar way it has served so many of us who but for its interests and faith
might have continued unnoticed way out of time. When I think of what
America has been with “291” I am thinking how strange it would have
been without it. It stands unique—by itself. There is nothing anywhere—
not in Europe even—that is the equivalent of it. In Germany here there is,
of course, the Blaue Reiter which has for its object quite the same end, other-
wise there is nothing—not London, not Paris—and I am definitely certain
not any other public beside the American in general or the New Yorker in
particular knows of such an institution if this it may be called—as “291.”



It is difficult to know what the insider can say of “291 ”, for if he speak
at all he is in danger of being—carefully putting it—over interested. We
know how often it has been denounced as ridiculous, how for long it was con-
sidered by some as merely a pose—a kind of aesthetic affectation. It can
now be seen after lapses of time and experience and direct contact with it
that it no longer appears to any one as that ridiculous, and that, through a
fairer increase of tolerance and understanding many who once denounced are
now paying tribute more creditably. How it has dispensed with and made
absurd that feeble notion of the old gallery and dealer, by exposing at once
those who have appeared over its horizon as showing if not completely, at
least fragmentary signs of genuineness of talent or it might be genius, and in
nearly every instance how fair has been its eyesight, its judgment and how
unfailing its desire to be so. It has been and still is a kind of many headed
creature standing firm for every variety of truth and every variety of expres-
sion of the same. It has insisted since its birth and to its end is certain to
insist on that one essential, the tabooed “sincerity.” It has paid severe toll
for this ideal, precisely as any ideal pays heavily for the pursuance of its
desires, but it has survived all vicissitude, and the survival is splendid. It
has come of age and has shown intelligence from the day of its birth. It has
doubtless committed many of the so-called errors of youth and frailty, but if
there have been errors there has been likewise life and earnestness in them.
I do not as I say know what any one can say about “291.” Those who
know it with real intimacy speak seldomly about it actually, though often
of it, naturally. It is gratifying enough that there is now at least some de-
gree of spiritual sustenance achieved in the full faith of those who know it
well on that side of the ocean and of the pleasure that is expressed in the
knowledge of its work on this side. It is known in all quarters as a factor
in the development of modern art; it has literally contributed to the vigor-
ous growth of that. It has served the ideal and served it without qualifica-
tion other than the one of earnestness of purpose. Those who have not
known it intimately or well have from time to time with delight indulged
in petty blasphemy or in a fiercer scorn with here and there an incredible

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