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

Ye Dealers, ye Critics all, listen: can you imagine yourselves at the head
of such a “Business Enterprise’’ which is totally bereft of tall “business
routine,” without funds, minus pink tea festivals to tender to prospective
“connoisseurs,” a place just a few feet square, a place where there are no
“ deals,” no “ bargains,” no prizes, no prices ? No surprises, etc., etc., but shock
upon shock galore. Critic, Dealer, all of you; out with your garbage recep-
tacles, “291” is interested to be sure, as of old; for every time it lifts the
“lid” from off the garbage can to “see”; it gets into trouble, and everybody
is then “introducing” themselves and we all know what is happening. It
is good we are living in an age, when “lid” lifting is a specialty. “291” is a
specializer—.
The penitent hour is arrived—. The age of “Confessions.” Better while
an hour or so in communion with the giants, the paranoiacs. The wild ones,
even the monkeys. Seek and ye will find the little “shrine” without even
the aid of a sign-post, “guide” or even a “Bouncer” in military trappings.
The spirit of “291 ” challenges all of you, so bring your “art” notions, critics
all, and dealer remember “yours” also; I mean your “wares” of the various
storages, out with “them” for life’s sake, for contrasts. I am sure it is over
the precipice with you and “yours”—.
“Art” the corpse, the Lie; O! frail mangled frame, frame famed shadow
box—chatterbox! Here you lie a wreck of blasted hopes prostrate as I stand
o’er you and watch, indifferently wielding, the tiny instrument of torture,
“I” standing face to face with Truth, with “truths”; with Love, with
“loves;” with Proof, with “proofs;” with Life, with “lives”; for Art is Life!
but “art” is Dead, dead, dead, hastened its own destruction; Life Is.
In perfect “exhaustion” I turn to sleep, to dream; to listen, silently and
long, long, only, only to “dream”—?
A “new” sun rises, a greater sun rises, brings the greater document, the
document of “documents.”—Photography dreams on, forgives all; weathers
all; a stir! A Revelation, I press close—and find. It is the find of my life.
The Sun Is High—“291.”
E. ZOLER

Dear Stieglitz:
In re-reading what I first wrote about the Secession I have felt that it
did not really express the impression that “291” makes upon me and has
made upon me from the beginning. Every time I think of it, it is not art,
but humanity that comes most strongly up in my thoughts—humanity in a
ferment—and therefore the following best expresses what I feel in regard
to the little place where so many big events have transpired:
“29/”—A human vortex. J. N. Laurvik

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