By Aperturius
The United States of America has gone through its share of growing pains since its inevitable and glorious creation. When you’re a young upstart who’s trying to show the world that you can “outcompete with anybody,” as good ol’ George W. Bush might say, you’ll do a lot of things to try and call attention to yourself. Inventions like the automobile, the atomic bomb, and Wonder bread not only convinced other nations to take America seriously, but also struck fear in the hearts of many (especially the Wonder bread). By the beginning of the 20th century, America was a wealthy, healthy, super-strong country that could hold its own in every category except one: the arts.
Anyone who was anyone in the art world went to Europe to study his craft. It was common knowledge that if you hadn’t spent at least six months in Paris, eating croissants and painting nude women along the Seine with Renoir and Degas, well my dear sir, you were not truly an artist. And if you were a photographer?? Don’t even get me started. Those who can’t do, teach, and those who can’t paint, photograph, and that’s just the way it is. However, there was one brave, talented, and unbelievably arrogant man who thought about art differently. His name was Alfred Stieglitz, and he prepared a four-pronged approach to change art in America forever. Step one: make photography an art form unto itself. Step two: expose skeptical Americans to modern European artists. Step three: help out emerging American artists with fresh ideas. And most importantly, step four: get jiggy with Georgia O’ Keeffe.
Alfred Stieglitz was a German immigrant born to wealthy parents. He lived in New York City, which would eventually grow to become the new center for any-and-everything pretentious. In the 1890s though, it was still a growing metropolis with immigrants fresh off the boat, ideas fresh in their minds, and horse manure fresh in the middle of the street. Stieglitz was a budding photographer, stuck in the popular style of the time called “pictorialism.” These photographs tried to rip off romantic-style painting with soft focus, dramatic lighting, and swooning nude models, like a tastefully done Playboy spread minus the airbrushing. Stieglitz tapped into his parents’ bank account to open his own gallery, Gallery 291, where he displayed his own photographs and the works of other artists he deemed worthy, which was not many. However, he was very generous to the artists he liked. Stieglitz had a philosophy which artists today wish more dealers had: why spend money on artwork from artists who are long dead, when there are artists working today who could really use the cash? Hear, hear.
However, ol’ Alfred was pretty fickle when it came to his friends. He had his own ideas on what art should be, and if you didn’t follow him along like a trained puppy dog (or maybe one of those cats that “paint”) you were apt to be cast aside to become a caricature artist on the corner once again. If you wanted to follow Stieglitz and collect the crumbs he tossed you, your photography had to be “straight.” No manipulation, no painting over things, just an image printed directly from a negative taken directly from the camera. If he was alive today, Stieglitz would take a crap on your Photoshop. He began a very influential magazine called Camera Work in 1903, where he published his and his friends’ (Edward Steichen, Paul Strand) photos under the umbrella of something he called the “photo-secession.” What does Photo-Secession mean? Mostly it means “pretentious crap,” but it also just gets the point across that photography is an art form unto itself - just as valid as painting - and you don’t have to dress it up to make it look like something it’s not. Some art critics bought it. Many did not. Some of them still have issues with photography as art. Idiots.
This was around the time that Stieglitz had enough with stupid Americans and their complete lack of culture. He opened shows at Gallery 291 with works by artists like Picasso, Matisse, Cezanne, Rodin – you know, nothing special – and the American critics acted like he just pissed on the floor and called it art, not realizing that this would not happen until the 60’s and Andy Warhol. The critics hated the work, calling it unfinished, ugly, and the scribblings of madmen. This was the first showing in America for many of these artists, and obviously we weren’t ready for it yet. Hardly any pieces sold (the only Picasso that sold was a drawing he made when he was twelve years old), and the rest were shipped back to Europe. Stieglitz was crushed, but was still determined to slap America in the face until they got the point. He began showing paintings by American artists like John Marin and Arthur Dove, and although these were just as abstract as the foreign stuff, they were much more warmly received. Everyone loves a homegrown boy. A couple years later, another gallery in NY had a large European show, and suddenly the same artists that couldn’t get the time of day from critics in Stieglitz’s show were the cat’s meow. Alfred was just way too early to the party.
In the mid-1910s, Stieglitz met an eager young artist named Georgia O’Keeffe. Apparently Stieglitz was eager too, because they soon began an affair and were later married. Both artists created numerous works; O’Keeffe painted sexy-looking flowers, and Stieglitz photographed sexy-looking O’Keeffe. He produced thousands of photos of her, like a paparazzo with carte blanche. Talk about a muse. Other than her and some other photos of clouds he called “Equivalents,” Stieglitz did not shoot often and displayed his own work even less. He dedicated the rest of his life to helping other American artists, summering at Lake George, and looking at nude O’Keeffe. Not a bad life.
In summary, a lot of the modern art you and your friends don’t understand may not have been introduced to America were it not for Alfred Stieglitz. Also, photography might never have made the leap from “artist’s and newspaper’s friend” to an all-out art form. Stieglitz paved the way for everything from Dada’s toilets and bicycle wheels to Mapplethorpe’s photos of gay men pissing into each other’s mouths. And what kind of world would it be without these expressions of artistic genius?
Images in order of appearance:
“Alfred Stieglitz and Georgia O’Keeffe,” photograph, 1944.
“The Steerage,” Alfred Stieglitz, photograph.
“Blind,” Paul Strand, photograph, 1916.
“Brooklyn Bridge,” John Marin, watercolor, 1912.
“Georgia O’Keeffe,” Alfred Stieglitz, photograph, 1918.
In the most recent election, the most populous state in the union, with the most electoral votes (55), comprising 20% of the total needed to be elected, was completely ignored by both candidates. Why? Because we were a sure thing for the Democratic party. And sure enough, we delivered over 6 million votes (54% of the total) to John Kerry. What state am I talking about? You guessed it; that crazy, left-wing, hippy commune of no-good Hollywood actors and has-beens—California. 
The fight over marijuana:
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The fight over abortion:
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