Ever since I became interested in artistic photography -- which is now more than six or seven years ago -- I have been curious to gather the opinions of artists on the aims and methods of the new graphic art, and often during studio visits broached the subject instead of other current topics. I found the large majority rather ignorant of the subject, as they are to this day. They knew very little of what had been accomplished in recent years, and only in rare cases knew anything about individual workers -- Mrs. Käsebier, on account of her showcase on Fifth Avenue, being perhaps the best known.

To most of them -- the illustrative in particular -- it still seems impossible to disassociate photography from the prevailing ideas, that it can claim nothing -- interesting as it may be from many points of view -- but the virtues of a mechanical industry. They are apt to attribute every artistic effect to the mechanism of the camera and to accident, and entirely to overlook those points which in fairness should be allowed to be due to personal influence of the worker and the direct control of a tool which otherwise would take a different direction. The opinion of such men, indoctrinated with the fixed idea that nothing higher, nothing better is capable of being done by the photographer, can be of but little value to the profession and will not be mentioned on this occasion, although I have fought them in many a bitter battle.

The sole object of this photographic enquête -- as I may call it -- is to state the opinions of such artists as are capable of receiving an innovation without prejudice, or who at least feel that the recent efforts of artistic photography involve a claim which is honestly put forward, and deserve at least an honest an impartial examination.

The selection was difficult. Artists are, as a rule, not very good talkers. What can one do, for instance, with a man who has nothing but ejaculations, like "This is a bird," or "That's a peach," for words of approval! And those who express their opinions more fluently are often mediocrities, and therefore hardly desirable for quotation.

My choice has fallen on those of our leading sculptors and painters who had something individual to say, even if they treated the subject of photography with the amused condescension of men whose conception of art seems outraged by "so much resemblance and yet so great a difference."

I generally jotted down our conversations a few hours after they had taken place, and can therefore in most cases vouch for the correct wording (with the exception of course of awkward or unquotable mannerisms of speech). I also must mention that I often found it necessary to show them my portfolio of prints (containing the words of Ben-Yúsuf, Kasebier, Stieglitz, Eickemeyer, Day, White, Eugene, Steichen and others to put them in the mood to talk on the subject.

Fragments of the various conversations with commentary notes follow at random:

D. C.. French, the sculptor, is one of the few who is in absolute sympathy with the movement. His appreciation of artistic photography is long standing and he seems to realize the excellence of some of the works accomplished. Several prints decorate the walls of his studio, and I remember him saying years ago, when my knowledge was still rather limited, "that photography of this kind should be cultivated, for it was undoubtedly of great assistance in promoting the study of nature and in fostering a sound artistic taste."

Recently he rather amused me by saying, while turning over the prints of my portfolio: "No wonder that these men do such good work. I understand they are nearly all men of leisure, who photograph for a pastime. They have no cares, and have to make no effort to please. They do not seem to care a rap for the opinions of the public. That is delightful! And as for the mechanism of photography, of which people talk so much, I don't think it can be compared with that of sculpture. Think of the casting and recasting, the construction of skeleton forms and of iron pipes, etc., and all the dirt connected with it. There is mechanism enough for you. The photographers surely get their effects much more easily."

G. C. Barnard, the talented disciple of Rodin, an idealist of the first water, who always clamors for high art in his conversations, was rather evasive at the start in expressing an opinion.

"I have not given more than a passing attention to the graphic arts." But when I pressed him he ejaculated, with a faint smile on his lips, "What does it all amount to! It must be awful for you to write about such things. Yes, there may be certain beauties of tone, now and then a pleasing picture; but what of that! Cela n'en vaut pas la peine. Have they made an pictures of lasting value? What does not remain in one's memory and insist on being permanent is not worth remembering. They imitate and do not get beyond the elementary considerations of type, composition and detail. I really do not see any chance to great work in that line. You say they are honest and sincere in their efforts. These are merits that I appreciate. Perhaps a sculptor could after all learn something from them."

"Yes, to be sure, they do clever work," remarked W. M. Chase to me in his studio at Boussod Valadon, the walls of which are lines with stacks of pictures, of which comparatively few are his own, and which make it look as if the great technician was as much an art dealer as a painter. "Look at these photographs by an amateur, a Miss F______, are they not wonderful? This one looks just like a Velasquez. They are full of suggestion."

"But this technique is abominable," I interjected. "The young lady knows nothing about developing nor printing."

"That may be, but they are artistic nevertheless, and without any pretense of being called works of art. Photography of that sort is a great help to a painter. You probably are aware that Lenbach never painted a portrait without the help of photography."

"But do you not think that a photograph itself can be a work of art?"

"Oh! awfully clever work is done, no doubt; but I would make this discrimination; I would call them artistic and not works of art. And I for my part prefer unpretentious amateur work. Take for instance the case of the young lady. She enjoys making her photographs and her family and her friends enjoy them; it improves the taste all around, and even an artist can look at them with benefit. Photographers in my opinion should rest content with being amateurs, and they have a pretty wide field before them without extending the sphere of their activities."

"I want to have your opinion on artistic photography," I said to F. S. Church, the painter of the "Surf Phantom," the last time I called upon him. Laughingly he rejoined, "I know nothing of the subject, I only know the more I study painting the more ignorant I feel. But so much I can say in favor of photography that whenever I open a magazine I like those pictures best which are photographs. That is, as long as they reproduce actualities; for instance, scenes of the Boer war. No illustration can touch them. Every photograph means something, tells you something, instructs you; the illustrator merely gives you some imaginative fancy, which in such cases, where you want to know the truth, is absolutely valueless."

"But that is merely the lowest form of art, similar to reporting. What do you think of the chances of the camera for imaginative work?"

"I think the process too mechanical for a successful realization of the picturesque fancies of an artist. This would take away the power of the artist to give shape to his own convictions and to present them in persuasive guise, and would make the efforts of the artist photographer ineffectual. To expose his imaginings to the uncertainties of a mechanical process would be to destroy their credibility, to make them affectations."

"You mean you could not photograph a picture like your 'Surf Phantom.'"

"Nor a picture like Ryder's 'Flying Dutchman.' You may depend on that."

"Of course they can only do certain things. But you can't deny that the works of a White or a Kasebier show a decided imaginative strain?"

"I won't deny that, they have talent. But it also takes talent to be a good shoemaker -- which is perhaps more satisfactory, as he can realize what he wants to do. The photographer can't, and the more artistic talent he has, the less he can realize. The subjects which the camera can master are mightily limited, I fear."

Childe Hassam, the impressionist and street painter par excellence, took great pleasure in looking over my collection.

"It is astonishing what they do. But at the same time I can't comprehend why they strive so much for high finish. Photography surely could produce impressionistic scenes more easily than they can be rendered in other mediums. The camera is so inaccurate in its work. Think only of the chances of accidents, often marvelously artistic. I do not say this because I am an impressionist myself, but because the camera has the advantage, that its reproduction of instantaneousness -- there is a work like that, isn't there -- is mechanical."

George de Forest Brush I met one day when he was just leaving the house with his two eldest children to take them to the circus.

"What have you there?" he asked, pointing to my portfolio. I handed it to him, he looked it over hastily on the stoop, then handing it back to me we walked down the street together, and he said:

"These are queer times. Perhaps we shall have to accept new ideals of beauty. Maybe the East River bridges will be aesthetically attractive to the man of the coming generation as the Parthenon appeared all-sufficient to our forefathers, and that the convention of monochrome will be deemed more satisfying than painting."

"Yes, it is a risky thing to speculate on a contemporary's chance of future fame," I remarked.

"To-day is essentially a time when mean things are done so finely that future ages may refer to it as a period when the minor arts attracted the genius and energy diverted, by modesty or timidity, from heroic enterprises. So as we collect Whistler's lithographs, and pay thousands for a piece of porcelain or some other article, it may be other ages will pass by our pictures and poems with a smile of contempt, and collect artistic photographs such as these with keen interest. And nature, who is herself perfect in trifles as in entities, is not wholly wronged thereby. But there is my car; we will talk another time more about it, I hope."

With D. W. Tryon I had several conversations on the subject. These are some of the things he said:

"Eugene knows how to get color, but he absolutely lacks repose. Some of his portraits are more interesting than any I have seen in the recent painters' exhibitions, but that doesn't say much, as most of these are so ridiculously bad."

Then referring to Day's, White's, and Käsebier's work: "I don't see why they reproduce such unsympathetic types. There is no spirituality and but little intelligence in them. It is a real conspiracy of ugliness. I also do not like their modes of modification. Photography surely aims at something else than draftsmanship and all which that word implies. And yet I do not fancy the ordinary photograph either. Do you remember Leighton's tree studies? In them no detail was stinted, nothing skimped, from the stem to the uttermost leaf; every part in succession records equal interest, and yet the whole is not devoid of a large quality which brings it together in a harmonious whole, so that it is as much the study of a tree as the study of each separate item composing one. Photography can't do that.

"Every good artist fully appreciates the value of different mediums. The photographer has one decided advantage, he gets at the very start so much what we artists can only gain by strenuous work. But that is perhaps also his greatest drawback. He can only retouch what he has on hand. He cannot gradually grow into the subject, and imbue it with a strong personal note. He has no equivalent for the individual touch of the artist, to make the arm, the wrist, the finger-tips do what the eyes see and the soul dictates from minute to minute, from day to day until the ideal is realized. The artist is, above all else, very human; herein lies his great charm. The photographer can never be in such perfect sympathy with his subject as the artist.

"I always considered it possible that some day the dislike of color may grow so strong -- from too subtle a perception of it -- that artists, despairing of ever putting down the light and vibration of natural color, will prefer to leave it to the imagination of students of their work. A new graphic art would be necessary for that, but I do not think that photography could ever take that place. Photographs seen in masses, even the very best, are awfully fatiguing, for they all lack subtlety, they never vibrate."

With Thomas W. Dewing, who as a painter of women has no rival, unless it be the famous delineator of feminine charms, Alfred Stevens -- I had one of the hottest arguments.

"Do not these points demonstrate that beauty of form, color, design, and draftsmanship, exquisite balance of line arrangement, and consummate skill of handling, are all possible in a photograph?" I argued, trying to be as enthusiastic as possible.

"What you have shown me to-day is more promising than anything I have seen before. But, hang it, it is the model that does everything in photography. It is surely clever arrangement; that is all it amounts to. If you have a model that knows how to move, you can make a good picture -- there you are!"

"But do not you also need a special type of model for your pictures?" I queried, throwing a side glance at his model, one of those long-necked ethereal looking girls of thirty, which he never grows tired of painting.

"Naturally, but the photographer cannot get away from his model, a banale inaccurate likeness, so to speak, while I merely use one as a suggestion. No, I don't admire pictures that simply look like something because the photographer happens to know a good looking model. The true artist gets his effects he does not know how."

"But if a man like Whistler would take to photography?" I asked."

"He might do something; but it is absurd. A man like Whistler would never have the patience to photograph. And if he had bothered with photography, when he was a young man, he would never have become a Whistler afterwards. The practice of photography would induce a man to shirk certain duties, as to make life studies, etc. But a Whistler would have done something original and not imitated paintings, the old masters. Don't they know better? It is a dangerous play that has wasted the time of painters for about two centuries."

"But you like some of these pictures, you said so yourself a few minutes ago."

"Yes, they show taste, they are clever -- they are better than the pictures of many artists -- but they are just like reproductions on the surface, dead!" You know yourself that they do not suggest any emotions or recall any memories of past experiences, of love, poetic thoughts, etc. They have nothing new to say, so they look at a landscape or pose a beautiful model and think they have done something wonderful."

"They at least help to improve public taste," I argued.

"Nonsense! Hang the educational value business altogether," exclaimed Mr. Dewing impatiently. We have heard enough of that kind of rot lately to last us for the rest of our natural lives. What is the value of art, anyhow? Nothing but the pleasure of making it. If it gives them pleasure to make such stuff, well and good."

"Then what do you think a photographer should photograph?"

"Real life. All that the painter cannot do or only with great difficulty. Likenesses not only of faces, but of the actual forms. Movement, character, energy, all that which the realistic painters depict, subjects which really have no longer any place in painting. They could render the prosaic phases in a more artistic manner. The ordinary illustrations raised to a higher standard, that is what their aim should be, and it is a very high one. They could make it a true art, which everybody had to admire, and which would in no way interfere with imaginative art, which is the domain of poetry and painting."