Why Photography Criticism Matters
When we look at a photograph described as a “masterpiece,” why do we consider it good—or why do we disagree? Photography criticism does not prescribe a single correct answer. It helps us understand the work, the photographer, and the historical context, while gradually developing our own judgment through looking, research, and expression.
In my second year of learning photography, I felt that my photography had reached its end. Looking back now, it was not really the end, but at the time it placed me under unprecedented pressure. To some extent, everyone feels that they should not simply repeat the paths taken by others, but should continue exploring the boundaries of photography. The hardest question, however, is often where to begin.
And are these photographs by the “masters” really good? Why do so many people praise them when I do not see what is good about them? How should I respond when others admire them? Should I follow the crowd and say, “Yes, I also think this master’s photographs are excellent”? Or should I remain silent? I often found myself caught in this dilemma, but my intuition told me there had to be a way out.
To answer these questions, I bought several books on photography, including Annie Leibovitz at Work, The Nature of Photographs, and Photography Today. Yet after reading them, I was left with a sense of emptiness: “Their work is good—even if I sometimes do not understand why—but what does that have to do with me? No matter how hard I try, I could never do that.” Or: “I could take a photograph like this too, so how can it be a good photograph?” “It is only considered good because too many people praise it.”
Then I thought about how, when we visit exhibitions or look at paintings, we read the curator’s introduction and art criticism. Photography, too, should have its own criticism.
01 - Art Criticism
Once I arrived at this simple thought, I suddenly understood: “The answer had been close to me all along; I simply had not seen it.” I began looking again at photographs I liked and disliked, while searching for what other people had written about them.
Before discussing photography criticism, however, we first need to consider why criticism matters.
Some people may regard criticism as empty talk: “It has no practical value. It cannot carry you down the road or fill your stomach. It is merely mutual flattery within an elite circle.” This view is not entirely wrong. Early art, especially before the Renaissance, primarily served royalty, aristocracy, and religion, because only those people and institutions could support artists. Ordinary people neither understood art nor needed to understand it, so art remained far removed from their lives.
After the Renaissance, art gradually became more accessible, and more people came into contact with it. Even so, it remained difficult for many to understand. In response to the needs of money and the market, art dealers emerged, and one of their main roles was to discover promising artists. Established masters required little explanation: their artistic lineage and the works themselves were enough to demonstrate their value. As art became more public and more independent, an increasing number of artists entered the market. The demand for beauty continued to grow, and the prices of artworks were no longer always beyond ordinary reach.
At the same time, people discovered that neither every artwork nor its value was easy to understand. A work you considered extremely ugly might become a priceless object a few years later.
This is where art criticism became useful. On one hand, it supplemented the art market and formed a buffer between buyers and sellers. On the other, it assumed responsibility for educating the public and communicating aesthetic ideas. Art lovers and collectors could first read criticism, learn about an artist’s ideas and general methods, and then decide whether the work deserved their attention or investment.
Some may ask how this differs from the stock market. Art is supposed to stand above ordinary life, yet here it is being described in such worldly terms. From this perspective, an artist and their work really can resemble a stock, while critics resemble institutions, traders, or fund managers. Drawing on historical and market information, they tell clients whether a work is worth buying or investing in. If a work in your collection rises in value one day, they may even advise you to sell it and take the profit.
But I do not believe this contaminates art, nor do I believe art stands above everything else. Art belongs to the realm of spiritual pursuit, and spiritual pursuits can also be good or bad. Art is inclusive: it contains good things, bad things, and a considerable amount of posturing. Art itself, however, is neither good nor bad, and it is certainly not inherently elevated. To me, art is rather dispassionate.
Furthermore, although art criticism has a practical and sometimes self-interested dimension, I see no reason to be pessimistic about it. What in this world is entirely free of self-interest?
02 - The Meaning of Criticism
As society developed, more and more people wanted to participate in artistic production and the art market. Alongside criticism with practical interests—which, once again, is not necessarily a bad thing—more people began to take part in criticism itself. Art magazines gave many people a medium through which to express their views on art and individual works. In my view, whatever the position may be, a considered opinion that has been expressed can constitute criticism.
Even before discussing “critical technique” or “knowledge of art history,” the act of criticism has value in itself.
The art market can be compared to a produce market, with art criticism resembling the many calls heard among its stalls. The person calling out may be a vendor praising their own produce; they may be a food expert walking through the market; or they may be someone shopping for the family dinner. If the market were completely silent, shoppers would probably find it strange, walk around once, and leave for another market.
But imagine the stallholders calling out enthusiastically, a food expert tasting seafood delivered that morning and recommending one particular stall, while another shopper quietly warns you not to buy rice from the shop by the entrance because too many grains have gone bad. Such a scene feels reassuring because it is a lively market capable of circulating information, attention, and value.
A market capable of this circulation is important. Look closely at Western art and photography magazines and you will find many critics. They sometimes argue over conflicting views, and the works produced by artists can sometimes appear immature. Yet the market as a whole remains active: some people create, some sell, and others criticize.
Looking back at China, the market seems remarkably quiet. Whether something is good or bad is usually decided by a small number of people, while most others remain indifferent to the critical environment. Beyond indifference, there is often no voice at all. This silence is one reason why the value attached to corresponding art forms—including photography—remains low.
China does have professional magazines and a professional market, of course, but they are so specialized that ordinary people feel art is very far away. Artistic expression is difficult and requires technique. Yet although works may ultimately differ in quality and maturity, expression itself does not require an entry qualification. If professional artists and the art market deliberately place themselves above the public and maintain their distance, they will naturally fail to win public affection. The art market will remain marginal and may even provoke resentment.
Nor do I think this is entirely the fault of professionals. Art requires economic support, and the overall economy has not been strong for very long. Not everyone wishes to engage with art; for many people, putting food on the table remains more important. But as society develops and economic conditions improve, more people begin to seek beauty. How, then, should those who wish to approach beauty learn to understand it? This is where criticism is needed.
Someone might object: “Today Van Gogh’s paintings are considered great and extremely valuable, but critics at the time considered them worthless. This proves that criticism does not necessarily guide people and may have no value.” My view is that both successful and unsuccessful criticism matter. Failure does not mean an absence of value. It may show that one direction has reached its limit, thereby opening space for other possibilities. Besides, were Van Gogh’s works not rediscovered through later criticism? Almost nothing in the world exists entirely without commentary or judgment.
03 - How to Write Criticism
By this point, you may agree to some extent that writing criticism is important. But you may still ask: “I do not know the history of photography, and I am not good at writing. How am I supposed to write photography criticism?”
I do not think there is any need to place too much pressure on yourself. The conclusion of a critique is not the most important part; the process of attempting criticism is. It may even be said that once you have formed a considered point of view, you have already completed the most important part of criticism.
Not knowing a photographer or the history of photography does not prevent us from beginning. Understanding is itself a constantly changing process. We do not need to understand a photographer and their work completely at this moment, and we should also recognize that there is no standard answer to the interpretation of a work.
Take Daidō Moriyama, whom I often mention. Many people say, “His images have a powerful feeling, and everyone says they are excellent, but to me they look like random snapshots.” I do not think there is anything wrong with this interpretation. Before reaching a conclusion, however, it is still worth making some careful preparations.
Learn About the Photographer’s Background
Using Moriyama as an example, we can begin by learning about him ourselves instead of relying only on what other people say.
In 1958, Daidō Moriyama worked as a freelance graphic designer. Inspired by American photographer William Klein’s New York, he turned to photography. In 1959, he became an assistant to Takeji Iwamiya and studied photography. He moved to Tokyo in 1961, originally hoping to join the photographers’ collective VIVO, but the group had just dissolved, so he became Eikoh Hosoe’s assistant instead. In 1966, he opened a studio with Takuma Nakahira in Shibuya, Tokyo. In 1968, he participated in the second issue of the photography magazine Provoke and published the photobook Japan: A Photo Theater in the same year.
This is a brief biography of Moriyama that I found through Wikipedia. Even this short passage reveals many things that require further study. This is also why I do not believe we need to learn the history of photography from beginning to end as though reading a dictionary. We can begin with a photographer we like.
For example: Who was William Klein? What did he photograph in New York? Why is the work considered good? Who was Eikoh Hosoe? What did his work look like?
These are all questions worth exploring. You may continue asking, “Why is William Klein’s New York good?” or “How did Eikoh Hosoe make his photographs?” Gradually, you will discover many visible and hidden lines running through the history of photography. After following them, you begin to understand that these photographs—both in method and expression—were made with purpose.
Learn About the Work That Made Them Known
In 1999, the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art organized Stray Dog, a touring retrospective of Daidō Moriyama’s work, showing that his photographic style had gained recognition in the American art world. The exhibition later traveled to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Japan Society Gallery in New York. He held exhibitions in New York and London in 2002; the Fondation Cartier pour l’art contemporain presented a major retrospective in Paris in 2003; and the Tokyo Metropolitan Museum of Photography presented the retrospective Hawaii in 2008. His exhibitions have also appeared in cities including Cologne, Zurich, Amsterdam, Milan, and Oslo. In October 2012, Hong Kong hosted Reflection and Refraction: Daido Moriyama.
Here we encounter Stray Dog. We can buy a physical photobook or look online for scans and digital editions in order to experience the work as a complete sequence. Although I mention digital editions, I still recommend the physical book. Photography books are undeniably expensive for many people, so reading scans is a reasonable choice under real-world constraints. If you can afford it, however, I recommend experiencing the physical book whenever possible, because it offers something entirely different from a screen.
After looking through Stray Dog, we can continue asking:
- Why did the photographer choose this subject?
- What was his purpose in photographing it?
- What was his context, both socially and within the history of photography?
- Who inspired him?
And so on.
This process may even give you an entirely different understanding of what makes a “good photograph.”
Finally, I want to emphasize that I call the conclusion unimportant because everyone has the right to express a view. You may consider Moriyama’s work good, or you may consider it poor. The process, however, matters greatly. If you read nothing and make an arbitrary judgment based only on an overconfident impression, then even if your conclusion happens to match one reached through careful research, it has little value.
Interviews and Other Articles
At this point, you should already have some understanding of the photographer who interests you—Moriyama in this case—and you are less likely to respond to his work with the simple thought, “I could take that photograph too.” Even so, it may still feel too early to express your own view, and you may remain uncertain. It can therefore help to search online for interviews with Moriyama and for criticism written by others.
Here are two articles I found:
Read Autobiographical Writing
Many photographers write about their own creative practice as well as making photographs. Reading a photographer’s blog or books written in their own words can therefore be equally valuable.
04 - Photography Criticism
After completing these steps, you will know a great deal about the photographer. You may even have developed a relatively deep understanding of the photography of that period and of the related photographers. As a reading project, the process may sound long, but on closer inspection it consists mainly of searching for information online, reading articles, and watching videos. The list of steps may look substantial, but in practice it requires little more than a willingness to begin.
After all these steps, are we finally ready to write photography criticism? I would argue that, in one sense, we have already done so. Turning our understanding into an article or video would be even better, of course. But by this point, something has already changed in the way we look at the photographer, and an initial understanding of the photographer and the work has already taken shape in our minds. That understanding is itself a form of criticism.
“So this is why he made these photographs.” “Seen this way, these photographs really are remarkable.” Once we form an opinion like this, a small piece of criticism already exists. The moment we begin thinking in this way, we have taken the first step toward photography criticism.
More difficult questions may follow—and perhaps we may even give up photography altogether—such as: “How can I make photographs like these?” I do not have an answer, because I am still trying to find one myself.
But once we begin writing photography criticism, whatever its form or length, we have taken the first step in accumulating knowledge and judgment. The first step leads to many more, and those accumulated steps may eventually help us find a path of our own.