What is a good photograph?

A Dreamy Early Morning. This photograph was submitted to three photo contest (one as a B/W version) and won an honorable mention in each.

Sometimes you know a good photograph just by looking at it. But how do you know that what you know is right? After all, how can one really know what a good photograph is? We can expand this question even further and ask: How do we know what good art is?

This question leads us into a deep philosophical, social, and economic trap related to the definition of art. Personally, it interests me on two levels.

First, as an evolutionary psychologist—someone who has studied both animal and human behavior and has specialized in communication—I’ve been intrigued by the role of art at the interface between personal and mass human communication. I used the question “What is art?” to close the courses I taught at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and at the University of Haifa, entitled “On the Evolution of Interpersonal Communication.” I was also invited twice to speak about this at the Israel Museum in Jerusalem.

Second, there is my subjective point of view as a photographer and creator who is trying to evaluate my own work as well as the work of others.

As an evolutionary psychologist specializing in animal and human communication, it seems productive to divide art’s definition and social roles into three categories:

(1) Art is a tool for self-expression

This is the first foundation of art. The emotional and cognitive views and thoughts of the creator are expressed during the creation process and may leave detectable traces in the final product.

The creator has the freedom to experiment—letting thoughts and feelings come and go or stay during the work—or to let curiosity and exploration of shapes, colors, and tools leak into, or even dominate, the process. The creator can be completely free of concerns about what others might think, or partially or totally imprisoned by such thoughts, depending—for example—on the intended use of the work. In photography, this exploratory process may be expressed through a series of photographs rather than a single image.

That is why children draw or sculpt (e.g., in sand) even if they are not Van Gogh, Picasso, or Michelangelo. They do it simply because it makes them feel good. Adults also draw, sculpt, work in ceramics, take photographs, sing, dance, or write because it gives them a tool for creative thinking and emotional expression—or a chance to forget and get rid of worries and anxiety—with the freedom to let internal streams of feeling and thought flow uninterrupted. Photography, as a quick documentary tool, has another special emotional and/or rational value: its immediate potential to preserve memories.

Yet adults are more careful than children because they are more aware of social criticism. For this reason, adults are more wary and often avoid creating when it is not functional—or they may do the opposite and become more eager to receive reinforcement and appreciation from others. Hence, adults tend more than children to consciously learn tools and rules that help them understand what is “correct” or “acceptable,” what helps them create “better” artwork, and to become more judgmental about their own work or that of others. One way or another, fundamentally, this type of art is first and foremost personal and may have personal value for its creators. Psychologists and therapists who practice art therapy and phototherapy use art as a tool for better understanding their patients. They may be helped further by understanding the balance between the creator’s need to express and the freedom to create, in the face of the obstacles that such freedom encounters.

(2) Art is used for interpersonal communication

In the beginning… Art as a communication tool has existed ever since Homo sapiens made the first tools—or painted skin with mud, ochre, and the like. It is very likely that singing, dancing, or playing (such as mimicking animals or other humans) predates that, although such practices left no records for us to find in archaeological sites. The value of this type of art lies in its use by the creator to convey information directly to others—about skills, talent, physical condition, wisdom, personal experience, or emotional world—or to convey information about the outer world: what, where, and how, or a narrative with an educational role or a lesson.

Since art conveys information to others, it has evolved within the dynamics of communication. When people react to that information, the creator is tempted to develop the work further—perhaps making it more precise, more emphasized, or more extroverted—in order to gain additional social rewards. This may often be a conscious decision.

Personae. A photograph that won honorable mentions in the two competitions in which it competed.

(3) Art as an economic asset

Art is hard to understand unless we make a clear distinction between art as a tool for self-expression and art as an economic asset. Art as personal expression may or may not have economic value. To acquire such value, it must go through stages of scrutiny, criticism, and judgment by experts who ask: Is anyone willing to pay for this work, and how much?

Here, psychologists’ role in evaluating art tapers off and is replaced by art historians, curators, art critics, and judges, as well as museum owners and collectors who use artwork either as an economic investment or as a showcase for their economic status and/or their emotional or intellectual sophistication. They are the ones who assign the artwork its economic value.

Is a photograph—or any artwork—necessarily “better” if someone is willing to pay a higher price for it? Of course not. Two reasons lead me to this conclusion. First, our gut feeling resists admitting it might be true. Second, fashion and trendiness play a significant role in assessing an artwork’s economic value. We would like to believe that a work’s price is directly related to its artistic value, but we cannot maintain that belief unless we have an absolute and objective measure of artistic value. The catch is that we do not have any. So instead we rely on experts’ judgment or on the judgment of people willing to risk investing their money—and we allow the public relations surrounding an artwork or artist to become crucial, whether it is the artist’s PR or that of the curator, critic, or collector. After all, there is money involved. The risk is that the process that determines an artwork’s value includes built-in imprecision.

In this regard, it is fascinating to consider one of the greatest forgery scandals in the history of art: the fake paintings that passed through the Knoedler Gallery in New York. They were sold for a total of about 80 million USD—through error and fraud—as previously unknown works by some of the greatest mid-20th-century artists: Rothko, Pollock, Warhol, and others. Experts mistakenly believed many of these paintings were genuine until further investigation revealed that all of them were created by a Chinese painter, Pei-Shen Qian. Qian—who apparently could not achieve economic success in the U.S.—was recruited by crooks to paint them and later managed to escape to China. The betrayed collectors were left with paintings they had bought for millions of dollars that suddenly became worthless.

A forgery of a Rothko painting, supposedly a new, unknown painting.

.Which, of course, raises the question: What is that thing of value? Is it the artwork, or is it the name of its creator, the artist? In other words: Does celebrity have a value?

Which, of course, raises the question: What is the thing of value—the artwork, or the name of its creator? In other words: Does celebrity have value?

The answer is almost self-evident: of course celebrity has value—and a crucial one. This value is expressed in both financial and artistic appreciation, and it often comes together with reputation and credibility, though exceptions exist.

However, that is not the only factor. Every successful artist has works that are valued more than others financially, which implies that other processes are also at work in determining value. The official reason is, of course, “artistic value,” and that brings us back to the dynamics of appreciation and evaluation—while recognizing that successful artists are granted higher initial credit.

Not all types of public relations have the same power to create value. Some forms of celebrity are considered “higher” and more important among collectors and among those who determine artistic and economic value; others are considered “lower.” For example, Facebook celebrity is not generally seen as important enough to determine an artwork’s economic or artistic value. Reactions to photos shared on Facebook are influenced by the relationships the creator has with viewers—sometimes even through reciprocal “likes”—more than by the quality of the images, and commenters are not professionals in the art industry. Therefore, their opinion is usually considered worthless in the eyes of professional evaluators (unless, I would insist, there is money in it!).

The Value of a Photograph

So how can I know how good my photography is? Is there any objective measure? And above all: what interests the ordinary person or the beginning creator? If I’m not a recognized artist, is there a way to assess the quality of my photography independent of economic value—and therefore also independent of public relations?

The answer is that it is possible, in part, by subjecting it to relatively objective judgment. So let’s talk for a moment about photography contests. There are many of them—though most are financial businesses. Most charge a fee per submitted photo, and there is often a large gap between total revenue and the prizes awarded. Nevertheless, many contests also have artistic pretensions and judges who are professionals; in more significant competitions, the panels may include well-known curators, photo critics, and even renowned photographers. For this reason, major contests attract many participants, and both the level of submitted work and the level of judging can be very high.

Each contest has a small number of winners—usually up to three per category. It is very difficult to win a competition to which thousands or tens of thousands of photographs are submitted, many of them excellent. Even if your photography is very good, unless your image truly stands out in subject or creative execution, the decision can be almost arbitrary.

In addition to awards, many photographs are also highlighted with a commendation, whether the title is “Honorable Mention” or “Nomination” (depending on the competition). Roughly ten percent of submissions may be selected under this heading. These recognitions provide a sense of value to a wide audience of participants and motivate them to continue submitting work.

Pigeon. A photograph that was submitted to one photography contest, and was awarded an honorable mention.

If you won, then you won. That result has value: it makes an artistic statement and confers a degree of visibility—especially if your photograph won the entire competition, which is a more significant achievement. But if you didn’t win—or if you “only” received a commendation—does that mean the photograph is not good enough? Should you give it up for future contests?

Not so fast. It’s worth remembering how many best-selling books were rejected repeatedly before publication. Catch-22—one of the most popular books ever—famously accumulated many rejections. Harry Potter received 12 rejections before it found a publisher, and so on. So how do you know?

One practical answer is the attention a work receives from professionals. For example, a photograph that wins a commendation in more than one competition has received attention that exceeds the statistics and is therefore meaningful—especially if it wins several awards.​

The Photos of this Post

This post includes one photographic work that I submitted to two different international contests and that was awarded an honorable mention in both, and one that I submitted to three contests and that received an honorable mention (or equivalent) in all three. Statistically, these are appreciated photographs. Below them is a photo submitted once; it passed the test once and won, i.e., with a higher chance of having done so by chance than winning twice or three times. The bottom photo was submitted to two different contests and didn’t win either.

Black and White. A photograph that was submitted to two photography contests and did not win in either of them. The thin gap?

If you believe in your photography and think it is good, stick with it. Confidence matters. A photograph can be a great work of art even if it has no financial value and has not received the attention it may deserve. Pay attention to signs that strengthen your appreciation of your work, but don’t forget photography’s first function: it is your tool of expression. As such, it may be the most important value—the one that draws you to create more and more.

Finally, a small but significant footnote: I have been dealing here with the question of whether a photograph is good, not whether a photographer is good—which is a separate question. This post was not intended to ask that. However, it is precisely to get answers to that question—and to become better photographers—that people go to art and photography schools: to rub shoulders with people whose opinions count, to learn ways of seeing, and to receive relatively objective feedback free from personal interest. This is easier at top institutions, which can afford to provide independent, opinionated, sometimes harsh criticism without fearing the financial cost of discouraging students. On the other hand, this is also where a positive opinion from influential teachers can push an artist further along the road.