ALFRED STIEGLITZ

In 1888 the Eastman Kodak Co., casting about for an advertising slogan to sell its product, came up with "You press the button, we do the rest." The slogan worked and, with a little help from the corner druggist, cameras sold. George Eastman's success was a bitter pill for a 24-year-old photographer named Alfred Stieglitz Stieglitz was not selling a competing product; he was coveting recognition for photography, in particular, his photography, as art. Stieglitz was not to win his battle for 35 years. To be sure, during those years Stieglitz was a world famous photographer, exercising a vast degree of influence on a serious photography and considerable amount on painting. But, until 1923, no major American art museum considerable photography enough of an art to include prints in its collections.

In that year the Boston Museum of Fine Arts asked Stieglitz for a set of photographs to inside in its print collection. Early in 1924 Stieglitz sent the Museum 27 prints. The Museum collection now numbers 69 photographs, which are all on display this week. They begin with his early period in Berlin, and trace his artistic progression throughout his career.

Stieglitz had gone to Berlin to study engineering, but one day day he noticed a camera in a store window. He went inside and bought it. From that time, the camera "fascinated me, first as a passion, then as an obsession," Stieglitz wrote later. "The camera was waiting for me by predestination and I took to it as a musician takes to a piano or a painter to canvas. I found I was master of the elements, that I could work miracles...."

This fascination with the camera's potential is evident in all Stieglitz's early prints. In "Sun Rays--Paula--Berlin" (1899), he was seized with the camera's ability to capture the texture of wallpaper and the bands of light broken by a venetian blind. In his enthusiasm, the young Stieglitz photographed at night and in the rain--things he had been told were impossible.

From 1902 to 1917, Stieglitz spent more time fighting for photography as art than actually photographing. "Every Tom, Dick, and Harry could, without trouble, learn to get something or other in a sensitive plate, and this is what the public wanted--no work and lots of fun," he complained. He formed a group of artistic photographers aptly named "Photo-Secession," and set out to win for photography the recognition he desired. Steiglitz demanded that members be not only outstanding artists but also faithful adherents to his ideological crusade. His weapon was his quarterly magazine, Camera Work, over which he presided from 1903 to 1917.

In 1917 Stieglitz met the painter Georgia O'Keeffe, whom he married the next year. His portraits of her, 15 of which are exhibited at the Fine Arts, are nothing short of brilliant. His portraits of other people, by comparison, are disappointing. The reason for this disparity is simple: for Stieglitz, the photographic protrait is a part of possessing someone. It begins at birth, continues throughout life and death, and then begins again with the subject's child. Everything is photographed--hands, feet, torsos, moods, emotions. Stieglitz came close to such photographic possession only with his wife.

Stieglitz became much more abstract in his later years. Told by some friends that he owed the quality of his pictures as much to his subjects as to himself and wanting to test the extent of his creative ability, Stieglitz turned to photographing clouds. "I wanted to photograph clouds to find out what I had learned in 40 years about photography. Through clouds to put down my philosophy of life--to show that my photographs were not due to subject matter--nor special privileges, clouds were there for everyone--no tax on them yet--free." He called these pictures "Equivalents" because he saw them as equivalent to his philosophy of life. In addition to hundreds of Equivalents, Stieglitz produced may photographs of the area around Lake George, N.Y., where he spent many of his later years. In these, too, Stieglitz is attempting to express his outlook through simple objects.

Although most museums now recognize photography as art, many still treat photographers like skeletons in closets. They are very rarely exhibited permanently, but are brought out for short stands, and then shelved again. One gets the feeling that a museum exhibits a photographer in the same spirit in which a bank hires a Negro: to prove its liberalism.

The rarity of such exhibits and the excellence of this one make a trip to the Museum of Fine Arts imperative.

In that year the Boston Museum of Fine Arts asked Stieglitz for a set of photographs to inside in its print collection. Early in 1924 Stieglitz sent the Museum 27 prints. The Museum collection now numbers 69 photographs, which are all on display this week. They begin with his early period in Berlin, and trace his artistic progression throughout his career.

Stieglitz had gone to Berlin to study engineering, but one day day he noticed a camera in a store window. He went inside and bought it. From that time, the camera "fascinated me, first as a passion, then as an obsession," Stieglitz wrote later. "The camera was waiting for me by predestination and I took to it as a musician takes to a piano or a painter to canvas. I found I was master of the elements, that I could work miracles...."

This fascination with the camera's potential is evident in all Stieglitz's early prints. In "Sun Rays--Paula--Berlin" (1899), he was seized with the camera's ability to capture the texture of wallpaper and the bands of light broken by a venetian blind. In his enthusiasm, the young Stieglitz photographed at night and in the rain--things he had been told were impossible.

From 1902 to 1917, Stieglitz spent more time fighting for photography as art than actually photographing. "Every Tom, Dick, and Harry could, without trouble, learn to get something or other in a sensitive plate, and this is what the public wanted--no work and lots of fun," he complained. He formed a group of artistic photographers aptly named "Photo-Secession," and set out to win for photography the recognition he desired. Steiglitz demanded that members be not only outstanding artists but also faithful adherents to his ideological crusade. His weapon was his quarterly magazine, Camera Work, over which he presided from 1903 to 1917.

In 1917 Stieglitz met the painter Georgia O'Keeffe, whom he married the next year. His portraits of her, 15 of which are exhibited at the Fine Arts, are nothing short of brilliant. His portraits of other people, by comparison, are disappointing. The reason for this disparity is simple: for Stieglitz, the photographic protrait is a part of possessing someone. It begins at birth, continues throughout life and death, and then begins again with the subject's child. Everything is photographed--hands, feet, torsos, moods, emotions. Stieglitz came close to such photographic possession only with his wife.

Stieglitz became much more abstract in his later years. Told by some friends that he owed the quality of his pictures as much to his subjects as to himself and wanting to test the extent of his creative ability, Stieglitz turned to photographing clouds. "I wanted to photograph clouds to find out what I had learned in 40 years about photography. Through clouds to put down my philosophy of life--to show that my photographs were not due to subject matter--nor special privileges, clouds were there for everyone--no tax on them yet--free." He called these pictures "Equivalents" because he saw them as equivalent to his philosophy of life. In addition to hundreds of Equivalents, Stieglitz produced may photographs of the area around Lake George, N.Y., where he spent many of his later years. In these, too, Stieglitz is attempting to express his outlook through simple objects.

Although most museums now recognize photography as art, many still treat photographers like skeletons in closets. They are very rarely exhibited permanently, but are brought out for short stands, and then shelved again. One gets the feeling that a museum exhibits a photographer in the same spirit in which a bank hires a Negro: to prove its liberalism.

The rarity of such exhibits and the excellence of this one make a trip to the Museum of Fine Arts imperative.