Why I love my bad taste in art
I’ve always been pretty shoddy when it comes to recognising great art. And in particular, photography. I know some of the basics of framing, the rule of thirds, and how to tap different parts of my phone’s screen to alter the lighting exposure. But that’s about where I run out of runway.
I don’t think my taste in art is very unique, or particularly interesting. And I don’t care too much about that, these days. I like what I like. And there’s a particular image that resonates in my mind. I’m sure you’ll recognise it:
Lunch atop a Skyscraper, New York, 1932
It strikes a chord because I always associate it with my brother. It was the first piece he chose for his first home, close to two decades ago. And, like the image above shows, many others have loved it over time and chosen it for their homes, too.
I think I know why; there are many narratives to be told within it. It’s a bit too on the nose for my choice, personally. But I’m not here to bore you with that. My art taste is middling, after all.
But recently I came across a related image that I found truly fascinating.
And it’s not objectively a great picture at all.
It’s pixelated, the framing is a bit off.
But none of that matters.
Charles C. Ebbets, believed to be the photographer of ‘Lunch atop a Skyscraper’
This is a picture of Charles C. Ebbets. He is the man who is believed to have taken the famously recogniseable picture of those 11 men having lunch, all those hundreds of metres in the sky, on a cold steel girder.
I had known about that iconic lunchtime photograph for well over half my life, but it never occurred to me to think about who took the image in the first place. I had only ever viewed the perspective through one angle.
My personal lens was the one that I was most comfortable with because it was the one I was most familiar with in my own life.
I love this picture of Charles C. Ebbets not because of his Fred Astaire shoes, nor the improbable pose and courage required to achieve such balance, nor for what passed for a camera a hundred years ago. No, this hits a new chord within me because it reminds me that there is always at least one other different perspective to take in any given situation*.
I feel like the act of placing yourself in the shoes of the person behind the art is perhaps the only way to start understanding any piece itself. Not that I’d fancy placing myself in Mr. Ebbets’ shoes atop that skyscraper, as grand as they were.
But metaphorically.
Every artist, writer, creator is simply trying to tell their story. And they can only do that from their perspective. Through their work, they’re trying to get us to look through their lens, not our own.
It’s why I love this silly cartoon of a rhino as a painter.
It’s easy to miss the reality of the bigger picture when we only look through our own perspective. Stepping into someone else’s shoes in difficult situations isn’t easy. But it has made it easier for me to access feelings of empathy.
When someone is angry, or lashes out seemingly irrationally, or reacts in a way I can’t initially understand, I try to remind myself that I don’t know what it’s like to be in their shoes. I don’t know where they’re coming from. Or what they’ve been through. And if I did, maybe their reaction wouldn’t be so irrational after all.
For me, empathy starts with remembering to take the time to look at a situation from someone else’s view first. And it’s amazing how doing so can open new paths of discovery for myself, too.
It reminds me of a beautiful story I came across on Twitter, and have never forgotten:
What a beautiful perspective. And a surprising one.
And it comes from having the boldness to ask a question first, and being willing to listen to the answer.
I might not know what good art is, or should be. But I like having it around. Because it is a constant reminder that so many people in this world are just trying to be heard. To tell their story. To share their perspective.
I might not always understand it at first. But, if I listen, I might just learn something.
And be able to show a little empathy along the way.