Commentary:
Still Life has a long tradition in art. Before, human imagery predominated. The categorization “still life,” though, conveys having something to do with life. The “still” element suggestive of repose, or freezing something in time. Then there’s found art (like Duchamp’s urinal), though usually the artist actually modifies the thing in some way. Similarly, a conventional still life image, despite ostensibly portraying objects naturalistically as found, normally would entail their careful arrangement by the creator.
My “Kitchen Still Life #3,” and its predecessors, represent something of a hybrid, yet involved no manipulation by this auteur. Only the framing was decisional; otherwise, what is depicted is exactly what was seen. (I didn’t even ask my wife what was going on there, on that kitchen counter.) Though of course the very fact of choosing to photograph it thus bespeaks certain ineffable qualities in what was seen that made the resulting image, in the photographer’s eyes, art. Of course raising the age-old conundrum what is art?
More specifically, though, here we have certain varied elements in play. One could dilate endlessly upon what makes for harmonious, visually pleasing composition. Just to start. Then there are matters of color, texture, light versus dark, and so forth. All engaging first the eye and through it the mind. One could ponder upon the serendipity of chancing upon this tableau, and the neuronal activities inducing the impulse to photograph it.
That’s all irrespective of the actual things depicted. Which of course introduce a whole additional layer of viewer engagement. What, exactly, is one seeing? What are those things doing there? What story is behind it? And why did the photographer see fit to make this picture, and show it to us?
All this is what art is about. Indeed, it is really about the essence, the mysteries, of human existence. All wrapped up and boiled down into what you experience as “Kitchen Still Life #3.” Nothing there is natural; even if the photographer touched nothing, every pixel reflects human manipulation of nature. Does everything then come down, in the end, to what you see there? Enigmatic if not ultimately meaningless? Testament to the futility of life itself? Or — does the image, the very fact of it, to the contrary, convey the richness of human existence?
May viewing it be for you a commensurately profound experience.
The Rational Pessimist 
