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The more knowledge (including technical, psychological, historical, and personal) that a viewer brings to a photograph, the richer will be his experience.

—Minor White

Much writing about art describes the skills and creativity of artists, but the view in the other direction is often neglected. Appreciation of art—getting the most out of experiencing art as a viewer—also involves some skill and knowledge, an investment of time and attention, and an honest willingness to understand and to be moved by the work. While many photographers rely on easily digestible aesthetics, more complex, abstract, or nuanced work may not always accomplish its intended effect, as it often requires of an audience a degree of emotional maturity: the ability to set aside one’s own prejudices and preconceptions, perhaps even suspend disbelief, and to invest time, thought, and emotional engagement in order to fully appreciate what the artist wished to express.

Principally to blame for audiences’ general lack of willingness to invest time and effort in understanding art, in my opinion, is the culture of elitism and hype that often accompanies present-day art. Certainly, there is already more than enough ridicule for such things as “artspeak” to go around, and it is not my intention to further fan these particular flames here. Like most people outside the “art world,” incoherent jargon is of little interest to me. I do, however, find it lamentable that such attitudes, while perhaps beneficial in some commercial sense, also create barriers to appreciation of some art. When audiences believe that they must buy into obscure and meaningless vocabulary and keep up with the fashions of the art world in order to “understand” art, it is no wonder that so few even bother trying.

Current models for presenting art may also discourage viewers from investing attention and effort beyond momentary impressions. Great quantities of aesthetically pleasing but often creatively deficient images are rammed down the pipes of social media sites every day, most often with the goal of competing for eyeballs and popularity, rather than enriching their viewers’ experience. Consuming images in this manner ultimately desensitizes viewers and trains them to seek no further than whatever short-lived aesthetic appeal an image may have, before moving on to the next one, never consciously aware of the nuances and complexities an image may have that would require closer examination or contemplation.

Photographers, in particular, exhibit a strange paradox: many rarely take the time to experience other photographers’ work with the same patience, interest, and reverence they expect their own work to garner. This is not the case with many other disciplines. Practically all writers are also prolific readers, composers are usually well versed in the works of other musicians, painters rarely miss a chance to attend other painters’ exhibits, and so on. Certainly, there are exceptions, but my sense is that many photographers create and view art within very restricted “bubbles” of influence (often in the form of online communities exhibiting the same lamentable tribal qualities of allegiance, politics, and power struggles as nonvirtual communities) and possess but limited knowledge of the works and philosophies of others, even within their own genre. The point is not so much paying due respect to the accomplishments of other artists, but denying oneself those elevating rewards art may possess beyond those found in obvious and simplistic first impressions.

The challenge for artists creating complex work is that, no matter how skilled they are, such work requires that viewers be willing to go through the mental exercise of unraveling their complexity. Many viewers are reluctant to do so, and may even be unaware of the possible rewards for doing so, which can be immense.

If I have one suggestion to make in this regard, it is this: read! Get your hands on as many books about art and artists as you can, whether in your own discipline or in others. Learn what makes some works important to other people and why. This can be a rewarding and enriching life-long pursuit, celebrating more than just beauty but also human creativity and ingenuity, emotion, and spirit.

A recent poll exposed some devastating and shameful statistics: 80% of American families do not buy books; and after graduating from high school, one third of the population never read another book for the rest of their lives. (I suspect that the numbers are even grimmer when limited to art-related books.)

If we, as artists, don’t do it, who will? And how long will art last when its life span no longer extends beyond fleeting impressions on social media streams?

We cannot expect our viewers to set aside their own prejudices and allow our work to speak to them if, at the same time, we fail to extend this courtesy to other artists. We cannot take pride in creating works that impress beyond instinctive gut reactions, and that contain layers of meaning for viewers to unfold and discover, if we never attempt to unravel such meanings in other artists’ work.

Because the nature and purpose of art are not of existential concern, making art has always been a two-way street. Artists work to express meaning, beauty, and interest that other people may not come by on their own. We work to enrich our own lives by creative endeavors, and in trade we offer others means for enriching their lives, too, hoping they may be moved to offer us material support. In short, we trade not so much in products as in gratitude; not so much in commodities as in inspiration; not so much in skilled labor as in shaping experience. If we wish to persist in such things, we must rely on an educated audience possessing the skills and interest needed to appreciate our work and our ideas. While we cannot demand of anyone to attend art school or even to spend time looking at our work, we can at the very least educate others by example: by practicing what we preach and why we believe it is important.