I just had an interesting and passionate discussion with the curator of a museum, on the general subject of art.

Now those of you who know me as the photographer ceaselessly spouting “It’s the print, stupid” may be surprised to learn which side I took in the conversation.

You see, it began with the claim that “It’s the art, stupid”, with the implication that the artist wasn’t ultimately important. Ever the contrarian, I had to reply.

Yes: on one level, the art stands alone. The book; the painting; the music; the photograph, each lives or dies on its own.

But we humans often overlook the obvious: why does that piece of art speak to us? And the obvious (and overlooked) answer is “because it was done by another human being besides myself.”

(Now, I’m starting from the standpoint that we’re talking about good or even great art here. Everyone can scribble. That’s not the point I’m making.)

Listen to Beethoven. Powerful and moving… as is Bach or Tchaikovsky or Mahler… and each is easy to separate from the other. Ditto for writers or painters. No one is likely to mistake Da Vinci for Picasso, nor Raphael for Matisse.

What makes art, any art, affect us so deeply are two things: that which we share as humans, and that which is different between us as individuals.

What makes a given piece of art great is how well it achieves that dual goal, simultaneously.  Great art transports us inside ourselves, and inside someone we can never be.

Art does not need the artist alongside it; does not need the artist’s biography… but the very reason I seek out an artist’s biography is to look into a person who looked so clearly into me. To see what it is that we share, and how we differ. Perhaps I can discover why she or he was so good at pointing that out.

In simultaneously experiencing my own perceptions, and the perspective on someone else, I experience the sense of the universal inside myself. I experience being connected deeply to another’s experience of life. It is in that way and for that reason you hear that great art is universal, and even the origin of the belief that “it stands alone.”

Yet it is no more possible to separate the artist from the art, than it is to separate the sun from the daylight. We acknowledge this all the time: “That’s a Picasso.” “That’s a Weston.” “That’s a Van Gogh.” Compare the tiny catalog of anonymous great art, with the huge catalog which includes the artist’s name.

Yes, in one sense, great art stands alone because it reveals something universal about us, but such a viewpoint misses the other half of the equation, which is  that it reveals the universal from a unique and personal individual perspective. Were that not true, then there would be only one example of sorrow, or compassion, or joy or love. The very reason there are so many, and art is so rich and varied, are those unique perspectives of the individual artist.

So, if you’re a beginning photographer, or a long-timer who has not yet hit his stride, know this: the emulation of others is only a learning technique. To make art, good or great, you already have exactly what you need: your own perspective. No one else is you. Trust it, and  look there and not elsewhere, for only there will you find your unique perspective. And, if you look deeply, you may also find that which you share with the rest of us.

And then – welcome to the struggle to put them both together.

Welcome to Art.