Over the past quarter-century, I've taught numerous workshops, seminars, and one- and two-semester college-level courses in the criticism of photography -- here in the U.S., mostly, but also in Canada, Israel, the Netherlands, Sweden, Finland and elsewhere. Those who've studied with me in these diverse contexts (several thousand people, by now) have come from all around the world. They've ranged from high-school photo students to doctoral-level cinema studies scholars, plus teachers of photography and various other subjects from all levels (kindergarten through graduate school), amateur and professional photographers, other critics, and specialists from other disciplines (creative writing, history, psychology, sociology).

Given that mix, you'd probably assume that my teaching method would vary from situation to situation, and of course it does. However, in my experience several common problems afflict almost everyone who tries to articulate responses to photographs. Among these: the tendency to bring the baggage of one's attitude toward the literal subject matter of the photograph to the picture, at the expense of attending to the photographer's attitude toward that subject matter, and the related tendency to plunge into interpretation and evaluation of the image before (or even instead of) looking closely at it to see what it might have to say for itself. These problems, surprisingly, are almost as common among those who deal professionally with photographs -- including photographers, picture editors, even critics -- as they are among the average untutored lay member of the general public.

As a corrective, I've developed several assignments aimed at enhancing people's ability to pay close attention to photographs. One of these I've used in virtually every teaching situation I've found myself in for almost two decades, with remarkable results. I offer it here for your consideration.

At the outset of this exercise, in the classroom/workshop context, I hand each student an actual photographic print or object bearing a reproduction of a photograph (e.g., a picture postcard reproduced in half-tone). None of these pictures are the same, although occasionally I may give two different students images that seem to have some relationship (perhaps because they appear to come from the same source, or represent the same subject). Most are anonymous; if not, their makers' names are not famous. These are drawn from a sizeable batch of "found" photographs and reproduced photographic images, mostly of family-snapshot size, that I've accumulated over the years. Without further ado, I give the following instruction:

Imagine that, for whatever reason you care to invent, you must now communicate in words on paper whatever you feel is most significant, important, and noteworthy about this artifact to another party -- a stranger, a friend, a lover, whomever -- who has not seen and will not see the artifact itself, but only what you write about it. Start now. I'll be back in ten minutes.

I then prepare to leave the room. Questions sometimes arise, from those who (whether they put it this way or not) seek a more precise definition of what it is that I "want from them." I refuse to specify further, indicating that I'm after only whatever they're spontaneously inclined to generate in response to that admittedly broad and imprecise assignment. Occasionally, someone asks me whether I require a set form -- or, conversely, if they can respond in poetry, drama, fiction, letter, or other than standard essay structure. My answer is that whatever form they choose is fine with me. In a classroom situation, I tell them that this is an ungraded assignment. If they need further reassurance, I make it clear that there's no right or wrong way to do the assignment. And I leave.

After ten minutes or so I come back, and ask them to finish up whatever sentence or paragraph they're still working on. I then explain the following to them:

1. Each of them will work with the particular photograph I've inflicted on him or her for the duration of the workshop or semester.
2. They will write four short essays all told (500 words per essay maximum) about this artifact, from four different standpoints: a description, a formal analysis, an interpretation, and an evaluation -- in that specific order. And that I'll explain how we'll delimit each of those categories in a little while.
3. They will not be able to complete this assignment if they lose their photographs, and the class/group will need to see the photographs as reference points; so they are now obligated to take care of and keep track of these objects for the duration of the process.
4. That I have no privileged information about any of these pictures -- that is, I know nothing about its maker, its origin, its history, meaning, or purpose, other than what I can derive from the thing itself, and the internal evidence it contains.
5. That this is one reason I've chosen such images for us to work with: I have no secret knowledge that can impeach their responses, we're on a level playing field. The other reason, I also say, is that these images have no track record as significant artworks. They're not famous pictures, they're by unknown makers, they have no market value; so no weight of anyone else's interpretation of their meaning, or approval or disapproval of them as works of art, or price paid for them, hangs over their current caretakers' heads. The students can freely respond to them without worrying about contradicting the reading of any "authority."

Interestingly, at this point, almost invariably, someone asks how I decide which picture to give to which person. (The underlying question, I think, is: Why did you pick this picture for me?) I answer, truthfully, that I don't know for sure; the process combines some elements of intuition, karma, and chance, not necessarily in that order.

I then define for them the differences between description, formal analysis, interpretation, and evaluation. Each person reads his or her spontaneous response aloud; we consider it in relation to those four approaches, and in comparison to the picture itself. More on that next time.