It would be interesting to investigate if, or how far, this lady's work deserves the high opinion which people seem to entertain about it, and to that purpose I today sit down at my writing desk, covered with prints from her workshop, and seize my pen.

The getting of a likeness, which everybody who sits for a photograph demands, and with perfect right, is not so easily infused with something of artistic merit as a bystander might imagine; hence any worthy result is especially welcome, as in the field the capable workers are distinctly limited so far. We have all observed what a contrast there is at times between the individuality of the personage the photographers portray and the whimsical results they obtain.

In looking through a pile of mounted prints -- albums, I believe, have gone entirely out of fashion, except in flat and tenement houses, and in the country -- one is confronted for the most part with very inartistic attempts; the likeness may be there, but the art is to seek. By this I do not mean that slovenly execution or inexact presentation of fact makes them conspicuously uninteresting, but they lack distinction. It is a palpable and instructive fact that if we were to take the representative works of half a dozen of the leading professional photographers, there would be but little difference in their productions. Their work is equally mechanical, equally the result of a stereotyped system of posing, lighting, and subsequent retouching.

Miss Ben-Yœsuf, on the contrary, endeavors to produce impressions more individual to the artist, and yet manages to get a likeness, and what is still more difficult, to please her customers. Each of here prints is easily recognizable as her work; they are, so to speak, infused with her personality, even in cases where they are more commonplace than they ought to be from a person who craves new fields to conquer. For she pretends to be a sworn foe to the fashion of popular photography, and intends her prints to represent a sort of artistic revolt against the minutiae of detail, the glossy surfaces, and the mathematical precision still displayed in the show cases of Daguerre's successors.

Although she apparently does not always live up to her ideals, she has some, at least, and that alone is much to her credit. To eulogize the artist as some writers have done is too easy to be of any value; to speak of her in a patronizing manner or to take a superior tone, would be impertinent, for it is doubtful if there is in the entire United States a more interesting exponent of portrait photography than she is; certainly it would take no little search to bring together half a dozen such individuals. One has simply to analyze her work, consider it calmly from all sides, point out its various defects and merits, and, if possible, trace the origin of the various aspects of her art.

First of all, I would like to settle the question whether Miss Ben-Yœsuf is an "artistic" or "professional" photographer. Of course, I consider Miss Ben-Yœsuf a professional photographer. A person who keeps a studio for the purpose of photographing people for a monetary remuneration is professional, no matter whether she avoids the ordinary hackneyed ways of advertising her business, or whether she has a show case standing before her door or not. Her methods of securing customers are simply different from others, and for that very reason, perhaps more shrewd. There exists in New York a clan of Bohemians who pretend they do not care a rap for money, and who only accept it for their more or less artistic services because they have to live after all. This is merely a pose in most cases. When the manager of Julia Marlowe introduced her to the public without the customary bill posters and press agents' notices, he was perfectly aware that, once for a change, the best way of advertising his star was not to advertise her at all. And because Miss Ben-Yœsuf and Miss KŠsebier have found such a new way of getting customers they do not wish to be called professionals. Besides, they claim to be superior craftsmen of their trade; they fancy limited editions of prints and exhibits in photographic salons and understand how to surround themselves with a certain air of exclusiveness. It almost seems as if they wish to convey that they confer a special favor in photographing a person for twenty-five dollars per dozen. This is absurd, and the sooner they abolish it the better, as they will find out that they have only harmed themselves, for as soon as other professional photographers discover the trick, we will have artistic photographers galore all over the city.

In my opinion only men like Messrs. Stieglitz, Day and Keiley are artistic photographers; like the true artist, they only depict what pleases them, and not everybody who offers them twenty-five dollars in return. That is the line which divides artistic and professional photography, as it does art and potboiling. Money has nothing to do with it. Mr Stieglitz has received for a single print as much as eighty dollars, I believe, and surely he was after that transaction an artistic photographer as much as ever, for it was a picture at the making of which its possible market value never entered his head. It would be different if encouraged by such a success he would set out to make a dozen or two of other photographs that would also sell for eighty dollars or more; then his art would necessarily deteriorate. Miss Ben-Yœsuf and Miss KŠsebier, however, only on rare occasions produce something to suit themselves, as, for instance, Miss Ben-Yœsuf in her panels "Spring" and "The Book;" they adapt themselves to what their business offers them and are, for that reason -- even if they were really indifferent to financial success -- strictly professional.

The next point which I would like to dwell upon is the nature of Miss Ben-Yœsuf's aims. During a conversation the lady told me that her ambition was to become the "Mrs. Cameron of America," i.e., to photograph all celebrities she could get hold of, and thus go down to posterity with them as a depicter of geniuses.

How far will she succeed in this? We can only judge the past, and looking over her work of the last few years we must come to the conclusion that until now she has not accomplished her ambition. She has taken quite a number of men and women whose names are known and who might get an obituary notice when they die, like Anthony Hope, Le Gallienne, Admiral Sampson, Emmeline Rives, Governor Roosevelt, Julia Marlow, Ada Rehan, etc., but all of them are only celebrities of the hour. The only man she has portrayed who has some claim after fame is W. D. Howells. In depicting celebrities she competes in no way with Hollinger and several other photographic studios, although she, possessing a special gift of summing up a person's individuality at the first glance, seems better equipped for such a task. She has failed to use her opportunity. So many great men have passed through New York in recent years, only to mention Nansen, Boldini, Raffaelli, Cazin, Duran, Prince Kropotkin, Bourget, Holger Drachmann, the Danish poet of the sea, Kipling, Yvette Guilbert, Bernhardt, Sonnenthal, the opera singers, famous orchestra leaders and soloists, not to speak of what New York itself offers in this respect, personalities like St. Gaudens, Ingersoll, Edison, Tesla, etc. For a woman it may be extremely difficult to approach all these different personalities with success, and in particular for one as independent as Miss Ben-Yœsuf seems to be. But why then select such a difficult path!

Perhaps we find an explanation in her artistic temperament. She is supersensitive; she has perhaps the desire to grow famous in the momentary association with geniuses, and yet is too self-centered to stoop in any way to reach her aim. Personally she is very fastidious in her taste, one of those peculiar persons who can only live in a room with wall paper of a most violent blue. In her dresses she is a second Mrs. Hovey, although not quite as eccentric. She attends Ibsen performances, and everything else that mildly stirs up the Bohemian circles, reads decadent literature, and fancies high-keyed pictures such as outshout each other in color, best.

And yet, strange to say, in her photography she almost escapes her environment. There is no suggestion of it; everything is sober, intelligent, and refined. She perfectly understands the limitations of photography, and in producing pictorial results relies more on the mechanical assistance of the soulless camera than her own creative power. There is no affectation in her art. And although the majority of her pictures have noticeable qualities that mark them as peculiarly noteworthy and interesting to an observer, the effects are all obtained legitimately.

When compared to the versatility and scientific composition of an Eickemeyer, the epigrammatic Japanism of a Keiley, of the decorative lyricism of a Day, Miss Ben-Yœsuf's work looks rather monotonous. It lacks depth and concentration, which is unavoidable in commercial pursuits, and besides, consisting entirely of portraits, is in itself not very interesting.

Her artistic training is defective, her code of aesthetics not very voluminous, her imagination not out of the ordinary, but she is somewhat of a psychologist, ever on the alert, ever seeking to grasp and to express in material form the characteristics of her subjects.

She understands posing, and yet relies for her poses mostly on her sitters. The charm of the nonchalant pose of Anthony Hope, perhaps, is due more to Mr. Hope than to Miss Ben-Yœsuf. It was undoubtedly an accidental pose, but it was her merit that she at once noted and appreciated it. In subordinating her knowledge of composition to that which the momentary situation in gestures and attitudes affords, she is a truer artist than if she would try, like Miss KŠsebier, to introduce her own personality at every occasion. Perhaps she relies too much on unforeseen happy incidents, but as they happen rather infrequently, the critic has no special reason to find fault with her method.

Nor does she depend much on accessories, although her backgrounds, if perhaps too frugal at times, generally show sensitive treatment. Particularly successful is she in the reproduction of hands; they become almost as eloquent a medium of recording the character of the sitter as the face. The garments, except when they are in some way interesting, she suppresses and modifies to masses of light and shade.

Of her technical shortcomings I will mention only one, which seems to be the most serious. She takes everybody under a top-light. True enough, top-light accentuates and emphasizes all the characteristic traits and features in a face. It is excellent for reproducing plaster casts. Look what wonderful work the Carbon Studio has achieved for instance with Mr. St. Gaudens' relief of Stevenson, but it is not true to life. Human beings, except artists, are never seen under top-light, and their family and circles of friends and acquaintances are not used to seeing them in that particular light. It is a fault that nearly all professionals have in common, and Miss Ben-Yœsuf is no innovator in technical methods, only in style.

In her work we find the influence of London, where she has been active in photography, strongly marked. She is a so-called "purist," that is, she leaves her work largely to the camera, the chemicals, and the sun, and only retouches to a certain extent -- what Mr. Stieglitz calls "dodging."

All these characteristics make out her individuality. She is no copyist. Each of her pictures shows her predilection, her personal bent, her own peculiar concept of life -- however, only as far as the laws she herself has made for her art allow -- even if it is only expressed in the quality and shape of her printing paper and mounting boards. She thoroughly succeeds in carrying out the object she has in view in justice to herself and what she considers legitimate in photography. Setting aside the delight that her consummate technique affords, which may or may not be entirely satisfying in a majority of her prints, there can be little doubt that in their reliable likenesses, in the spontaneity of their poses, and the decorative disposition of the masses, they make up a pleasing total. The accompanying reproductions need not be taken as a final test; they were selected by herself because they show partly the average of the artist's work. One feels that her pictures represent a faction which must exercise some influence on American portrait photography sooner or later.

I shall look forward to Miss Ben-Yœsuf's work with interest and curiosity, and if I have induced my readers to share my feelings as far as interest and curiosity in her work are concerned, I shall have realized my expectations to the full.