…and Why Not All Photos Can Be Considered “Art”
Introduction
“But I like it.”
Four simple words, yet I’m sure every one of us has used or heard them at least once during our photographic journey. “It’s art, the others just don’t get it” is another popular variation.
These aren’t just words—they’re often invisible shields we use to protect ourselves from criticism when someone says something we don’t like about our photos. While I’m talking about photography, this applies to many creative fields.
Sometimes we’re right. Sometimes we’re wrong. It’s far easier to critique others’ work than to accept critiques of our own. But here’s the challenge: what one person sees as constructive feedback can easily be taken as a personal attack by the creator.
The hardest part is putting our ego and emotions aside. The real question is: when should we accept criticism and learn from it—and when should we stand by our choices and defend them?
The Times We Are Wrong
Let’s start with an important point: the word “art” is overused in photography. Not every photo is art—nor does it need to be.
Photography can serve many purposes: documentary, aesthetic, expressive. Just picking up a camera and snapping photos doesn’t automatically make your work art. Artistic intent is important, but it doesn’t guarantee artistic value.
This is where “absolute subjectivism” becomes problematic. When we can’t admit that a photo might have flaws, we fall back on justifications like “but I like it” or “it’s art.” But if that’s your only defense, why even share your work publicly? If everything is subjective, then no criticism is valid—and that’s not healthy or productive.
Sure, taste is subjective. But some things in photography are more objective:
- If a photo is blurry, it’s blurry.
- If it’s oversaturated, it’s oversaturated.
- If the horizon is crooked, it’s crooked.
That’s not about taste—it’s about technique.
We should also try to understand an artist’s background before judging their work. If a photographer is known for shooting intentionally soft or abstract images, it would be ignorant to criticize them for doing just that.
But overall, we can’t hide behind “it’s art” every time someone critiques our work. That attitude discourages dialogue and prevents us from growing.
A Personal Example
Let me tell you a quick story. Early in my photography journey, I was experimenting with effects like Orton glow and dodge & burn. I created a colorful image full of contrast and vibrancy. At the time, I loved it.
Then I shared it on a photography forum—and the critique was brutal. I was shocked. “How could they not love this?” I thought.
But after sitting with the feedback for a while, I began to understand. The composition was weak, the processing was overdone, and the colors were unnatural. That critique was a turning point. Without it, I’d probably still be creating overprocessed images today.
The point? That feedback hurt at first—but it helped me more than any compliment ever could.
If Everything Is Subjective, Nothing Can Be Discussed
If we fall into the trap of thinking everything is subjective, then all conversation about photography becomes pointless. We shut down feedback by saying, “It’s art. You don’t get it.”
That’s a defensive, immature response—and I’ve made that mistake myself.
Rules exist for a reason. Yes, some photos break the rules brilliantly—but those are exceptions. And we only recognize exceptions because the rules exist in the first place.
Accepting criticism helps us improve. Refusing it—believing that no one can say anything about your work—only stunts your growth. No one knows everything. We all learn through others.
Sometimes the truth is hard to swallow. But if you open yourself to it, you’ll not only become a better photographer—you’ll become a better person.
The Times We Are Right
Now, let’s flip the script.
So far, I’ve emphasized the importance of listening to feedback. But that doesn’t mean every opinion is equally valid. The source matters.
Let me explain with a simple analogy. I love food, but I’m no culinary expert. If I visit a Michelin-starred restaurant and complain about the flavors, should the chef take my opinion seriously? Probably not. But if a renowned food critic says the same thing, that’s a different story.
The same principle applies in photography. If your non-photographer uncle says your photo is “amazing!!!” on Facebook, it might feel nice—but that feedback isn’t as useful as a critique from someone who understands composition, light, and editing.
Bias is another factor. Friends and family will often praise your work out of love. Enemies might criticize out of spite. Popularity on Instagram or Facebook doesn’t necessarily mean you’re a good photographer. And not being popular doesn’t mean you’re bad.
Take feedback from people who matter. Not followers, not trolls—mentors, peers, and critics who understand your work.
Find the Right Audience
If your work isn’t getting the response you hoped for, maybe you’re showing it to the wrong audience.
This isn’t about social media strategy—it’s about relevance. Share your work in communities where people understand your style and intent. Not only will the feedback be more valuable, but you’ll also connect with others who can inspire and challenge you.
Studying other photographers’ work and receiving honest feedback is one of the best ways to improve your craft. Over time, you’ll develop the insight to help others on their journeys too.
Conclusion
No matter how experienced you are, everyone makes mistakes. No amount of awards or certificates will change that.
In a world obsessed with popularity, humility is a rare but essential trait.
We must not let pride get in the way of our growth. Not everything is art. Not everything is subjective. Sometimes a bad photo is just a bad photo—not a bold artistic choice. And if it was a personal choice, then maybe it was a poor one—and that’s okay. That’s how we learn.
Critique is vital to growth. And yet, many people are becoming more reluctant to give it—and even more reluctant to receive it.
In the end, the biggest obstacle to becoming a better photographer is often just one thing:
Our ego.