Why do we need a famous signature to like an image?

I recently went to a photography exhibition in the capital, and while I was looking at a piece displayed on a wall, I heard someone behind me say: “Initially, I didn't like this photograph that much, but then I saw it was signed by the master...”. They said it as if, after seeing who took the photograph, they liked it more. It's both laughable and sad at the same time.

Why is it that when a person stops in front of a photograph, their gaze instinctively drops to the descriptive plaque? Because they need validation. If the name is familiar, the photograph suddenly gains weight. A mediocre composition becomes “an exceptional piece” simply because it bears the signature of a well-known photographer. Conversely, if the name is anonymous, the viewer moves on, perhaps missing out on a truly exceptional photograph. This habit is even more pronounced on social media, where a photograph is often perceived as truly good only because the creator has tens of thousands of followers. We have come to appreciate the label at the expense of the image, and this is because we live in an era where value seems to be dictated by algorithms and measured by the volume of attention. I consider this a dangerous trap.

After so many years of taking photos every single day, I can easily tell if a photograph is truly good or not. I don't need validation. Instagram is full of exceptional photos that appear in my feed daily, and often I click on the creator's profile and see a community of 300 people. 300 followers for an image that would deserve to be displayed on the walls of the greatest contemporary art museums. That is why I always tell people not to be discouraged by the low number of likes they get on a post. A lack of fame doesn't cancel out the weight of a photograph, just as thousands of likes cannot turn an image that conveys nothing into a work of art. Fame is often the result of good marketing, networking, or context. Art, on the other hand, is the result of a good visual education and a rare alignment of the eye, the mind, and the heart, as Henri Cartier-Bresson once said.

An exceptional photograph is exceptional in and of itself, independent of who pressed the shutter. It holds its own value.

Why do we behave this way? Because we lack confidence in our own artistic sense. It is much more comfortable to let a curator, a critic, or a follower count tell you what is “good”. This is where the vital necessity of visual education comes in, which I keep talking about whenever I get the chance.

Visual education doesn't necessarily mean memorizing composition rules or being an expert in camera settings. That is mechanics. True visual education means cultivating your sensitivity. It means stopping in front of an image and honestly asking yourself: Does this image convey anything to me? Does it provoke an emotion, a memory, a feeling of unease or peace? Having visual education means having the freedom and courage to decide for yourself what has value to you and what doesn't. When we train our eye to see beyond appearances, we free ourselves from the need for validation. We begin to discover stories in unexpected places. We begin to respect photography as a universal language, not as a popularity contest.

The next time you look at a photograph, mentally cover the creator's name. Let the image speak to you directly, and look at it longer than you usually would. You might discover that the most profound visual stories often come from lesser-known artists.

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Cosmin Gheorghe 

Editor-in-Chief