At the back of a chic restaurant in New York City called WD-50, Wylie Dufresne tinkers with food in a kitchen that includes apparatus that might make a chemist jealous. Chef Dufresne is a leading proponent of a culinary school known as molecular gastronomy*, in which rigorous scientific approaches are used to understand the fundamental qualities of food. Frequently, molecular gastronomists deconstruct ingredients and re-imagine them into fantastic new forms, attaching familiar flavors with novel textures, or creating purely aromatic experiences to facilitate degustation. One example of these dramatic recreations is Dufresne’s signature dish of of “shrimp noodles,” which are noodles created with shrimp meat bonded with the enzyme transglutaminase (meat glue).

Meanwhile, in a fish market in Tokyo, Chef Jiro Ono negotiates with vendors for the freshest and most perfect fish imaginable. Chef Ono has spent a significant portion of his eight decades on this earth learning how to identify the perfect fish, and how to prepare it in a fashion that brings out every nuance of its flavor and texture. Subtleties of knife technique that would humble a Samurai, exacting attention to details like minute variations in temperature, and the exquisite preparation of rice ensure that each mouthful is the most pure experience of that particular fish possible.

Both Chefs are luminaries in their respective fields, earning accolades from peers and countless publications including the prestigious Michelin Guide. However, if one were to expose the average layperson (particularly the average American) to the cuisines of both men, I have no doubt that such a person would identify Chef Dufresne as “more skilled.” It is clear to even the most casual observer that the remarkable transformation of food that occurs in Chef Dufresne’s kitchen is beyond the skill of any but a select cadre of culinary artists. Love the food or hate it, molecular gastronomy is a conspicuous achievement of technical wizardry. However, were you to suggest to Chef Ono that he had transformed a piece of Toro into something completely different, I suspect he might even be insulted. The subtlety of interpretation in Chef Ono’s art inherently limits its appreciation to those who already possess a firm grasp of what makes great sushi, and the layperson may have trouble differentiating Chef Ono’s peerless sushi from that of his merely competent peers.

Why am I babbling on about food on a photo blog? First, its a topic with which I am quite familiar thanks to the tutelage of my brilliant brother Andrew Zimmerman, Executive Chef at Sepia Restaurant in Chicago. Second, I find that food is an apt metaphor to illustrate what I mean by the concepts of interpretive and transformative art. Interpretive and transformative qualities are both present in most art forms, but frequently an artist or medium tends toward one approach or the other.

Transformative art is God-like. The transformative artist looks at the world before him as raw materials that may be mutable in countless variations, and produces miraculous re-envisionings of reality. A transformative photographer may take a scene before him and utilize some combination of perspective, camera technique, lighting effects, or post production to render it nearly unrecognizable from its original incarnation. A subject who has experienced transformative photography might exclaim: “That’s AMAZING! It looked nothing like that!” Transformative photography is the land of fantasy and archetypal beauty. For this reason, transformative photography is also inherently more marketable to the average consumer, as it will never be confused with a standard “snap shot” by even the most unlettered. Dave Hill would be an example of a photographer who is primarily known for his transformative work.

On the other hand, the interpretive artist does not seek to transmute the world into something different: he or she seeks to show it most exactly how it is. Anyone who has ever seen a portrait and exclaimed “that look is SO [name here]” has experienced the impact of interpretive art. I refer to this as interpretive art rather than something like “objective” art, because all art is informed by the perspective of the artist. We all inherently apply our own slant and interpretation on the world before us. The difference between the transformative artist and the interpretive is that the former seeks to conform reality to his vision, and the latter seeks to reflect in his vision a perspective of objective truth.** Robert Frank might be considered an example of a photographer who is primarily interpretive, as so might most of the great photojournalists. Much of Avedon’s portrait work might also be considered far more interpretive than transformative.

Interpretive art is innately more subtle, and will typically go unappreciated by those without the context to appreciate it. The impulse of interpretive art may also be felt as counter to the individualistic impulse that Americans are typically known for. Interpretive art requires a certain sublimation of the ego: resisting the impulse to alter the subject matter with an overt artistic imprint. I remember a good friend of mine telling me that he hates shooting natural light because he feels he hasn’t “done anything to [the picture].”

Both the transformative and interpretive approaches are valid, and indeed one might argue that both qualities are present to varying degrees in most photographs. However, I feel that within the commercial photography sector, the desire to differentiate one’s self with work that clearly stands out as “professional,” combined with our own inherent cultural prejudices, have placed an overwhelming emphasis on the transformative approach over the interpretive. This is particularly true for retail photographers (wedding, portrait). A photographer who deftly interprets interactions, gestures, and expressions to purely reflect his subjects may have a great value to his clients, but the fidelity of these interpretations may be lost on other potential clients who don’t know these subjects and therefore lack the context to appreciate this authenticity of vision.

My point, which is primarily directed towards the photographers who frequent my website, is that while transformative art is seductive and marketable, its pursuit may frequently lead one down a path that is largely stripped of authentic meaning to its consumers. I have eaten at Chef Dufresne’s restaurant, and sampled the work of a number of other notable chefs in that field, and I can tell you the best of them never forget that cuisine is supposed to taste good above all else. In some cases, its been clear that the Chef has become so enamored of his wizardry in transformation that concepts such as “flavor” were largely forgotten. Similarly, photography stripped of its interpretive qualities may be impressive, but it will seldom be meaningful.

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*Many chefs consider the term “molecular gastronomy” to be awkward, uncool, or inaccurate to describe what they do. My apologies, but it is the most expedient manner to describe this general group of approaches to cuisine.
**I know some wannabe epistemologist is going to fuss with me about “objective truth.” You know what I mean. That’s a whole other argument.