I had stopped what I was doing suddenly. Like the abrupt and offensive sound of a needle scratching an LP, my task had ceased. I looked up at him dumbfounded. “I’m sorry, what?” “Photography isn’t art. My Dad was an art teacher for 20 years, and it wasn’t until recently that photography was inserted into the art curriculum. It was never considered an art before then.” I blinked twice. With this level of ignorance, I’d expected knee-high Jack Boots on his feet, or some kind of stick or club in his hand. He was so sure of his opinion... so confident he was right... “It’s not art, it’s a skill.” ”You...(sigh)...I...I don’t have the words to express to you how wrong you are.” He looked at me as if he’d just discovered that it was I who had pissed in his corn flakes this morning. “Don’t you tell me I’m wrong! I know what I’m talking about. My Dad taught Photography for 10 years. It’s not art it’s a mechanical process.” My eyebrows rose as if to object, my mouth opene...
a few burning missives, mainly for my own edification...