Because of photography, fame is one of America's most valuable commodities, a subject of contemporary artists and the target of comedians and parodists. On shows like MTV's "The Real World" and Web sites like Here and Now (www.hereandnow.net) temporary fame visits youthful strangers who move into shared living environments where crews keep the video cameras rolling. At Tinseltown, a theme restaurant in Anaheim, California, a make-believe, evening's-length version of fame comes to any dinner guest who'll pay forty dollars to be treated like a movie star, surrounded by actors impersonating excited fans, fawning reporters, and pushy paparazzi. At the end of the evening, after the "stars" have performed scenes from famous movies that are screened at an "awards ceremony," winners are chosen, honored with glittering statuettes, and given prewritten speeches to read that thank those who made their triumph possible. On the Internet, fame is self-appointed for the first time as hundreds of individuals worldwide point their camcorders on themselves to record and broadcast their every move in streaming video images available round the clock and around the world to anyone interested in looking. Fame After Photography lets visitors gain a perspective on how, since 1839, fame has been driven and transformed by photography. Are we desperate to elevate the importance of celebrities in our lives because, as some psychologists believe, so many of the institutions that give purpose to our lives--the family, education, and religion--are in flux? We are no more addicted to pictures of the famous than people were in the nineteenth century, but because of their stimulating and often oppressive presence in the visual culture we live in, there's no relief from fame. Fame After Photography raises the questions that resound in our heads each time we sneak a peek at the latest cover story about Diana, Monica, or the celebrity of the moment: Why do photographic images of the famous continue to have such a powerful impact on their audiences? How has the boundary shifted between what was once considered private and what is public? What fascinates us so much about the portraits of the famous that are replaced so speedily that there's little time to reflect on their meaning? Given that we learn from our own experiences of being photographed, what do we register when we look at images of the famous and celebrated with a knowing eye? Finally, in a culture that demands that photographic images be constantly restyled and refreshed, how long can fame of any kind possibly last?

Los Angeles Police Department. O. J. Simpson. June 17, 1994. Postcard, half-tone reproduction, 5 3/8 x 3 1/2". Private collection   select image for enlarged view

 

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©1999 The Museum of Modern Art, New York