The Naming Of Types
(Stolen and poorly adapted from T. S. Eliot)
The Naming of Types is a difficult matter,
It isn't just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a photographer must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
First of all, there's the name that the family use daily,
Such as Snapshot, Wedding, Nature, Macro or Travel
All of them fun everyday names.
There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
But I tell you, a photographer needs a name that's particular,
A name that's peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,
Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
Of names of this kind, I can give you the most accordant
That name is of course Photojournalism.
A name that is a beacon for both truth and realism
With the names Bokeh and Sharpness being of much lesser importance
But above and beyond there's still one name left over,
And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover--
But THE PHOTOGRAPHER HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice he or she is in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
Of all the names his is the smartest,
His ineffable effable
That of course is because he's an Artist
Of deep and inscrutable singular Nature.