In contemporary photography, effects often look like ideas, and imitation easily appears intentional. Quick visual formulas create an impression of creativity long before any thought has a chance to appear.
Why do we so easily mistake imitation for creativity, and an effect for an idea? When I review my own photographic archive, it becomes clear that a significant portion of it belongs to what is conventionally called kitsch: in these photographs, the effect replaces meaning. For me, it marks a limit rather than a direction. These images are not bad, but they create a kind of glass ceiling. It is in this area that many photographers who consider themselves creative tend to stop, even though they often repeat ready-made schemes in practice.
What Is Kitsch?
To define the term, Clement Greenberg, a foundational figure in modern art criticism, described kitsch as a language of ready-made effects that give the viewer immediate emotional confirmation without requiring any internal work. In other words, kitsch is a set of techniques or effects inside an image that do not encourage the viewer to think because the result is clear and predictable. There are many such photographs because they are structured around an already expected reaction. They are not bad because of this, but they are unmistakably aligned with what the viewer already anticipates.
Proper light, clean composition, a slight dramatic shift, soft mist, a color accent. Such an image almost always generates an immediate response. It is liked, praised, and easy to imagine in a textbook on basic visual appeal. But this is exactly how kitsch works. It functions as a tool of accelerated communication rather than as a form of thought. The effect arrives before the idea. At some point, it becomes clear that the most beautiful image is not necessarily the strongest one. It is simply the most predictable.
The Source of Algorithmic Popularity
Social media create an environment in which predictable effects become the basic visual language. The algorithm registers only the fact of reaction, not its depth. It rewards brightness, recognizable motifs, repeating patterns, and a sense of instant clarity. These elements are neutral by themselves, but together they form a system of accelerated communication. In such a system, kitsch stops being something questionable. It becomes a way to deliver an impression quickly. In an environment optimized for immediate attention, complexity gives way to speed.
It is no surprise that photographers adapt to this logic. The algorithm defines the rules, and most photographers adapt accordingly. Educational content on YouTube operates under the same principles: it is not designed to develop taste or encourage exploration. It sells a guaranteed result, not development. The entire construction revolves around one question: how to produce an image that works every time. A separate market of predictability emerges from this. It is not a flaw in the industry or a sign of decline. It is a rational answer to the demands of platforms where an image is evaluated by how quickly it delivers a return, not by whether it carries any real necessity. In these conditions, kitsch cannot be “bad.” It can only be expected and functional. For a professional, however, there is a risk: the more predictable the result, the easier it becomes to replace the author because the effect does not carry authorship.
Where Kitsch Ends and Creativity Begins
Against this background, it becomes easier to see where creativity appears. The race for effects does not remove it; it simply outlines the boundary. When any technique can be repeated easily and accessed as an instruction, it becomes clear that creativity begins beyond the guaranteed formulas. An effect attracts the eye but does not hold it. Imitation reproduces the appearance but does not form a language. Images that step outside the comfort zone stop being instrumental. They require a different pace of viewing.
An effect by itself does not make a photograph kitsch. An effect can be part of a language if it is integrated into the structure of a decision rather than replacing it. Kitsch arises not in the moment of visual appeal but in the absence of a reason. It appears where the effect exists instead of thought, rather than together with it.
Creativity emerges in decisions that are not tied to speed, convenience, or instant approval. It appears in those elements that make the viewer pause rather than simply react. Perhaps we too easily accept as creativity what is merely convenient to show. An effect may be part of a decision, but it cannot be its reason. This difference builds professional resilience.
Important Questions to Ask Yourself
To distinguish an effect from a choice, two questions are enough. The first is: “What does it look like?” It exposes any imitation because it points to the source, whether it is a style, a trend, or a ready-made pattern. The second is: “Why is it this way?” It touches the internal logic of the image and shows whether there is any real necessity behind the form. If the first question is easy to answer, and the second produces nothing, then the effect has replaced the idea. If both questions open the structure of the decision, then thought appears in the photograph. For a professional, this distinction is not theoretical. An effect makes an image immediately recognizable, but just as quickly makes the author replaceable. A choice makes the work less convenient but stronger in the long term.
As this difference becomes more visible, the professional field appears oversaturated with images that create an impression but do not continue beyond it. They are precise in effect but do not extend into perception. And the opposite is also true: even the quietest image begins to work differently when it is driven by necessity rather than by a template. There is no romance in this distinction. It is not an effort to oppose the market. It is an attempt to mark the point where photography once again becomes a form of thought rather than a form of packaging.
In an age when any visual effect can be produced without human involvement, the only human part of a photograph is the reason it exists. This is where two simple questions regain their relevance. “What does it look like?” shows what is in front of us, whether it is an imitation, a repetition, or a ready-made formula. “Why is it this way?” reveals whether the photograph contains a decision, an idea, and a sense of necessity. An effect answers only the first question. Creativity answers both. This is why an effect attracts immediate attention but makes the author replaceable, while a choice sustains the work in the longer term. This distinction answers the question at the beginning of the text: we mistake imitation for creativity when we see the reaction but not the reason. And only the reason keeps the photograph human.