Well, it is something how these threads split into various discussions.
To, first, get back to the question of quality. A friend recently gave me and Paula a book, "Wooden Boats: In Pursuit of the Perfect Craft at an American Boatyard." We do not sail and have no interest in boats, and he knew that, but he knew of our continual pursuit of excellence and thought we would enjoy reading it. I finished the book last night. (Recommended, by the way.) These lines, I thought, were relevant to the discussion we had been having:
"The danger was not that they would cease to be built, but rather that they would cease to be built well (italics in the original), and that we would therefore lose our understanding of what was good and what was inferior. That inferior standard would then become accepted as the norm. And once inferior workmanship became the norm, the value of the thing itself would diminish . . . "
So it is important to make the finest crafted prints one can possibly conceive of (I hope it goes without saying, that a well crafted print can still be insipid, or worse), but that without the "best" excellent prints, something is truly lost.
The soul of a print: Im not sure there is such a thing, but I wouldnt say there isnt either. I do know, and have known for a very long time, that there is a special relationship between a photograph and what was photographed, and between a negative, developed or undeveloped, and what was photographed. This relationship does not exist for a reproduced photograph or once there has been an intervening digital processing. It seems to have something to do with the light itself.
I cannot say exactly what this relationship is. But in the book "The Secret Life of Plants," there is a chapter, "The Radiance of Life" I believe it is called, where a business that two scientists had is described. One of them, I recall, was a professor at Princeton University. These men had a business of eradicating farmers fields of grasshoppers and other pestilent insects. They did this by photographing the fields and then putting the photographs on a Radionic device. When they sprayed the photograph with insecticide while it was on this device and "tuned in" (it has to do with vibratory frequencies), they found that 90% of the pests died. (I have always believed that the 10% that did not die were in the shadows and that no light from those parts reached the film.) In an experiment, they covered a corner of the photograph so it did not get any insecticide. When they went back to the field they found that 90% of the pests had been killed in that part of the field corresponding to the part that had been sprayed. But 0% had been killed in that part of the field corresponding to the part of the photograph that had been covered.
This business was thriving and was conducted with full Department of Agriculture knowledge and approval. It ceased when lobbyists from the chemical companies asked the Department of Agriculture to close it down.
The implication of this is clearly that there is indeed a special relationship--an energetic connection--between the photograph and what is photographed. I believe that this connection is, at least in part, what gives photographs their power and ability to further connect us as viewers to the world and to each other. I further believe that the more "in tune" the photographer is with what he or she is photographing, the more powerfual this connection can be, and the greater the power that can potentially inhere in the photograph. (For the photographer is an integral part of the process and not an automaton who is just pushing a button.)
Perhaps the Indians and other so-called "primitive" people were right when they refused to be photographed because they believed that a photograph could capture their soul.