我亲眼见过一位欧洲的高手。在电脑上制作人物的肖像。完全凭空的。就那么一点一点地涂抹，花七八个小时，画出一张几乎乱真的肖像照片来。连旁边的参考都没有的。

好了。这个贴太长了。
就和XIXI说的,散了吧！
PS,数码摄影还是要的。
我的意思。如果在论坛中发贴最好还是不要PS。因为会让有些人误解一些照片，是相机与镜头的能力。至少我开始也是这样的认为的。后来才慢慢发现，原来是PS的！
如果真的要发PS的，可以注一下PS过。至少让人明白了。

OVER
大家要PS后期
提供给大家一个很好的
PS动作合集
要可以发邮件给大家

MS女士化个装，也要公示:我是抹了粉底、描了眼影、涂了口红的？

“现代艺术已经将雕塑变成墙上的一个窟窿，摄影难道也要被变成像素和电脑合成的涂鸦。站在这些所谓的艺术品前，我问自己：他到底想表达什么？”

让我们顺便温习一下摄影简单的发展历程：1883年，William Henry Fox Talbot拍下首张负片，摄影一诞生就被视为艺术的新表达形式——比绘画更精确，而Talbot的第一本摄影画册名字就叫做《The Pencil of Nature》；此后一个世纪，摄影都被视为一种艺术，而非记录历史的手段，直至19世纪末，绘画派摄影师（Pictorialist）们还在用失焦、多重曝光、甚至划刻底片来让照片看上去更像一幅画，而非现实。

随着相机工艺、设计成熟，摄影迅速成为富人们的玩具，1920年，Kodak Brownie相机问世，1950年，75%美国家庭都有了自己的照相机，并且拍出了20亿张照片；70年代，美国人每年会拍掉90亿张胶片——其中绝大多数都是简单随意的快照，而现实主义艺术摄影师已经开始对真实世界的探索，Dorothea Lange、Walker Evans，Diane Arbus以及我们非常熟悉的Robert Franks——那时的照片很明晰，无论是骨瘦如柴的农民、魁梧的自行车运动员，还是疲惫的主妇，都以正常的行为和形象出现。

而从1970年代开始，摄影中虚构的概念开始慢慢滋生，除了人们认可的杰出的新闻记录照片外，开始有意识流、模糊不清的新Fine Art路线产生，时间跨越到新世纪，数码化影像终于让照片脱离了物理的局限——你甚至可以用PS拼出一张以假乱真的照片，各种标榜着“后现代艺术”的光怪陆离的图像也进入了画廊，媒体的视线，被当作“艺术品”拍卖与吹嘘。

摄影死了么？对于某些人来说，摄影死了，对于某些人来说，摄影才刚刚开始。

“摄影是最简单的艺术，同时，也是最难的艺术。”

Is Photography Dead?
By Peter Plagens

How is that even remotely possible? The medium certainly looks alive, well and, if anything, overpopulated. There are hordes of photographers out there, working with back-to-basics pinhole cameras and pixeled images measured in gigabytes, with street photography taken by cell phones and massive photo "shoots" whose crews, complexity and expense resemble those of movie sets. Step into almost any serious art gallery in Chelsea, Santa Monica or Mayfair and you're likely to be greeted with breathtaking large-format color photographs, such as Andreas Gefeller's overhead views of parking lots digitally montaged from thousands of individual shots or Didier Massard's completely "fabricated photographs" of phantasmagoric landscapes. And the establishment's seal of approval for photography has been renewed in two current museum exhibitions. In "Depth of Field"— the first installation in the new contemporary-photography galleries at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, on display through March 23—the fare includes Thomas Struth's hyperdetailed chromogenic print of the interior of San Zaccaria in Venice and Adam Fuss's exposure of a piece of photo paper floating in water to a simultaneous splash and strobe.

At the National Gallery of Art in Washington, "The Art of the American Snapshot, 1888–1978" (up through Dec. 31) celebrates average Americans who wielded their Brownies and Instamatics to stunning effect.

Yet wandering the galleries of these two shows, you can't help but wonder if the entire medium hasn't fractured itself beyond all recognition. Sculpture did the same thing a while back, so that now "sculpture" can indicate a hole in the ground as readily as a bronze statue. Digitalization has made much of art photography's vast variety possible. But it's also a major reason that, 25 years after the technology exploded what photography could do and be, the medium seems to have lost its soul. Film photography's artistic cachet was always that no matter how much darkroom fiddling someone added to a photograph, the picture was, at its core, a record of something real that occurred in front of the camera. A digital photograph, on the other hand, can be a Photoshop fairy tale, containing only a tiny trace of a small fragment of reality. By now, we've witnessed all the magical morphing and seen all the clever tricks that have turned so many photographers—formerly bearers of truth—into conjurers of fiction. It's hard to say "gee whiz" anymore.

Art and truth used to be fast friends. Until the beginning of modernism, the most admired quality in Western art was mimesis—objects in painting and sculpture closely resembling things in real life. William Henry Fox Talbot, who produced the first photographic prints from a negative in 1839, immediately saw the mimetic new medium as an art form. Talbot wanted only to be able to "draw" more accurately than by hand. In fact, he called his first book of reproduced photographs "The Pencil of Nature." For at least a century thereafter, any photograph with a claim to being art had in its DNA at least a few chromosomes from Talbot's "The Open Door" (1844), a picture of a tree-branch broom leaning just-so-esthetically against a dark doorway. Of course, great photographers have never merely recorded visual facts indiscriminately, like a court stenographer taking down testimony. They've selected their subjects carefully and framed their views of them precisely, in order to give their pictures the look of "art." Later in the 19th century, "pictorialist" photographers used soft focus, toothy paper, sepia tones, multiple negatives and even scratching back into the image as ways of getting photographs to look more like paintings.

Soon, photography escaped the exclusive grasp of the professionals and moneyed hobbyists who could afford its cumbersome equipment, and the public began to take its own pictures. In the 1920s, small, inexpensive fast-shutter cameras like the Kodak Brownie appeared. By 1950, according to Kodak, nearly three quarters of American families owned cameras and took 2 billion photographs with them. By the 1970s, they were taking 9 billion pictures a year, most of them quick, informal snapshots. To be sure, some masterpieces did emerge—mostly accidentally—from this Everest-size heap of images. The person who pointed his Brownie at the woman in "Unknown [photographer], 1950s" in "The Art of the American Snapshot" probably didn't anticipate that she'd cover her face with her hands just as he clicked the shutter. And he (or she) couldn't predict that the result would be a great composition—long fingers and angular elbows set against the gentle downhill sweep of a field—and a wonderful metaphor for photography's tango with the truth. What the inadvertently great snapshot shared with the work of realist artist-photographers like Dorothea Lange and Walker Evans in the 1930s and '40s, and Diane Arbus and Robert Frank in the 1950s and '60s, was that the people in them were who they looked like they were—raw-boned farmers, gritty miners, harried housewives, burly bikers—really doing what they looked like they were doing.

In the late 1970s, however, the concept of fiction in photography reared its little postmodern head. "The big change in attitude from realist photography," says Lawrence Miller, who owns a prominent photography gallery in New York, "was when Metro Pictures [one of the hippest galleries in SoHo] showed Cindy Sherman in 1980." Sherman's fictional self-portraits—fake "film stills" with the artist posed as a negligeed blonde on a bed, or a dark-haired femme fatale in a chic apartment—weren't photography's first turn away from the straight, nonfiction reportage most people think of as great photography. But her pictures represented something new in the way that photography was considered as art. It wasn't just for reportage anymore. The Talbotian esthetic door was now fully opened for photographers to make photographs just as well as to take them. The advent of digital technology only exacerbated photography's flight into fable.
We live in a culture dominated by pixels, increasingly unmoored from corpor-eal reality. Movies are stuffed with CGI and, in such "performance animation" films as "Beowulf," overwhelmed by them. Some big pop-music hits are so cyberized the singer might as well be telling you to press 1 if you know your party's exten-sion. Even sculpture has adopted digital "rapid prototyping" technology that allows whatever a programmer can imagine to be translated into 3-D objects in plastic. Why should photography be any different? Why shouldn't it give in to the digital temptation to make every landscape shot look like the most absolutely beautiful scenery in the whole history of the universe, or turn every urban view into a high-rise fantasy?

Photography is finally escaping any dependence on what is in front of a lens, but it comes at the price of its special claim on a viewer's attention as "evidence" rooted in reality. As gallery material, photographs are now essentially no different from paintings concocted entirely from an artist's imagination, except that they lack painting's manual touch and surface variation. As the great modern photographer Lisette Model once said, " Photography is the easiest art, which perhaps makes it the hardest." She had no idea how easy exotic effects would get, and just how hard that would make it to capture beauty and truth in the same photograph. The next great photographers—if there are to be any—will have to find a way to reclaim photography's special link to reality. And they'll have to do it in a brand-new way.

最后，摄影慢慢归入绘画，作为绘画的一种于世长存


。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

一厢情愿啊，绘画界一定不接收的。

画画的高手还是摄影的高手还是电脑ＰＳ高手？

如果都属于艺术范畴，为什么绘画不容纳摄影？

那个例子，是不经过照相机的，只在电脑上画出人的肖像，属于电脑绘画；

而一般的经过照相机拍摄，后期加工的，包括接片、叠加等等手法，连电脑绘画都算不上，就不会被绘画界承认。

既然都不接纳，那就建议ＰＳ艺术去独立门户吧

　两千多年前，苏格拉底宣称，唯一真正的知识就是知道自己无知；四百多年前，培根警告：当心我们被自己思想的丝线丝丝束缚；四十多年前，哈耶克告诫：人类应认识到自身知识的局限性。但人类并未在大师们的呼吁中，变得谦虚起来，反而自以为掌握着越来越多的知识而日趋自负。

唉，人往往为了自己的无知而沾沾自喜