Morals of the Story: The Human Conditions of Edward L. Rubin

By Peter Frank

Does an artist have a moral responsibility to their audience?
And does the audience owe something in return? If an artwork tells a story visually—as has been tradition throughout Western history—who ensures the viewer grasps that story? Is there even a "correct" way to understand it?

We are inundated with messages, especially visual ones, presumed to be universally effective. But where does visual discourse end and propaganda begin? Does it depend on the storyteller, the story, or the medium?

Let’s assume that the clarity of a narrative depends on all of these. If understanding an artwork requires effort from the artist, the audience, and the context, then the responsibility ultimately falls on the artist. After all, it’s the artist’s vision that initiates this circle of comprehension. Authorship is a responsibility—not necessarily to know the audience, but to respect them.

Photography’s Moral Weight

Photography is perhaps the most morally loaded visual medium. As a machine-driven record of reality, it carries the burden of truth. When it lies, the photographer must "admit" it—much like a magician revealing a trick. Edward L. Rubin, with his background in painting and film production design, has long been fabricating realities. Yet, his photographs reveal a genuine desire to be swept away by the very fictions he creates.

Rather than manipulate, Rubin invites the viewer to share in the awe. He embraces both the lens and the pixel, not as ends in themselves, but as tools to tell compelling stories.

Pictures with Purpose

For Rubin, aesthetics are never enough. The image must also be alluring in effect. His photographs, particularly in his Mannequin Moments series, are modern fables—visually rich tales that speak directly to our innate craving for story, even amidst the static of contemporary life.

His scenes, though rooted in the everyday, feel dreamlike. They don’t just depict the mundane; they transform it. What may look like a child’s birthday party is suddenly cast in eerie ambiguity. A cemetery plot becomes an unexpected admonition. His surrealism is purposeful—not concerned with tricking the eye, but with revealing the cracks in our perception.

Rubin is no illusionist. He’s a storyteller with magical skills, not a magician dabbling in narrative. His imagination shapes every element, with digital tools and visual instincts working hand-in-hand.

Beyond Photography

Rubin’s work in drawing and other traditional forms shows the same meticulous artistry. Whether it’s metallic still lifes, layered New York street scenes, or intimate mannequin portraits, his images never rest—they vibrate with conceptual energy.

He composes with an eye for abstraction and structure, giving his subjects—no matter how fabricated—a pulse. There is nothing passive about his pictures. They are alive with suggestion and cinematic urgency.

The Cinematic Eye

Edward L. Rubin tells stories like a director, cinematographer, and puppeteer all in one. Through the lens, he channels the spirit of cinema into still photography. His images may not move, but they are far from still. With each detail, Rubin builds narrative tension and emotional resonance.

Every picture tells a story—but Rubin’s tell theirs with uncommon vigor, stunning beauty, and an unmistakable voice.

Los Angeles, August 2024

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