“It is not art in the professionalized sense about which I care, but that which is created sacredly, as a result of a deep inner experience, with all of oneself, and that becomes ‘art’ in time.”
– Alfred Stieglitz
New Year’s Day in 1864 didn’t seem at first to be any more unusual than the start of any new year in recent years. It might have been thought to be special because it was leap year. But the Civil War was going full throttle and the United States was split asunder.
In Hoboken, New Jersey a boy was born to German Jewish immigrants Edward Stieglitz, a lieutenant in the Union Army, and his wife Hedwig Ann Werner. The baby boy was the firstborn to Edward and Hedwig and would be followed by five more siblings.
The child was given the name Alfred. There was no way in predicting in those early years that little Alfred would make the name Stieglitz synonymous with the most revered and influential photographer in America.
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