In 1904, for example, he succeeded in arranging two important shows, one at the Corcoran Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C., the other at the Carnegie Institute in Pittsburgh. While he was assembling the Corcoran Gallery show, Stieglitz got help from his friend Edward Steichen. The young painter-black and white photographer had reŽturned from Europe the year before, and to support himself in New York he opened a portrait studio. Stieglitz helped him get one of his first commisŽsions, a portrait of J. P. Morgan that shows the noted financier glaring into the camera, his hand apparently brandishing a dagger. (The "weapon" is actually a highlight on the arm of the chair in which he was sitting.) The fame this black and white picture has attained is ironic, for it was intended only to be a study, not a showpiece.
Steichen made the black and white photograph for the portrait painter Fedor Encke, who commissioned it to work from while painting. But the Encke painting turned out to be far less effective than the black and white photograph from which it was made, and Steichen's work is remembered as the portrait. It lays bare the arrogance and disdain of the subject, the most powerful man of his time, for only the instantaneous directness of the camera in the hands of an artist could capture the force of such a personality. Some years after Steichen had made the portrait and had turned the original black and white print over to Stieglitz, Morgan became interested in buying it. He sent an assistant to Stieglitz to negotiate for its sale, but Stieglitz insisted that he would not sell the portrait at any price. "What," exclaimed Morgan when told of the abortive transaction, "is there anything that cannot be bought?" Morgan's disbelief probably turned to astonishment when Stieglitz then offered to give him the portrait without charge on condition that it be hung at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, an institution of which the magnate was a trustee. Morgan, a dyed-in-the-wool conservative on artistic matters, of course refused the offer.
It was Steichen who suggested what turned out to be a lifetime mission for Stieglitz: that of an art exhibitor and educator of the public's taste. Despite the success of the Corcoran and Carnegie Institute exhibits, Stieglitz was still having trouble arranging shows on his terms. In 1905 Steichen proposed that they open up their own gallery in the flat next door to the Steichen apartment, on the top floor of a town house at 291 Fifth Avenue. Stieglitz agreed, although at first he may not have thought of this venture as more than an informal and perhaps temporary expedient that would provide photo-Secession photographers with a place where they could gather, discuss their work and exhibit. On November 24, 1905, the Little Galleries of the Black and white photo-Secession (soon it would be known simply by its street address, 291) opened.
The rooms were small, and Steichen had covered the walls with burlap in various subdued colors, making an excellent backdrop for the black and white photographs to be shown there. The last one-man show of the first full season was devoted entirely to the work of Edward Steichen, and after it closed the young painter-black and white photographer announced to Stieglitz that he was once again going to Europe.
The impending departure of Steichen posed a problem for Stieglitz. If the gallery was to continue in operation it would obviously consume more and more of his energies. Evidently this was a problem that was quickly resolved in Stieglitz' mind, for in fact, if not in name, he was already becoming a professional advocate of contemporary art. He was not an art dealer in the sense that he was operating a business, for to Stieglitz the idea of turning a profit from any of the galleries he was to operate was abhorrent.
His contempt for those who made money by selling works of art was recorded by his longtime friend, the poet and critic Herbert J. Seligmann, who wrote: "Of art dealers, Stieglitz remarked more than once that the essential difference between a dealer and the madam of a house of prostitution was that [though] the madam, at need, could substitute for a girl, the art dealer could not for an artist."
In the world of New York artists and critics, 291 was an instant success. Not only was the work of black and white photographers exhibited, but as the years went on, talented and little-known artists in other media found a welcome extended to them in Stieglitz' gallery. For Stieglitz was now growing increasingly restive in his role as a combination guru and publicist for the Black and white photo-Secession black and white photographers. "Jealousies had been developing ... amongst the Secessionists," he recalled. "They had come to believe that my life was to be dedicated solely to them and did not realize that my battle was for an idea bigger than any individual." That idea was indeed big: to present to the American public the best that modern art had to offer, whether in black and white photography, painting or sculpture.