I have a lot of hobbies, though none I’m actually good enough at to do in front of that many people. I surf early in the morning before the bikini-clad honeys show up and laugh at my lack of grace in the water. I lift weights three times a week, but only when the gym is empty and no one can see me struggle to bench 95 pounds. If walls could talk, then the ones at my house would attest to the fact that I’m not a threat to any American Idol contestants. To put it simply, I suck.

While I lack talent and skill, I’ve never fallen short on enthusiasm. I love having fun in my free time and measure my success by how far the smile stretches across my face. There are no surfing contests in my future or weight lifting titles on the horizon, but that’s fine by me. I’ve made peace with sucking. I’ve confronted it and made friends with it. You could say I’ve mastered the art of being below average, which ain’t too bad when you think about it. At least I’m good at something.

Among the hobbies destined to languish at the novice skill level, art photography tops the list. I own a camera bag overflowing with gadgets and accessories. Filters, lenses, cables, film, batteries – I have everything the photo magazines say I’ll need to take great pictures. Don’t believe all you read.

Now I know art is relative. What I deem “art” another person will call “trash” or even “pornography.” When it comes to the photos I take, trash would be the most common description were I to have a momentary lapse of reason and make my work available for public viewing. I’m aware of this and, just like the fact that I suck, I’m okay with remaining an amateur.

Why can’t others settle for this as well?

We’ve all heard about artists who’ve earned fame and fortune by merely throwing paint at a blank canvass or dipping a chicken’s feet in a can of latex and then letting that animal walk across a piece of paper. I once read somewhere about one sculptor who sold a piece that was nothing more than a large white cube with a nearly microscopic fleck of his feces dabbed on one of the object’s sides. There’s usually some political or social statement tied to these works that’s so far from what the public sees that you can’t help but stand in the gallery with your mouth hanging open. Unfortunately, this is mistaken for amazement and awe and the artists think they’re on to something and happily run back to their studios to make more.

Far be it from me to pass judgment on the talent of these individuals. I don’t possess the technical knowledge to successfully throw paint so that it will make pretty lines. I’m not very comfortable with live chickens. Don’t even fool yourself into considering poop on a cube. You wouldn’t have the stomach to do that either.

However, when photos of children with tears streaming down their cheeks start showing up in galleries, that’s when I “draw” a line in the sand. A very clear, straight line no one can miss.

That’s where the story of Jill Greenberg comes into focus. Greenberg is a commercial photographer from Los Angeles, California, who has recently found her show, End Times, at the forefront of many Internet blogs criticizing her photos of crying children as evidence of child abuse. While I’m not willing to throw my two cents that far into the circle, I do feel Greenberg’s photos are in such bad taste they are the first creative work by an American that I would support being banned.

According to Greenberg, she snapped these shots at her studio where the parents were witness to everything and agreed to have their children’s emotions played with for the sake of one woman’s artistic dream. In each of the photos, a child is pictured with red eyes, tear streaked cheeks, frowns – everything that tugs at a parent’s heartstrings. In many cases, Greenberg got her subjects into the mood by giving them a lollipop and then taking it away without warning. Okay, not what I’d call abusive, but certainly not nice.

I don’t think we’ll need to call any Gallup pollsters to find out how many people find this type of creative expression troubling. Even if you don’t have children, the sight of little ones with tears in their eyes just doesn’t make for good entertainment. When a kid cries, that usually means something is wrong. In this case, something definitely is.

These photographs are a clear example of culture running so far off course it seems to have all but fallen from the map. Unhappiness isn’t pleasing to well balanced people. More than that, making children cry, photographing them and then expecting the public to find this interesting are sure signs of psychological problems. If nothing else, a lack of common sense is a safe bet.

I hope Greenberg isn’t surprised that people have taken issue with these pictures. As an artist, she should be prepared to take the heat. Too bad she didn’t take my approach and keep her work to herself.