It's been a while since I've read some of that epic New York Times intellectual horsepuckey, but I got a nice pile of it while reading Charles McGrath's Sunday review of David Cannon's $195 coffee table book:
Many of the courses were photographed, moreover, either at dawn or at dusk, when most golfers never see them. The deepness of the colors — reds and yellows and shadowy greens — together with the lushness and grandness of the whole book and the great number of panoramic and aerial views, suggests that Cannon is less interested in the traditional aim of golf photography, which is to show you what it looks like from the tee of any given hole, than in evoking what the Romantics called the Sublime: an experience so dizzying it verges on the spiritual.
Or, maybe that's just the best time to photograph a golf course? Oh no, big metaphor coming. See if you can read this without rolling your eyes:
His photographs are a little like the nude paintings of Bouguereau: they’re erotica that aspires to the condition of art.