Does Authenticity Matter?
- Michael Kennedy
- Dec 24, 2025
- 4 min read
There’s a moment, almost imperceptible, when you can feel the difference.
It happens when you stand before something made to impress, and then before something that simply is.
One dazzles you. The other changes you.
That difference is authenticity.
The Beautiful Lie
In his book Orthodoxy, G. K. Chesterton said, "It is one thing to describe an interview with a gorgon or a griffin, a creature who does not exist. It is another thing to discover that the rhinoceros does exist and then take pleasure in the fact that he looks as if he didn't".
Chesterton was expressing his philosophy of seeing the world with childlike wonder, finding miracles in ordinary existence, and recognizing the sheer, unbelievable reality of creatures like the rhino.
Disney’s Tree of Life (photo above) is astonishing. Engineered roots. Sculpted bark. Thousands of carefully carved animals folded into its surface. It photographs beautifully. It’s designed to inspire awe, and it succeeds.
But it's also, unapologetically, a performance.
The Tree of Life doesn’t weather storms. It doesn’t endure drought, fire, insects, or centuries of wind and arctic blasts. It doesn’t struggle for light or water. It has never been wronged by the elements, time... or man.
It’s a story about nature, told by humans, for humans.
There’s nothing wrong with this. Artifice has its place. We’ve always built monuments to what we admire.
But we should be honest about what we’re looking at.
A convincing imitation is not the same thing as a lived truth.
The Unimpressive Truth
Now stand before a living Juniper Tree.
It doesn’t announce itself.
It may be twisted. Scarred. Asymmetrical. Portions of it may be dead. Its branches may point in directions that make no compositional sense, unless you understand wind, snow load, altitude, and time.
This tree has endured.
Junipers don’t grow quickly. They negotiate with the land. They compromise. They survive by patience rather than force.
Some Junipers have been around long before the first mapmakers named the mountains where they grow. They’ve stood the test of time through winters that would snap younger trees in half. They’ve learned how to bend without breaking.
They’re not impressive by design.
They’re impressive by truth.
Why Authenticity Still Matters
We live in an age of astonishing replication.
Artificial intelligence can mimic voices. Filters can perfect faces. Landscapes can be generated, enhanced, and rearranged until they feel more real than reality itself.
And yet, something inside us knows.
We sense when a thing has earned its presence.
Authenticity carries weight. It has gravity. It doesn’t ask for attention. It commands respect.
An authentic thing doesn’t need to persuade you of its value. Its history is embedded in it. Time has already signed its name.
This matters because when we lose our relationship with what is real, we also lose our sense of proportion. We begin to favor spectacle over substance. Speed over depth. Image over experience.
And slowly, quietly, we forget how to see and listen.
Photography as Witness
Photography, at its best, is not about beautifying the world. It’s about bearing witness.
When I photograph a Juniper, I’m not trying to improve it. I’m trying to meet it. To stand still long enough for its story to surface.
A photograph can lie. But it can also tell the truth, if the photographer is willing to let imperfection remain.
This is why I resist making nature look “better than it is.” Nature doesn’t need improvement. It needs recognition.
To see clearly is a moral act.
The Choice Before Us
Authenticity isn’t about rejecting artifice entirely. It’s about knowing the difference and choosing wisely.
The fake tree entertains us.
The real tree instructs us.
One asks for applause.
The other asks for humility and understanding.
And in a world increasingly curated, optimized, and smoothed of its rough edges, authenticity becomes a quiet form of rebellion.
It reminds us that beauty can be slow. That meaning often comes with scars. That endurance is more compelling than perfection.
A Final Invitation
Stand before Disney’s Tree of Life and you are offered awe on demand.
It's vast, intricate, crowded with creatures, an architecture of wonder, precisely made.
Stand before an ancient Juniper in the high Sierra and nothing is offered at all. There is no performance. No explanation. The tree has arrived here by surviving, by enduring wind, drought, and centuries of thin soil. Its form is not designed but negotiated, shaped by time rather than intention.
This is the question authenticity asks of us: what kind of attention are we practicing?
Next time you’re moved by something beautiful, ask yourself:
Has this endured anything?
Has it paid a price for its existence?
Does it reflect time, or deny it?
Then seek out something that doesn’t need to convince you.
Stand beside it.
Look at it from different angles.
Listen.
The difference will reveal itself.
All photographs by Michael Kennedy / BlueWolfGallery.com
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I’m Michael Kennedy, a resident of Olympic Valley, CA (in photo above). I’m a writer & photographer and I love exploring nature and getting lost along the way. We live in a world that demands our attention and I just want to say thank you for your attention. If you enjoyed this post, please share with a friend. For more photos and stories visit BlueWolfGallery.com.
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