There are at least as many definitions of art as there are bristles on a brush. Maryland Institute College of Art student Lee B. Freeman's gold fence project in Mount Vernon Square has prompted not only different viewpoints but a flood of Sun articles involving at least three reporters and five photographers.

First, the newspaper ran a piece about the art project itself. The next day brought angry phone calls and dissent. People shut off from the park, especially those with dogs, were none too pleased with the barricade. I was sent to the park to find someone walking a dog - or trying to.

I met a disgruntled cosmetology student/dog-walker who, with expletives, deemed the fence ridiculous and an imposition. Then I met the artist himself, who seemed to be relishing the controversy. He had a camera of his own and was being videotaped at the project with a friend. It seemed like a kind of smug street theater. I asked if I could make a portrait of him and he obliged by walking close to the fence.

A lot goes through one's mind when taking pictures professionally. We are taught to remove ourselves from strident viewpoints, to be objective. In photographing Freeman, I wanted to capture the sheepish confidence he seemed to have.

I wondered if he and his art deserved so much attention. I recalled a photography review I had read once; it said in some kind of future-speak that the photographer's work "represented the essential physicality of life." As a general rule, I love photographing artists - perhaps from a belief that they are kindred spirits, even when I find it difficult to really accept their work as art.

When I was walking back to my car I wondered about how much money had been wasted on paint. And thought about how I agreed more with the dog-walker than the artist.

But looking through the fence at the water nymph statue Naiad in the fountain off St. Paul Street, I thought of its creator, Grace H. Turnbull. I met her when I was in college, and she would spend hours giving tours of her home and talking about her work. She spoke of giving commissions to artists just starting out to help them along, of her dislike of F. Scott Fitzgerald, who once made the mistake of asking her what she thought of his work.

Miss Turnbull was a strong-willed, tough, well-traveled, independent, religious Renaissance woman whose work is in major museums around the world. I wondered what she would have thought of the fence, blocking access to her work, and whether it was art.

There is an arrogance often associated with youth, but we must be careful of the arrogance that comes with age. For now, I will be glad when a fence does not mar the beautiful work of someone I knew.

jed.kirschbaum@baltsun.com