I am an admitted book nerd and lover of libraries. I am continually searching for new books, getting lost in shelves and uncovering something unique or unexpected. Even so, there are still moments when I am surprised at the contents of libraries.
During a recent adventure to the Nelson-Atkins’ Spencer Art Reference Library (SARL) to research an artist featured in an upcoming photography exhibition, I glanced along nearby shelves and found my attention diverted to an unusual title: Fighter :The Fighters of the UFC by Reed Krakoff. 
For those who may not know, UFC stands for the Ultimate Fighting Championship organization. Ultimate Fighting is a highly controlled combat sport where fighters utilize/mix various forms of martial arts, boxing, kickboxing and wrestling. Despite all of my quirky searches in other libraries, the presence of a UFC book on the shelves of an art museum library seemed odd and disconnected. Is it possible that what began as an “underground” fighting organization somehow has gained sufficient renown to be considered art-related? And is it possible that my conception of art has been too narrow, too rigidly intellectual, or too distant from the “real” world?
The author of an editorial review—and widely used summary—of the book suggests, "Depending upon your perspective, the Ultimate Fighting Championship organization, aka the UFC, is brash, beautiful, or brutal -- and as in your face as the fighters' blows. [….] In Fighter: The Fighters of the UFC, Reed Krakoff offers a unique look at these world-class athletes in a startling collection of black- and-white photographs. Krakoff, the president and executive creative director of Coach, a leading force in the fashion world, is also an accomplished photographer and a huge UFC fan. His pictures, shot with a medium-format Mamiya box camera, depict these fighters as they are rarely seen. Standing alone, without competitors or an audience, Krakoff's subjects look gentle, warm, humble, and disarmed. But with their signature tattoos and resilient bodies, it's also clear that they are built for the Octagon.”
I checked out SARL’s copy of the book and spent some time paging through it during a couple of my lunch breaks. 
Sam Sheridan, author of the book’s foreword, argues that “On the faces of the fighters there is confusion, trepidation, sorrow, moments of doubt. But also acceptance, and perhaps calmness. The pictures look past the savage appearance, the tattoos and scars, to find the ordinary person” (pg 9). The dominant images and minimal text seemed appropriate given both the independence and athleticism of the fighters and the photographer’s creative director occupation. To my novice eye, the quality of the photographs’ composition seems high and their content is interesting. While I am not convinced that the fighters look “gentle, warm, humble, and disarmed,” I am willing to accept that readers/viewers are presented with an opportunity in this book to look at the fighters as human—not simply blood-thirsty “modern day gladiators”—and, as Sheridan argues, “just men” (9).
To flip through some selected pages, click here.
My experience with this book is just one instance of many since I have started working at the Nelson-Atkins when my preconceived notions of art (and libraries, for that matter!) have been challenged. While I may resist these challenges, I cannot deny that my definition of art is becoming more inclusive (and complex) and that I am seeking beauty and artistry in things I might have otherwise quickly dismissed.
If you’re looking for a specific book or just interested in what SARL has to offer, click here to peruse our online catalog LEONARDO.