William Wegman American, b. 1943

A Weimaraner sits facing us in a blue-grey and tan plaid jacket, collar open, buttons down the front, its forelegs inside the sleeves so that the whole garment hangs the way it would on a person. Chest fur shows in the opening. The head is turned very slightly and the eyes are looking just off camera. Behind, a deep green ground. The print is a 20 by 24 Polaroid, and the title and signature are written by hand along the bottom edge.

The joke was already old by 1998 and Wegman keeps it working by refusing to push it. The dog is not doing anything funny. It is sitting still in a good jacket, and the jacket fits, and that is the whole gag. Tailoring is a human technology, and here it is draping correctly over a body it was never cut for.

The face is what holds the picture, and the face is entirely serious. A Weimaraner's natural expression sits somewhere between disappointment and patience, and photographed square on, in good light, at this size, it reads as dignity. Wegman has spent a career establishing how much clothing a dog can carry before the animal vanishes into the costume. The answer here is one full jacket, and not a button more.