"Oh, so you're a photographer now...?"
It's a question I'm sure each of us has heard. Coming to us from a friend and/or family member that we haven't seen in a while, maybe those who we're remotely connected to on any one of the social media platforms where we post our work. It rings of sarcasm, and while I don't believe it's meant to hurt us, truthfully, it kind of does.
It’s no secret that everyone can become burnt out on what they do. Whether we are photographers, athletes, truck drivers, or teachers. If we do something long enough, maybe unless you’re a fighter pilot, professional surfer, and/or an astronaut, almost everyone will experience a period of time in their career when they’re flat-out bored and/or they suddenly arrive at a place where they question both their work and if what they’re doing is really what they should be doing.
When we first start out on any sort of endeavor, be it creative or otherwise, we all most likely begin same way: a head full of ideas, but a distinct lack of understanding and experience of how to achieve them. Over time, through the benevolence of others, and many hours of Youtube tutorials, our ability catches up and we reach the place where creativity meets experience
Some days, as we plod through our respective news feeds, it seems as though the Internet was invented for one thing and one thing only; to share photos. Although the quality of the photos we have to wade through can sometimes be questionable, and at times our feeds can become overwhelming, the relative ease with which photos are shared is in my opinion, the greatest benefit to our seemingly photo-obsessed and Social Media saturated society planet.
There is an old quote that says, “If you want to shoot fashion, shoot in color, but if you want to shoot emotion, shoot in black and white.” I don’t know who said it, but I tend to agree. I do love myself a good black and white portrait. There is something special about black and white imagery which has the ability to cut through all the baggage and display both the inner beauty and turmoil which can be so easily hidden away by color photography.
Imagine someone were to ask you to count the number of photographs you see from the moment you open your eyes in the morning until the moment you close them again that night. Between looking through your own work, as well as the various social media and news sites, the number of images we expose ourselves to is probably well over a thousand.
Last summer, my friend Andy and I, and his six year-old son, were out location scouting. As we drove around, the three of us were playing a very intense game of word association. One of us would say a word, and the others would quickly say the first word that came to mind. As we neared a potential location, Andy called out, “Key West” to which I mindlessly responded, “Jimmy Buffett…” In that instant, I realized that everything I thought I knew about marketing myself as a photographer was completely and utterly wrong.
Some of my most favorite photos are those which I had little or nothing do to with. I love my work, but when I look at a photo that I took, it's often difficult to get past the fact that I know too much about it. I know the edits, I know the tones, I know that it could have been better had I just moved a foot to the left or the right, and I know how many times I ditched the file and started over from scratch. In short, as an artist, sometimes knowing what’s behind the curtain makes it difficult to enjoy the overall work.
A few months ago, I was out at dinner with a couple of friends of mine. We had each just finished up our respective shoots and had settled into a booth where the conversation inevitably turned toward who we shot, where we shot, and whether or not we were happy with the in-camera results (we were). That night, we spent the better part of two hours eating, drinking and sharing our techniques with one another.
Yay! You're doing something creative.
We can all probably remember the moment when we first realized that we could create cool stuff. That moment when we looked at something we'd made from scratch and not only were we not disappointed by what we created, not only were other people impressed by what we created, but we actually liked what we'd done.
