It was 39 years ago on a summer day much like today when I picked up a 35mm Voigtländer rangefinder camera at a neighbour’s garage sale. That whim would change my life, drain my bank account many times over the decades that followed, and make me a different human being than I might have been if I’d bought the tennis racquet instead.
I’m of the opinion that the things that make a good photographer also make us good humans. More alive. More patient. More willing to consider another point of view. More willing to slow down. And more willing to keep at it, whatever “it” is. Maybe that’s a photograph; maybe it’s something more important in the long run.
One of the things that keeps so many of us hanging on to a craft that is so constantly challenging seems to be the very endlessness of it: infinite challenge and infinite reward.
You could photograph your whole life (many of you have!) and still not be satisfied that you’d seen it all or got to the point with your skill that there is nothing left to learn, neither about your camera nor about yourself.
But that endless quality makes it a difficult craft to learn, much less master. And it means we’re subject to an aggressive form of the law of diminishing returns. The photographs you made last year won’t likely satisfy you next year. Over and over again, we grow past some of the delight we found in finally making that one photograph because part of the delight was the challenge—the near impossibility of exposing and focusing and composing and finally nailing the technique, light, the moment. When you do nail it, when you’ve made the photograph you had in your mind or your heart, it’s rare not to move on in search of a picture that does it all just a little more compellingly.
There’s a kind of sacred discontent in art-making; it’s a mix of reverence for what is possible, a constant longing for more, and a deep frustration at just how long it often takes to get there.
But doesn’t that make it sweeter when you make that one photograph you’ve wrestled so long to create? Doesn’t it make the joy even brighter when you surprise yourself with the image you now hold in your hands? And doesn’t that give you little slivers of hope for what you’ll feel the next time you do so, and what you’ll have seen by the time you do? Doesn’t it pull you forward, almost against your will, into new lessons and experiences?
Sometimes. Even often. But other times, it pulls me into an ennui. A low trough between the waves that are filled with “What now?” and “What next?” and all the self-doubt I can muster. Sometimes I get whiplash from the speed that it takes me to go from the peak of the wave to the low of the trough. I guess it can’t be all highs all the time. But is it just me, or does it feel like the troughs sometimes last much longer than the highs? These are the times I find myself eyeing the B&H catalogue as though a new piece of gear will pry me from my discouragement (the longer the lens, the greater the leverage, right?). Or I start looking for flights to whatever last place I found the magic, hoping it might still be there if I were to show up, new gear in tow.
Dreaming helps. But more than dreaming, it helps to get the camera in my hand and get myself in front of something—anything—where I find some wonder, which often only happens once the camera is to my eye and I’m doing the hard work of not only looking but seeing.
Years ago, I realized that my calling (for now at least) is to encourage and teach frustrated amateur photographers, by which I mean photographers whose love for the craft is matched by their desire to do it better and who see in that a challenge worth spending the time they might spend doing something easier. You could be collecting postage stamps, but here you are bashing it out with the rest of us.
This is a long journey—don’t give up. There are troughs aplenty, not only in this craft but in our lives.
And for whatever reason, these cameras give us an outlet; they open us to wonder or whatever it is you’ve found your cameras give you. The chance to encounter something bigger than yourself, perhaps. A new way of looking at and appreciating the passing of time, the light, or the people you love the most. For some, it’s a way of speaking eloquently about the world around you when you can’t otherwise find the words. For some, it’s all that and more.
If I’ve quoted her recently, forgive me, but the poet Mary Oliver said it so beautifully in “Instructions for Living a Life”:
Pay attention.
-Mary Oliver
Be astonished.
Tell about it.
That’s it, isn’t it? What more is there to say except to keep doing that? And as you do, the astonishment will grow, and the telling will become more graceful and more uniquely your own as you share it.
I can’t think of a better way to spend a life. Keep at it, my friend.
For the Love of the Photograph,
David
Comments
Greetings from Greece. Another great article. Thank you for your opinion and advice, it’s very inspiring. I was listening to your podcast for maybe a 100th time and I was feeling nostalgic. I am following you way back and when the podcast was announced I was very excited. I know it’s hard work to do but I hope you could continue converting some of these great articles to episodes of “A beautiful anarchy”. Great stuff!
Hi from New Zealand. Thank you for this wonderful article. I had never really thought about the peaks and troughs in the photographic journey, but your advice helps address those down times. I’m now more inspired to get off the sofa instead of searching the net for the next best trip or equipment to always be hitting a peak. Again, thank you!
Yes. I agree that as we get a bit longer in the years, those great photographs, and what seemed like endless enthusiam and joy, aren’t what they used to be. For me it was when I was given an EOS 650 in the early 90s. A camera I still have and use, ocassionally. I’m not sure if seeing it behind a glass case in a museum in Germany made me feel more old, or more appreciate of where I started. That’s not to say I’m bitter about my current situation or whether I currently see myself in that trough you talk about. For 90% of the pictures I take I use one camera and most of the time, one lense. I’ve long moved on from the awe or mistaked belief that a new camera, lens or accessory are going to make my photos better – or better from my point of view. Getting out there, taking pictures, learning, rinse, repeat and continuing to decide what works or doesn’t work is really what’s it’s all about. I pay attention to things other don’t, I seek to be astonished, and as anyone how know will say, I’m not shy to tell you about it, if you’re willing to listen.
Thank you for sharing David.
I’ve taken it a bit beyond photography and into other activities in a blog post that I’ll post tomorrow.
In essence, the process you are describing seems to me to be the same we encounter with any activity we can learn and seek to master and yet will never master. At it’s core it seems that our ability to regulate and manage our own emotions is what Mary Oliver also hints at.
Paying attention to your / one’s own experience and be present to it. Letting oneself be surprised or astonished by what the emotion is telling us, and share it with the world to gain clarity on what it is that we’ve been astonished about. It is how learning unfolds. It is how we can know why we hang in there. And it all requires your awareness of the process as such, that is everything comes and goes as you work through the process and let yourself grow with it.
At the same time it is how we can be transformed by the process our activity is based upon.
Thank you for sharing how you experience the process. To me it is key and important. And yet it is what is so often hidden from our view when the expectation is that passion and purpose make things easy … they don’t ..at most they allow to keep doing it
Thank you once again for your perfect timing on writing something that my soul needed to hear/understand. Perhaps it could be the anti malaria pills I started yesterday ( travelling north Namibia) , but you struck a chord in me, as I wipe few tears. All the best Carolyn
Thank you for this post. I just listened to “Sólstafir: Necrologue” (https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=03CrDA8XMr4&si=H4P4U1tZz483iBSX) while reading this post, and it just bumped my heart faster and made me feel so warm. Another fact: yesterday evening, I just started re-watching your “The Photographer’s Voice” series. Thanks again for your dedicated work towards amateur/hobby photographers!
So true, David, So true!!! To be able to share the astonishment and awe, I needed to define my purpose and that is it!!!
Love your letters! Keep them coming!
Jeri Abel
David you didn’t again!!! Perfect alignment of thought. This is just the push I needed. I love every word of this post!! I’m on my way to Norway this coming week and I’m challenging myself to only use my iPhone., just for the challenge of it. To see it differently…and with every shot, to be amazed! Thank you as always for being on point!
And it only started with a used camera – the magic box
Thanks David. Lovely and timely (for me) message. Eloquent and thoughtful. Appreciated.
I was intrigued by your quote of Mary Oliver, and so I decided to find the entire poem only to discover that it was the entire poem! She died in January at age 83. She was a Pulitzer Prize winner.
There is a neat image of her poem on pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/instructions-for-living-a-life-pay-attention-be-astonished-tell-about-it-mary-oliver–672443788084061983/
I agree with Avril Orloff’s reply. The articles are right on target at the right time every time. I cannot think of a more inspiring, creative photography educator, and considering the plethora of educators out there, that is praise indeed. I never miss reading any of David’s articles and take as many classes of his which I can fit into my schedule.
Thank you again.
As always: just what I needed to hear, just when I needed to hear it. Thank you, David!
I completely agree David. It’s the process, the challenge, that gets me going. Over the years though there have been times I have to occasionally tell myself to stop thinking about it and just get out there. I know I’m falling when I become more interested in gear reviews than getting out with the camera gear I have. I had what I initially thought was a minor injury late last September. Slowly it became obvious it was worse than I thought. Still I got out in October and November and captured some of my best work to date. Then came the realization I needed help. By January I started to recover but found walking felt, well, just wrong. Luckily, I got caught up in a number of photo gigs for a charitable organization during the spring and early summer and a powwow which felt like the opportunity of a life time. I’m off to England in October for 10 days and find I’m feeling excited and a bit intimidated. Gad, I feel alive. Cheers from the one-handed southpaw photographer. TLDR?
Beautifully said as usual… And thank you for giving us hope that we Will eventually put it all together and achieve the kind of pictures that not only amaze us but are every bit intentional!
Thank you, once again, David. I’ve been in a “trough” all summer, partly because of a series of life-issues not directly related to photography, but with impact on it nonetheless. Your calling to encourage “amateur photographers” is appreciated. I still “shoot,” at least every week, and I keep pushing myself to learn new ways to “see” and to edit, but feel uninspired and photographically blah. Your words this morning encourage me greatly. Again, thank you.
Bang on, David. It was only this morning when I went to the “same old place” for my sunrise walk when I realized how much my camera has helped me to see the world differently, more intimately, and perhaps most of all, more lovingly.
Here are my first thoughts about Mary Oliver’s wise words that you quoted.
“Pay attention” = Stop, look and listen to what’s around you. Have your camera at the ready.
“Be astonished” = Marvel at the beauty of the ordinary when it’s seen from a different angle, in different lighting, close-up, cropped severely, etc., etc.
“Tell about it” = Show your photos to others. Share your joy that you found with your camera. It’s too precious to keep for yourself.
I’m finding that I see the world differently when I have a camera. I am retired now and quite frankly, I’d be lost and alone if I didn’t have photography as my raison d’etre.
I believe this essay describes the journey perfectly. But it is a journey and that is more important than the destination( unless you are going to Africa😊)