My photography is never so difficult and robbed of its joy as when I try too hard to make it “good” (whatever that means) or worse: to make “art.“
The moment I focus my concern on the outcome of what I am making or how it is received by others, my work becomes rigid and self-conscious. Not only does the picture-making become more difficult (and the resulting photographs less infused with life), it all becomes so much less enjoyable, weighed down with my own unrealistic expectations and the imagined expectations of others. I know I’m not the only one who feels this way.
In the moment, it’s hard enough to make technically competent choices and to make those decisions playfully as I work to see what magic might exist between the camera, the scene, and the subject—but near impossible to do that while listening to the monkeys chattering in the back of my brain and telling me that what I’m making isn’t worth the pixels.
I’ve never liked monkeys. I make a living helping others tame their mental monkeys, while mine get routinely out of control, running amok and throwing poo in the hallways of my creative process.
My advice (if not to you then to me) is this: stop trying so hard to make art. Stop worrying about whether it’s good or not. It doesn’t matter.
Here’s how it works: you learn your craft, study the masters, and practice new things. As you do, your skill improves, your tastes change, and what lights you up on the inside evolves. You never have to answer to the monkeys; you don’t have to worry about whether it’s “art” or even “good.” You just have to make something that thrills you. And keep working on the craft. Keep learning.
If you let “good” stop you, you’ll never grow or improve. No one makes good photographs at first.
Want stronger photographs? Make more of them. Ignore the monkeys slapping labels on it.
Something happens when many of us (ok, maybe it’s just me, but keep reading in case it applies) make a picture we like. We start looking around, hoping others like it too. If they like it, then it confirms we made something good. Cue the dopamine. But if not, well, no more dopamine for you. Those happy feelings are replaced with self-doubt, and we second-guess our affection for what we just made, rather than trusting it.
When we lose the thrill of play, we resort to rules. When we doubt the calibration of our own desires and preferences, we look to others to confirm the merit of our work. Rules are reliable, but they’ll keep you moving in circles around the tastes and opinions of others; they won’t pull you forward into who you’re becoming.
But at least you’ll know if your work is “good” or not, right? Well, no. You’ll know that it conforms to what others expect from art or so-called good photography, and if creative efforts are to conform to anything, it should be to one thing only: the contours of your own soul and mind.
Even as I write this, the Craft Police in my mind are getting their panties in a twist. “If everything is good,” I can hear them say, “then nothing is good!” I want excellence in my work as much as the next person. I just don’t need the approval of others or a list of standards or rules to get there, and neither do you.
As you grow in your craft, you will hit important milestones. At some point, unintentionally crooked horizons will become distracting to you, and you’ll stop doing it. Not because it’s a rule, but because you notice them now and you don’t like them. Same with sensor spots and a lack of critical sharpness in areas that really should be sharp. I know Cartier-Bresson said “sharpness is a bourgeois concept,” but he didn’t believe that so strongly that he stopped focusing his lens. When you need it to be sharp, you’ll know because it’ll drive you to distraction when it’s not, and it won’t be for the sake of the rules; it’ll be because you just don’t like the blurry results anymore. If you’re paying attention and you are growing in your craft, you will evolve into excellence.
At some point, you’ll become dissatisfied with repeating yourself, and that dissatisfaction will draw you forward into new efforts. You won’t be trying to make art; you’ll just want something different from your work. And that desire will lead you to play with wider apertures or slower shutter speeds. It might lead you to more spacious compositions or to give more attention to the energy in your frame, not because one result is objectively good and another is not, but because one satisfies you and the other falls flat, which is curious because last year you really resonated with techniques and results that now feel a little less alive to you.
The thing is, in between the realization that the old efforts no longer satisfy and whatever stage comes next, there can be an incredible liminal stage—an in-between place in your growth that is not quite one or the other but is full of play and curiosity and is unencumbered by expectations because you really don’t have any yet for this new creative place you’ve arrived in. It is in this stage—if you don’t overthink it—that you make the discoveries that will be the hallmarks of your new work. It’ll be in this playful exploration that you find the joy that you always get when things are going well, and you love what you think the work is becoming. Not because it’s good, not because it’s art. But because you love it. And maybe you don’t even love the results, but love the effort of trying—and in doing so, you learn what works and what doesn’t, and you try again because you love the trying.
Is there a better way to evaluate what we make? Is there a better reason for pursuing it and doing more of it? I can’t think of any.
I don’t know if what I make is art, or if others will see it that way. I guess it’s a matter of definition, but I like to think it qualifies. From image to image, I don’t even know if it’s any good, whatever that means. But I know when it’s mine. I know when I love it. I know when I have loved making it, and that act of creativity has taken me to new places. And I know that no matter how good I (or the monkeys) judge it to be, my assessment might change in a year or two; it’ll no longer satisfy, and that hunger will push me ever forward to making work that has meaning to me and brings me joy.
I also know that when I start worrying about how good it is, I stiffen up. I become less playful. I make photographs that are less good, less “me,” and less fun to make. The creative spark is easily quenched. If anything, “Is it good?” is a later question, not a camera-in-hand question.
Don’t worry about the art and whether your images are, or aren’t. Pick up the camera and play. Learn something new and incorporate that into your play. See where your ideas lead and make lots of crappy sketch images that lead to unexpected surprises. If your first instinct is to look at the results and either gasp or giggle (or both), let that be enough.
For the Love of the Photograph,
David
The biggest challenges for most photographers are not technical but creative. They are not so much what goes on in the camera but what goes on in the mind of the person wielding it. Light, Space & Time is a book about thinking and feeling your way through making photographs that are not only good, but truly your own. It would make an amazing gift for the photographer in your life, especially if that’s you. Find out more on Amazon.
Comments
Sometimes those monkeys sound more like gorillas! Such great advice David. I always appreciate your words of wisdom. Thank you for sharing.
If everything is good then nothing is good?
How about- Everything is good in its own way!
You raise an important point: that it is not the technical stuff, or the desire to make ‘art’ that makes for great photos. But that you need to figure out what holds your interest, what you want to try to express with your images. That this is so hard (maybe impossible?) to put into words makes it even more fascinating. How to work this out seems to me to be the real – and deeply worthwhile – struggle.
Hello David. That is a brilliant aricle and so, so right. Many of us belong (or have belonged), to camera clubs or similar organisations where our photographs are “judged” by others who we assume are more qualified than us in determining whether our image is “good or not so good” and we try so hard to produce photographs that we feel will satisfy them. So, so sad.
I am over 80 and have belatively come to the conclusion that I take and process images to satisfy me (and my wife Alison who is a better photographer than me!). – I don’t care anymore about the rest of them! What does it matter if I gets a couple of “likes” on Facebook – it doesn’t. What matters if I feel that the photo I have taken is what I saw and want to record and are happy that I have done this to my (and only my) satisfaction.
Your article sums up the whole process beautifully – “Take photos for yourself and nickers to the rest of them”.
Yours is the best advice I have ever read about the reasons to take photos. Sadlly it’s a little late in my life, but nevertherless it is very, very welcome and I will continue snapping away!!!
Thanks you for your brilliant summary of where we should be.
Bill
Thank you for that, Bill. Fair to say that “late in life” only means this is more important to get right, to do this all for the joy of it? I think with age comes perspective. I’m wrestling hard with all of this right now. A disadvantage for being “older than my years” perhaps. 😉 Thank you for chiming in, and for your very kind words. Ask Alison to go easy on you. 😊
In my view as a career teacher myself, the best of teachers are those who have been and continue to be harassed by the frustrations and troubles their students experience. The difference, if any, is that good teachers freely admit the ongoing learning curve they are experiencing, yet freely share what they themselves have learned and still are learning in the process, if perhaps their students will benefit from the teacher’s learning and experience. In the nearly ten years I’ve been following you, David, that’s the kind of teacher you’ve been for me. I’m grateful.
Rich, these just might be some of the kindest, most encouraging words anyone has left on this blog. I consider teaching a calling. It took me a long time to realize how important it was to me, so much more than an occupation, but a vocation. An invitation to do something deeply valuable with my life, and to serve. Without any real formal training it’s been a lot of trial and error (when is not, right?) so your words hit me in a particularly meaningful way. Thank you so much.
This blog article expresses how I feel about photography contests, especially in one photo club to which I belong. If entering your image in a contest is what floats your boat then go for it. For me it’s the equivalent of a teacher teaching for the exam. The value of the knowledge gets left behind in the effort to get a passing or great grade. If I shoot images for a contest I just learn to appease judges and not myself. The joy winds up being left behind in pursuit of recognition.
Oh, Dan. Don’t even get me started on contests! 😂 Like you, I think if others get something from it, then knock yourself out, float your boat, etc. But I never saw the appeal, and the times I have seen the glimmer of a reason to enter, further reflection taught me it was mostly my ego wanting something more than my work was giving me, mostly likely a shortcut to the feelings that meaningful work would otherwise have given me had I just kept my eyes on my work and found better reasons for doing it than the applause of others. Nothing has stolen my joy more quickly than doing it in hopes of adoration (well, that and clients) 😉
I think you are saying that we learn from others, whether from other photographers or those who see our photos and comment on them, but not to depend on feedback for approval. I find it helpful to know what the “public” thinks, as it lets me know whether it’s being appreciated and how. I still have the choice to “do it my way” all the while keeping in mind that I still want to be seen as “credible” and “legitimate”. This is the key line for me: “…you learn your craft, study the masters, and practice new things. As you do, your skill improves, your tastes change, and what lights you up on the inside evolves.”
Photo competitions are not conducive to this kind of learning, I would argue. I’m trying to imagine how photo/camera clubs would operate without them. To me, competitions are too much like schools where passing “tests” is the only way to get approval from the “experts”. I’m guessing that it’s difficult to outgrow that mentality.
Wally, I don’t know if you saw Rich’s comment in this same thread, but you and he used a similar and, I think, very suitable metaphor. Thank you for chiming in!
You have a knack for deep introspective comments, but this is perhaps one of the best. My saying I stole from some one is; if you are having fun you are doing it right.
You nailed it. Cynthia used to ask me, when I would come back from photographing, if I had made anything I liked. I knew when my answer was “I had fun!” that the results might be worth looking at.
To be contrary, I see no reason not to desire having our images (our skills) put on a benchmark & tested against known criteria. Let’s measure our progress.
Too often, stuff called ‘art’ becomes far too inaccessible – too esoteric. To improve needs us to fail & nothing better than having some kind of mentor / coach to guide us passed those failures with specific, well informed, and well intentioned comments.
We might distinguish between 2 different scenarios:
1. Playing for fun with no expectations beyond personal satisfaction & slower progress
2. Enjoying the work & enjoying even more the authenticated success of getting better at that work.
As to whether or not what we produce is good ‘art’ is for our audience to decide – and there are at least 3 different types of audience: ourselves, experts in our chosen field (peers), and the general public. And, we should realise that each of these audiences might have vastly different ideas of ‘good art’.
Steven, I think you’ll like the post I have coming out in 2 weeks. On November 23 I’ve got an article called “Is it Getting Better?” and I think it addresses your point. I don’t think it’s being contrary. I don’t think one idea is right and other wrong, I think it’s 2 ideas that need to be held in tension with each other. I’ll be interested in your take on the next one!
This article hits close to home, because I was just telling one of my friends nearly the same thing last week. We were both US Navy Photographers. I was telling her that back in our early years, the Chief would hand me a couple of bricks of film and tell me go into Naples, Italy or whatever port we were in at the time and make good photos of the town and of sailors having fun. And, that’s what I did. They were acceptable photos. They did their job. Good for a press release or two. Good for the book we publish after every major deployment. But, nothing worthy of hanging on the wall. Nothing I would want to put in my portfolio.
Fast forward 10 years, and I’m the Chief of the ship’s Photo Lab. I’m the one making assignments and sending photographers out to make photos of the liberty port and sailors having fun. For myself, I’m going to enjoy life, have a few beers, see the sites, and make some pretty pictures. And, guess what happened? I’m more proud of the photos I made at that stage in my career. Maybe it’s having more experience in photography. Maybe it’s not having expectations of impressing anyone other than myself.
Today, I do wildlife and conservation photography. I have my military retirement that pays my bills. My photography is for me, I love what I do, and I concentrate on animals that I care for, like the sandhill crane. And, I truly believe that my photos are stronger because I’m not trying to impress anyone or satisfy a client. If someone buys one of my photos…great. If not…great. Because I’m happy with the photo I produced.
Isn’t that just about all there is to say about it? “I’m happy” End of story. I wish everyone could get there. Much better than making work everyone loves and still being miserable, isn’t it? Thanks for chiming in Wes. Always nice to see your name here.
You might enjoy the book Crash the Chatterbox by Steven Furtick. It s all about defeating negative self-talk. He is a pastor and comes from a Christian perspective in the book. Very helpful for anyone trying to quiet those chattering monkeys!
Thanks for the recommendation, David.
You definitely a man of “encouraging words” even for me at 83 plus years. Just ordered the Kindle edition for my bride says no more physical books. 😉
Thanks, Hubert. I understand the impulse to keep the books to a minimum. A day is quickly approaching when the number of books in this house becomes a real problem.