I’ve long grappled with proclaiming titles for myself. “photographer”, “artist”, it takes a certain amount of self-assurance to confidently lay claim something with subjective constraints. When do I become a photographer? When I pick up a camera? When I get paid for my work? When I win an award? People take more photos now than ever before, and with a camera in everybody’s pocket all the time, what makes me any different?
If you’re hoping for an answer, I don’t have one. I’m not one to gatekeep and tell you that you need to have a Leica, or to shoot film to be a “real” photographer. If you stopped a moment in time through the sheer magic of modern technology and what you captured speaks to you in a certain way, you’re a photographer in my book. Of course, art is subjective, and that brings me to the point I’m here to share.
If you asked me a year ago, a month ago, hell-a week ago, I would have said no, I’m not an artist. As if the word is reserved for only the select few who paint the ceiling of the Sistine chapel or compose a symphony. I think we need to democratize what it means to be an artist, because the more people who view themselves as creating and appreciating art, the better we will be as a society. So yes, you too are an artist, whether or not you’ve ever touched a brush or a camera or a guitar. You don’t have to live in Greenwich Village chugging cigarettes at the local café while writing your memoirs in a beret to be an artist. Living life with any appreciation for the beauty we draw from an increasingly connected yet stunningly disjointed world makes you an artist. Singing in the shower makes you an artist. Trimming the hedges makes you an artist. Writing down your feelings from the day so you can look back and reflect on them is art. Living life in a way that makes you feel free and fulfilled is an artistic expression.
So here is my art as a photographer. These places and people caught my eye for one reason or another, and they will never exist in the same way ever again. I shot more black and white on this trip than I ever have, and it really expanded my point of view. Addition by subtraction, I suppose. I really enjoy contrast, shapes, symmetry, asymmetry, and I only wanted to use color if it was integral to the scene. So often it is not.
Usually when I travel, I need to make a conscious decision: focus on photography or live in the moment. With this trip the UK and Ireland, I wanted to have my cake and eat it to. This being a deeply personal trip to realize a lifelong goal of my late mother, I wanted to document it in a way that felt authentic to me without becoming a distraction to the experience itself. I normally take “pretty” photos. Photos that the generic person would look at and say, “that is an objectively good photo”. Good exposure, framing, tack sharp, interesting subject. I take pretty photos because pretty photos get praise. People like to be praised. Do I personally like pretty photos? Sure. But what I really like are alleyways, broken windows, people that you can’t help but wonder where they’re life turned on them. So, this trip I didn’t take any photos of Big Ben bathed in golden hour sunlight, or the rolling hills of the Irish countryside. I took photos of scenes that I like, and doing what you like for no one else other than yourself makes you an artist.
It’s interesting how you view the world differently away from home. I could walk around my neighborhood all day and not find anything worth photographing. As soon as I land in a new city, I see the beauty in every piece of scaffolding, texture, and passerby. I guess that’s what you call rose colored glasses. I guess that’s also why it is important for artists to expand their horizons. You rarely meet a creative who has never left their town.
The UK reinvigorated a part of me that has been laying semi-dormant. They say “dance like nobody is watching”, well similarly I think you should photograph like nobody is watching. Simultaneously that means that you should not be self-conscious to point your camera wherever you like, and to shoot whatever it is you want to preserve. I want to remember the summer day in SoHo with sweat on my brow as I walked through the park watching a pick-up game of ping pong while Kool & the Gang played from a nearby boombox. I want to remember the pub under a hundred-year-old bridge and the breeze from a passing by double decker. These aren’t moments you plan; they are moments you discover, and that makes them precious.
On this trip I decided to forego my Canon R5 in favor of a Fuji X100 for its compact size because after all-the best camera is the one you have on you. When I carry a large setup, I feel like I’m observing a zoo exhibit, and I would prefer to blend in naturally with my environment. The near silent leaf shutter also helped to be discrete taking candid shots of people passing by. I much appreciate the work of photographers who are more…shall we say, in your face, but I don’t like that approach personally. I have a book on my coffee table from one of my favorite photographers, and most of the photos are people looking into the lens like they want to fight whatever’s on the other side of it. I suppose pointing a camera and a flash in somebody’s face is not always well received. I’m a bit less confrontational by nature.
I am drawn to candid shots. Even when I have paid work I lean away from making people pose. I want a glimpse into a moment uninterrupted by my presence. Not being precious about framing or a technically perfect shot allowed me to capture something pure. More than ever before I embraced the out of focus, the not perfectly framed, the photos with character over those with precision. How many times have you heard these musings? Probably a few. There is truth there, however, if you can tolerate the wax poetic nature for a moment.
I love photos that transport you to a place. I can see a photo from 100 years ago and still hear the sounds. It really is magical to be able to preserve time and space in such a way. We are all fortunate to have the luxury to pass judgment on what moments bear relevance to our lives. All I can hope is that these photos transport you to a moment as much as they have preserved that moment for me. It’s funny to get back from a trip and not want to instantly share my photos with people. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sharing them, but in a more liberating way. I have a printed photo on my wall from the last time I visited Europe, it’s a perfectly composed photo of a bridge in Switzerland with a swan swimming in the foreground. Great photo. I wanted to post that photo everywhere, so everyone knew how great of a photographer I was. Everyone takes that photo, though. Now I want to share my photos so other people can have insight to my art, so they see me through my photos. So yes, of course I’m an artist, and so are you.
