How to be satisfied with your work

You can try to chase down clients.
You can try to chase down fame.

But at the end of the day, if you succeed with either of those two routes to “success” in photography, you’re only trapping yourself. You’ll subsequently be at the mercy of clients, or a fickle fanbase. You might have money, or fame, or both – but you lose control of your own daily choices and, in effect, your life.

The only way to truly be satisfied with your work is to do what you want to do when you want to do it, and do it first and foremost for yourself. If something more comes of it, or if you get paid for it, or if other people like it, then great. And if not, well, hey – at least you spent time doing something you like doing and honing your craft while you were at it.

The paradox of objectivity and subjectivity in photography

For a photograph to exist, a moment in time had to exist to be captured. Of course, a photograph can be manipulated to have details added or subtracted, or its properties can be altered and adjusted to make the image look or feel a certain way. But photography as a practice is rooted in reality, and therefore photography is objective. You can confidently point to a photograph and say, This is the way it was.

Paradoxically, though, photography is also extremely subjective. Who or what do you take a photo of? At what time? From which angle? Which details do you include in the frame, or exclude from it? What kind of camera do you use? Lens? Photoshop and Lightroom aside, a photograph might show the way things were, but it can’t show the full picture of what was going on.

I guess I would sum it up like this: a photograph portrays a brief moment of objective historical reality, albeit through the inherently subjective viewpoint of the photographer.

It’s a nice photograph, but it doesn’t really say anything

It doesn’t really say anything or It doesn’t tell a story are phrases I’ve heard many people say as they’re critiquing photos, typically as justification as to why a photograph shouldn’t be used in a certain context. At best, such a phrase is a polite way for a person to express genuine dislike of a photograph even though he or she cannot at the time fully enunciate the reasons for such dislike. At worst, it can be used as a cop-out to dismiss a photograph without going through a critical discussion or evaluation of the photograph in question.

Some photographs require more context than others in order for the viewer to extract meaning, and it could certainly be argued that such photographs are less useful in specific commercial use-cases. The opposite statement is also true: photographs that require less context for the viewer to extract meaning can be more useful for specific commercial use-cases. Put simply, different situations require different photographs, and in that way, some photographs are “better” than others.

The bottom line, though, is that every photograph says something, and to say or think otherwise does a disservice to the practice of photography. A photograph is literally a (very) brief moment in space and time, captured and preserved indefinitely in the form of an image. Some photographers might be more adept at capturing the right moment in time and space, at composing and framing the image, or at providing context for the photograph (or, selling themselves as “storytellers,” of which there certainly are a lot these days — but that’s for another day), but it’s impossible to deny the story behind a photograph — you just have to be willing to listen in the first place.

Take the above photograph. It’s a good example of a throwaway photograph that nevertheless has a few stories to tell. One is the generic story that the photograph conveys without any context other than the image itself. most people can probably relate to the image portrayed here: a dog running along a beach. Anyone who has ever seen a dog at the beach will know the scene: a happy dog darting rapidly back and forth along the water’s edge — so rapidly, in fact, that the dog is completely out of focus in this particular image. Such a blatant technical imperfection would normally detract from a photograph, but in this case, the subject being out of focus actually adds to the story, as it accurately conveys the idea of the dog entering the frame for only a split second before exiting, causing the mistake on the part of the photographer.

A second story would be more specific, intimate, and personal, and it requires a firsthand account from the photographer’s perspective. In this case, that was me, and I could tell you many more background details about how this photograph came to be, adding layers to its story in the process. Naturally, such details are likely to be more useful in artistic or personal contexts than they are for commercial use, but that shouldn’t reduce their significance. photography will always contain an element of personal narrative and memory. After all, it is people that make photographs.

So before you say, this photo doesn’t really say anything and move on, first make sure that you’re truly listening.

Understanding a Photograph

Lately, I’ve been reading through the book Understanding a Photograph by John Berger.

The title of the book is both accurate and deceiving. Mr. berger does, in fact, address a number of photographs. However, the compilation of his various writings — while centered around photography — in reality represent deep and thoughtful ponderings over wide-ranging topics (primarily, social/political issues, and predominantly from a moderately left-leaning, intellectualist point-of-view).

Because it’s more philosophical than technical in nature, the book has really stimulated thought of my own, as well as quite a bit of self-reflection regarding my own photographic pursuits. I’m not going to write a full review (I haven’t even finished the book yet), but I do plan on writing some of my own thoughts now that I’ve been “inspired.” Stay tuned.

Special thanks to Devan Grimsrud for buying Understanding a Photograph for me, and thanks to do you read me?! for carrying it.