Last summer I began asking myself a question: “why do I make photos?” That question grew louder and louder over the last few months as I concentrate on making better photos. The “why” has loomed overhead begging for an answer. As I think about the time spent working on projects, going to events or managing a newsroom, the question demands an answer.
Without a “why” there seems to be no reason. Without a “why” there should be no sacrifice of time in search of better photos. Without a “why” it seems ridiculous to pick up the camera in the first place. This has been particularly bothersome for me lately as my time becomes more and more constrained with family, school and work. Interestingly, it seems that for me, extreme pressure produces the clearest answers: diamonds if you will.
I can’t say that I’ve found my answer yet, but I think I’m a little closer to understanding. I’ve never particularly understood them before, but I’ve heard the reasons of others. There are the seemingly generic answers like “save the world” or “make a difference” or “understanding through visual imagery,” but none of them have resonated with me for the length of time that I’ve been taking photos. I do want to make a difference, but that doesn’t seem to explain why I take a photo of a rainbow over the college campus.
A few weeks ago, I volunteered to make portraits for an upcoming play and possibly put a few photos in the paper. The first thoughts I had were, “cool, play with lighting; cool, actors/actresses are a dynamic bunch, make some interesting photos with them.” So, after the portraits (which sucked. really bad. way too much effort for a mediocre/bad result) I switched to candids. Seeing the opportunity for a story, I began following the rehearsals and lead-up to the play.
I spent time with the cast and director, probably several hours worth of aggregated time. I would show up and we would all chat. They would do their thing and I would make photos for an hour or so and leave. A few days later, I would show up again and repeat. Throughout the rehearsals I built a relationship, a friendship, with the director and the cast. We all had fun, joked, teased and worked together very well.
And here is the eureka moment for me: in the end, it’s not about the photos. It’s about connecting with p-e-o-p-l-e, people. Lindsay and I went and watched the grand opening of the play and I felt their anxiety, I felt their excitement and I was truly very happy for them. I had made connections with people that I otherwise would not have.
I watched an Ami Vitale interview where she went off to Africa with her sister, who was in the Peace Corps, and lived in a small village in the middle of nowhere for a year. I remember Ami talking about living in the village and photography was an afterthought. It was the life and the living with the people and the connections that were most important.
I don’t know if I’m expressing this very well, but I feel like this is an important step in my growth as a photographer. The first two long years were about technical quality and equipment. These last few months I feel like I have a whole new outlook.
Here are my lessons:
- A camera is just a light tight box that holds film or a sensor
- “It’s just a camera, and sometimes I use it” – HCB
- Photojournalism isn’t about pictures, it’s about people
There is so much to this, I don’t even know where to begin – I don’t know if I could even express it in writing if I wanted to. This changes everything.