Okay, jackals. You are always asking about contests, which ones matter and which ones don’t. Critical Mass is a good one. I should know because I’ve been a judge for years. I am tasked with viewing and scoring two hundred portfolios. This is NOT something I take lightly. I do an initial look at all two hundred, then I return to each one again, this time consuming the images, website, and artist statement before writing a note to each applicant. This takes just about forever. I curse myself. I curse the organization. I curse the applicants. And then, slowly, the work takes over. I see things that inspire me. I read things that inspire me, and I come in contact with people who have a real plan for their work, and not just some online fantasy-land facade built around a community entirely disconnected from the photography world. (You know who you are.)
I’ll let you in on a little secret. I do this because I’m selfish, and I gain from it.
Yes, I gain from it. Why? Because I see things that light a fire under me. People are doing good work. Top-notch projects are being done, and I see heavyweight names on that submission list. I see pros I already know, and I see unknowns who blow my mind with incredible work, statements, and plans for how the work will be delivered. These are people making a go at careers in photography, which is no easy task. These aren’t people claiming the world isn’t fair, and that they weren’t gifted an opportunity like someone else. These are dedicated grinders. And no, not all works are great. That’s to be expected. In fact, most aren’t totally polished, but that’s the point of entering. You find out where you are, and not just from me, from a wide range of other judges who come from all angles of the professional world. Take a look at this list of jurors. Do you think these people are spending their days on YouTube talking about camera reviews? Please. (Today is the day you could break from that nonsensical world.)
Last year, I worked with Photolucida, the organization behind Critical Mass, to produce a catalog of the winners. I keep this catalog on my desk because it is filled with work that reminds me that the clock is ticking. It reminds me of the quality of work being made out there. Here’s another great reason to enter. You probably won’t win. Being chosen as one of the top fifty, and being included in the exhibition is the goal. You might make that list, or you might not, but either way, it offers a valuable lesson. When I was in elementary school, I played flag football. I was phenom, playing both offense and defense. Our team was the Steelers, which now, as a lifelong Saints fan, I would consider blasphemy, but back then, I bled the black and gold.
We lost the championship in double overtime, on a freezing, wet, snowy day in rural Indiana. I was pissed. Found out later that the other team’s coach was playing a relative who was two years older than the legal limit. In other words, they cheated. Did we get our trophy back? Nope. We went to Dairy Queen, had a Dilly Bar, and went home wet and cold. I’ve used this smoldering fire since then, using it in all kinds of ways to channel my rage, focus, effort, or whatever else you want to call it, to make better work. (Go Saints! Who Dat!)This is what you must do to be a real photographer. You must fight for it, and that means taking wins and losses. Yesterday, I spoke to a working photographer for over an hour. She had lost out on two jobs THAT DAY. Her attitude was, “Fine, I’m going to work on something else.”
Maybe it’s because I’m getting old. Maybe it’s because I inherited my father’s lack of patience, but I no longer have any time for the fake or phony. I only have time for real. Real people with real goals and a real work ethic. If you are working as a photographer, or attempting to, I’ll do anything in my power to help you. Showing your work to people who actually know what good photography is, or what a strong project looks like, is essential. The online world isn’t built for real feedback; it’s built for praise, but the real world doesn’t function that way. The real world might not like what you do, but there is only one way to find out. Throw your hat in the ring and see what is what. And for those of you wondering, I never won a single contest. I came close, was a finalist a few times, but never held the Golden Goose, but man, did those moments teach me invaluable things I’m still living by today.
You want to know the crazy part. I was a finalist for a book prize nineteen years ago. When I run into the judges who awarded me my finalist position, all these years later, they look at me and say, “I remember your work,” and they begin to describe the images. They relay what was happening on the judging panel, why the winning work was awarded the title, and why mine just lost out. This is the real photography world. This is why you enter a contest.