Creative: Finish

Lots of dabblers out there. Folks who love to talk photography, buy books, attend shows, and submerge themselves in all things photographic, but never seem to finish what they are working on. Everything I mention is good, except for the finish. Talk photography, buy those books and prints, attend those shows, and take a deep breath as you dig for the depths of what photography has to offer. But at some point, the talk has to stop, and the finishing touches need to be applied.

I’ve spoken of the “Move the goalposts” movement.

“If I get my new bag, I’ll get started on my project.” “I’m selling my A73 and going back to an XT3, and then I’ll start my project.” “I just went to such and such a show, and now I have an idea for a project.” “I’m taking a class on how to mine salt, so I can make salt prints, and then I’ll start my project.” The number of excuses I’ve heard is nearly endless. I’m older now, some would say smarter, so I mostly ignore folks who drop these bits of wisdom on me because I know they aren’t serious about photography.

Last week, I made a YouTube video and briefly spoke about credentials. How we ask for credentials from plumbers, electricians, doctors, pilots, but when it comes to photography, anyone with a camera is fine. No barrier to entry. No testing, trials, or hoops to jump through. So simple even a child can do it. A friend wrote to me after and said, “Credentials for me begin with two to three years on a project, for no money, followed by a harsh critique.”

Snowflakes and dabblers read this and start looking for an out, an unfair advantage, a generational escape route they can squirt through to avoid what this statement means, and the work involved in pulling it off. So that you know, the person making this statement has been a full-time working photographer for over thirty years. Working from Asia, Europe, the Middle East, and North America. Commercial, advertising, editorial, and long-form personal projects that end in book form. In short, he is the type of photographer the dabblers all talk about being. (Oh, the irony.)

I call bullshit.

I know someone who has talked about making a book for over six years and has yet to make a sample or test book. He reaches out twice a year, telling me he is the person to redefine self-publishing. He talks about how many books he’s going to make. If he could just get Blurb to add something to their offering, he would get started. If he could just get special coupons, he would get started. If he could only get a new piece of software, or trim size, or paper type, he would get started. But he never does.

I used to assist other photographers. Better photographers. More accomplished, more talented, more organized. Pros. People who lived on assignment. The type of photographers that modern, online dabblers talk about being. One guy had already won a Pulitzer and was working for a wide range of editorial clients. Life, Time, People, National Geographic, Sports Illustrated, etc. He worked all the time. He got an in with the Navy Seals and ended up tracking an incoming BUDS class from start to finish, the first time an outside photographer had been allowed to do this. He tracked this class relentlessly. He learned how to dive so he could cover the underwater demolition aspects of becoming a SEAL, and he did this while shooting full-time and being a husband and dad to two kids. He then spent ten years documenting elderly folks for a project on aging. Again, all while working full-time. And both the SEALS and Aging were self-funded, personal projects.

Dabblers have no idea what it means to work hard photographically because they never have. Hence the name “Dabblers.” They are sustained by praise from strangers. “Wow, you have an eye.” “Wow, you are so good at this.” That’s all they need. A little ego stroke and it’s warm and fuzzy time. But at some point, they realize they aren’t in the conversation. They realize there is another discussion group happening in the classroom next door. They begin to realize there is such a thing as a professional.

When faced with this realization, most retreat back to the safety of the online world, but a few, a tiny, tiny, few ask permission and step into that classroom next door. They know they might have to sit and listen, but they know they are now in a room full of people they can’t trick, con, or fool into thinking they know what they are doing. They know they are now in a direct world. A world on a clock. A world of truth and reality. A world where you might not like what you hear, but a world that might help them improve.

Stephen King talks about writers being born at a specific talent level, and he believes that you can only move up the scale one or two notches at the most, regardless of how hard you work. I believe photography is similar. Dabblers can’t handle this. Knowing you might never be a generational talent. Another friend worked for seven years on a project about Tijuana. The work was good enough to get him invited to Eddie Adams. The work was good enough to get an invite to show work to arguably the best agency in the world. When he showed the work to a famous photo editor, the response was “This is nice work, but it won’t get you more work.” A painful yet true statement. In other words, the truth.

The more you know, the harder it gets. The pressure mounts. Each show, each book purchase, each random shoot, pushing those goalposts further and further away. How do I know? Cause I’ve been a dabbler from time to time. Sometimes this was due to things outside of my control, and other times it was due to me not wanting or knowing how to do something. I, deflecting reality in favor of the facade.

I love meeting someone who says, “I’m a hobbyist.”

These folks tend to be happy, fun, and are often better at photography than they know. Dabblers take themselves more seriously, are often self-deprecating, but only because they need someone to tell them they are good. They hang around the professional fringe, but know that world is far too demanding. They will be inspected, prodded, poked, and examined. And perhaps most frightening, judged.

I was fortunate. I backed into photography through photojournalism. The guy who found me didn’t mess around. His name was Jerry. Jerry put the fear of God in me and explained in no uncertain terms the seriousness of what I was doing. I knew Jerry would be there when I returned with my film. The guy who handed me my first real camera gave me an assignment, a copy of the Sunny-16 rule, and said, “Don’t fuck it up.” He went on to win multiple Pulitzers. The next day, my photograph ran in the paper. There was no time to dabble. You were either in or you were out. I shot all day, every day, both on assignment and in my free time. I was reminded daily of where I stood talent-wise. Over the course of the following year, I found a story of my own. I spent all my free time working on the project. At the end of the year, I made an edit, showed it to Jerry, and he said, “You did good.” He entered my essay in a photojournalism competition, and I won. Jerry looked at me and said, “Congratulations, get back to work.”

So when I spoke about credentials in my YouTube film, I said if you had never had a barrier to entry in photography, you should find one. Find something to challenge yourself, or you will live forever in the world of dabblers. Find a story and do ONLY that story for as long as it takes. Stop random. Even if you have no desire to be a professional, this is a great way to learn so many things. How to find and tell a story. How to build a real body of images. How to edit, sequence, and prep work for a future book. How to focus on ONE thing. And how to disconnect until you have something of note.

Have you ever been to REI? I love this chain of outdoor stores. I know, I know, hardcore purists hate REI, but for the masses, REI is a conduit to the outdoor world. (Bass Pro Shops, Cabelas) Ever see someone in there buying clothes for an expedition? Imagine a middle-aged guy from Orange County who watched Meru and thought, “I’m gonna climb the Shark’s Fin.” They tell all their friends about their plan, and they max out their Venture X at REI. Then they drive their $250,000 Ferrari to discount sushi and forget the entire plan. They move on to some other shiny object idea, and I buy their unused clothing at a yard sale the following year. Dabblers. Not the end of the world, but if you have that ember of truth buried somewhere inside you, you know there is another world out there. So, go find it. Find it and live it, and most importantly, finish it.