Creative: Japan Awaits, But What Will We Do?

It has only been a few weeks since I departed from the minefield that is YouTube, but my life has already changed for the better. In the past two days alone, I’ve learned more about Adobe InDesign than I had discovered in the previous decade. I’ve created more art work than in the previous six months, and I’ve written thousands of words for upcoming book projects. The past two weeks have changed my entire creative outlook, and changed how I view future projects.

I believe the world has changed.

I also believe the world’s visual literacy and visual tolerance have changed. With the great deluge of imagery came more exposure but less understanding. And, beyond the shadow of a doubt, less attention span. It is for this reason I believe the classic photo-essay, while still entirely worth doing, has less impact than ever before. Photography as the main point is in serious decline. It pains me to write this last sentence because I still love photography as much as ever, but I can’t deny what I see and hear around me.

It is up to us to adapt.

This morning I got an email newsletter from Elena Dorfman, my friend and co-instructor for workshops in Albania and Japan. The newsletter was about our upcoming workshop and I allowed myself a minute to dream about what this experience might be like. I found my dream to be, well, surprising. I didn’t dream about crafting the perfect photo essay. While I’m teaching, my own work is secondary, so perhaps this shouldn’t be a huge surprise, but it sure felt like a surprise. I also found myself saying, “I don’t care where we go because it’s all great and I can make something from anywhere.” Now, we happen to be hitting Tokyo, Kyoto, Osaka and more, so locations aren’t going to be an issue, but there was a sense of relief in being confident that no matter where we set foot in Japan, the bounty will be apparent.

I also dreamt of a mix of work. Sketches, writing, photographs, art work, etc. The book I dreamt of making didn’t look like a photography book. The book looked like a vignette of my mind. Each spread a separate playground. Permission to move freely, sir. Travel light, observe and report. Write, make notes, design and build the process behind the story. I also dreamt of Japan as a small piece of something else. Everything creative linked together and tied into one, long, beautiful expression. Being in a location for a short time is no way to entirely encapsulate a country, so perhaps the best way to look at this workshop is a chance to build a chapter. One chapter of a book life.

I dreamt of my first workshop as an attendee. 1997, Santa Fe. A National Geographic photographer as the instructor. I had stacked the deck in my favor before the class had even started. I had my story, my location, my permission and had already begun writing. But over the course of the entire week, shooting all day, every day, I made a grand total of six images that worked. I was frustrated and semi-confused. But the instructor looked at me and said “I’m so jealous of you.” “What?” I replied thinking he must have hit his head. “You spend more time on personal projects than I do.” With this small exchange, he and I became friends and this is when the real learning began. We stopped talking about specific images, maybe because I had so few, and we started talking about the professional, creative life. I still adhere and to and reference things I learned in this class, and I’m not talking about f-stops and filters.

Two weeks ago, I received a letter in the mail. A single page of incredible, fountain pen script and a single page of images. The letter was from a student from last year’s workshop in Peru. The student was finishing a hike in Spain when he emerged from the trail right smack into the middle of a protest. The student said “What you taught me in the class came right back to me as I immediately started covering the protest.” “Picture package, build a picture package.” This makes me happy.

So, what will I do? I will observe and record, and I will help others make sense of their observations and recordings. I will understand that the messenger might need to change shape or direction. I will understand the privilege of being there, and I will not take anything for granted. And each day I will attempt to add something personal to the creative book of life.