On Pictures…
I’m generally insecure about my photography. I’ve been shooting for close to 11 months, and in that time, I’ve learned a lot, sure, but I’ve also become aware of how much more there is to learn. Typically, this is great news. I love the idea of working towards something and getting better. At the same time, I’m struggling deeply with the idea that I consistently publicizing my mistakes by posting photos I’ll be able to make much better a year from now, and a year from then, and so on. But that’s just process and I can say the same about writing. I have to embrace process. We all do.
A large part of my process—for writing and for pictures—comes by way of reading and studying who I believe to be the masters. I reread Baldwin and Murakami yearly. I read up on Craig Jenkins whenever I can. And for pictures, I read photobooks and zines whenever possible. It’s a nice thing in itself, because I get to give money directly to my favorite photographers, but I also gain a lot of lessons from staring at a collection of well-made photos. Just as I pick up on style from James and Haruki, I do the same when I study photos from celebrated artists.
Recently, I’ve been paging through the monster second volume of Faculty Department, a multi-year project from photographer Justin Chung. Faculty Department follows the creative spaces of “noteworthy individuals,” and the soft style Chung brings to his pictures has made me realize anything can be a photo. The subject does not make the photo, you make the subject with your compositions. The key is to shoot like you’re running out of time, to shoot often, to constantly practice, and to find joy in sharpening your sword.
Reading Faculty Department has put in my head the idea that no picture is too simple. Chung has spreads of coffee mugs at the kitchen table, of wood paneling, of clothes hanging on hangers in a line, and so on. Each one of these pictures elicits such a warm response in me, and I realize there is no need for the showy. The best pictures, for me, are the quiet ones that unfurl over the course of your studying them. They strike you with their simplicity, and how they feel bespoke in their relationship to your eye. And then, as if by magic, they become larger their life because of their stillness. It’s truly a sight to behold.
It’s no secret I’m an insecure artist, but reading widely and intensely has given me so much solace with my work. The importance of studying other’s styles cannot be understated, mostly because when you realize anything can be a style, it’s a great relief. You don’t have to adjust what interests you to the general public or general interest of your medium. You simply have to own your voice. Easier said than done, but also easier than changing who you are.
Anything can be a picture. Pieces are aplenty. Who you are will propel your work. Lean into your natural inclinations as an artist. The rewards will be many.