The Photograph Was Fine Until I Posted It

Photography and the Creative Ego

You know that feeling.

You make a photograph.

You like it.

Actually, you really like it.

Maybe you saw something on the street that caught you off guard. The light was right. The gesture was right. Something about the frame just worked.

You get home, look at it again, maybe make a few adjustments, sit back and think:

Yeah. I like this one.

Everything is fine.

Then you post it.

And suddenly the photograph is in trouble.

Not because anything changed in the photograph.

The photograph is sitting there minding its own business.

But now we have numbers.

Likes.

Comments.

Shares.

Whatever little collection of digital signals happens to come with the place we posted it.

And then the mind gets involved.

Hmm.

Not much happening here.

Maybe it isn’t as good as I thought.

Then somebody else posts a photograph.

Their photograph gets three times the response.

Excellent.

Now mine is definitely terrible.

Amazing how quickly that happened.

The Photograph Didn’t Change

This is the part I find interesting.

Before I posted the photograph, my relationship was between me and the photograph.

I saw something.

Something interested me.

I made a frame.

Later, I looked at that frame and felt something about it.

Then the audience entered the room.

And the question quietly changed.

It was no longer:

Do I like this photograph?

It became:

Do they like this photograph?

Nothing wrong with wanting people to respond to our work.

Of course we do.

We make things because we want to express something, and part of expression is hoping somebody is on the other side to receive it.

But there’s a subtle point where sharing can turn into asking the audience to tell us what the work is worth.

And sometimes what we’re worth.

That’s where things can get weird.

I Made a Photograph

There is a big difference between these two statements:

I made a photograph I really like.

and

I’m a good photographer.

The first one is about the photograph.

The second one gives the ego a job.

Now it has an identity to protect.

If I’m a good photographer, what happens when I make a lousy photograph?

What happens when somebody doesn’t like my work?

What happens when nobody notices it?

Suddenly we’re not talking about photographs anymore.

We’re talking about me.

That’s a lot of pressure to put on a rectangle.

Comparison Is Really Helpful

By “helpful,” of course, I mean almost never helpful.

Photography makes comparison incredibly easy.

We can spend ten minutes online looking at extraordinary photographs made by extraordinary photographers and somehow come away with the conclusion:

Well, apparently everyone is better at this than I am.

Which is impressive.

Ten minutes ago we were having a perfectly nice day.

Comparison can move us away from one of the most important questions in creative work:

What interests me?

And replace it with:

How am I doing compared to everybody else?

Those are very different questions.

One invites curiosity.

The other keeps looking sideways.

And if we’re always looking sideways, eventually we stop seeing what’s directly in front of us.

Which is not ideal for photographers.

What If Nobody Sees It?

Here’s a question I like.

Suppose you make one of your favorite photographs.

And nobody sees it.

Not one person.

Was making it worthwhile?

I think about that sometimes.

Because somewhere underneath all the posting, sharing, feedback, likes, comments, exhibitions, books, and whatever else we do with photographs, there was once something very simple.

We saw something.

And we wanted to make a photograph of it.

That was enough to make us lift the camera.

Maybe that’s still enough.

Maybe the response comes later.

Maybe it’s wonderful when people connect with what we make.

But perhaps the audience is part of the experience rather than the authority that gets to decide whether the experience mattered.

I like that idea.

It lets the photograph breathe a little.

And maybe it lets us breathe a little too.

The Photograph Was Fine

The next time I post something and hear that little voice begin its performance—

Not many likes.

Maybe this isn’t very good.

Look how much attention that other photograph is getting.

—I hope I can remember something.

The photograph was fine five minutes ago.

I liked it.

Something about it made me stop.

Something made me press the shutter.

Something made me want to keep it.

Maybe that’s worth paying attention to.

I’m not suggesting we stop listening to other people.

I’m definitely not suggesting every photograph we make is brilliant.

Trust me.

I’ve made evidence to the contrary.

But maybe we don’t have to turn every response into a verdict.

Maybe I can simply say:

I made this.

I like something about it.

Here it is.

And then let it go.

The photograph doesn’t have to tell me who I am.

It just has to be a photograph.