An Analogy

I like to wander through the second-hand bookstore – I'll often find something that I didn't know to look for. It's a process of serendipity and discovery, a time for trying out ideas and themes, and it's okay that I put most of them back. I've spent almost two years choosing books by the author's last names, working my way through the alphabet twice, and found some gems that I never would have experienced otherwise.

Occasionally I'll finish a book and go right back to the beginning. When I read it all over again I can pay attention to the details and structure in a way that wasn't possible when I didn't know the story, and can make a good work even better. The tradeoff is that I only have so much time, and lose some of the potential for stories that I don't know yet.

This is a lot like photography.

My "Lakefill" series is nearly complete. I can wrap it up and move on to the process of discovering my next idea, which is intimidating because there's no way of knowing if it will be any good. Or I could take what I've learned from the process of doing the work, add in some improved equipment, and re-do the whole thing for a better result. I give up completing anything now, and miss the potential opportunity to apply those same improvements and experiences to the next big thing.

I haven't yet decided what I'm going to do. I may even be delaying taking the critical look at my existing photos, and doing the work to evaluate the series, specifically to avoid having to make that call.

But when I finish reading a book, I usually just go back to my own bookshelves. That's my reserve of favourites to revisit and some stories that had caught my eye when I didn't have the time to pursue them. It's familiar, comfortable, and unsurprising – a nice refuge to have, but not something that I want for my photography.


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Retraction

I have to admit that I've done something that I had said I wouldn't do. I've bought a Nikon D800.

Improvement is a funny thing.

The tools that I use are inseparable from the results that I attain: the process of creation starts when I select the implement, and that's true whether I'm picking a camera and lens or choosing between a brush and a palette knife. Each camera provides different abilities and opportunities, and the D800's potential to make high-quality prints larger and more easily proved too tempting to resist.

Yet while a better camera may take better photos, it doesn't follow that it will create better art.

There's a huge difference between the ambitions of being a better photographer versus being a better artist. The process might look the same, but the goals are different; I occasionally need to remind myself that I want to solve expressive problems, not just technical ones. It's far too easy to get caught up in the numbers and marketing and forget that my goals may not be the same as those of the people around me, and they certainly aren't the same as the camera companies.

But 36 megapixels means a high-resolution 16x20" print without needing to combine multiple images. That's exactly what I want. My Lakefill series may not be done after all.


Comments, questions, thoughts? You can find me on Twitter or via e-mail.