Trading Instinct for Intention
After attending Ibarionex Parello’s lecture, I began a journey to photograph with more intention. For years, I prided myself on going with my gut, even quoting Henry Wessel who said he liked to shoot before his brain knew what it was doing. There is a freedom inherent in this approach, but as I’ve been thinking about it recently, I think there’s an underlying fear as well.
As artists, photographers—whatever we choose to call ourselves—we all seem to share the same aversion to failure. I believe it’s because of this that we chase “Likes” in order to reassure ourselves we’re not complete hacks (whether you actively chase them or not, you still get the dopamine hit regardless).
If you’re the kind of person who hangs on every “Like” or the kind who doesn’t give a rat’s ass, there’s still one indispensable critic you have to satisfy, and they are not forgiving in the slightest. Of course, I’m talking about oneself.
I’m a true Gemini, meaning at times I think I’m the world’s greatest photographer and at others the most talentless imposter on the planet. As in most things, the truth lies somewhere in the center. But underlying all this is a persistent thread of fear.
By going about photography in a completely instinctual manner, I have relieved myself of any conscious responsibility. Took a shit shot? It’s not my fault, it’s my brain. I didn’t have a choice in the matter. My mind said shoot it, so I did. I can’t help it if it’s total crap.
With this mindset, I have absolved myself of any sense of failure. Since I didn’t plan the shot, I can’t be held responsible for it, right? But if I spot a good location with wonderful light, and I foresee the shot in my mind’s eye, and it still turns out to be a terrible photograph, then I have failed. And no matter how many times I tell my students that failure is the foundation of photography, it’s something I instinctively try to avoid.
Of course, this is folly. We are human, which means we’re imperfect, and failure is not only a part of life but a huge part of art. You can’t take risks without failure. And, most importantly, you cannot succeed without failure. So I have been depriving myself of success by hiding behind a creed built upon fear and trepidation.
To go along with this change in philosophy, I wanted to start shooting in full manual mode as well. Since acquiring the M-11P, I’ve been using it in Aperture Priority most of the time. Obviously, I’m no stranger to shooting manually — using an M6 leaves you no choice — but the cost of each photo taken on film adds just a bit more stress to make sure your settings are accurate. When I shoot digitally, I want to just chill and let the camera do two-thirds of the work.
But as I was walking around shooting in Old Sacramento the other day, it struck me that having the camera in manual complemented this more intentional approach. Not only was I consciously looking for shots to frame, but I was in complete control of how each was captured. As you read this, you might be saying, “No shit, Sherlock.” For me, however, it’s been a bit of a revelation.
Perhaps my road ahead isn’t as daunting as I’d feared. I have been deliberate all this time without thinking when shooting film. I just need to bring the same discipline and awareness to my digital photography. It’s not a destination, but the next step on a much longer journey.
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