A Photographer's Photographer

For ten years, I sat on the board of trustees of our local arts center, four of which I served as board chair. Each year the arts center holds a juried art exhibition open to the public. As the description suggests, it requires a juror, usually a local artist of some renown. This year they were having difficulty finding a juror, as I was informed by one of the trustees over drinks one afternoon. As she was saying this, I sat there with a slight grin on my face, waiting for it to dawn on her that she was, in fact, talking to an artist. When it didn’t, I finally reminded her of said fact, and that’s when the light bulb went off. The obvious question was, why hadn’t anyone on the committee or staff thought of me, after ten years and two solo exhibits? Rather than take offense, I chose to find it amusing. It’s a learned choice.

One of the most difficult aspects of being an artist is dealing with indifference, the recognition that most people don’t care about our art. The reason it’s so difficult is that we know it’s largely true. Most people don’t care about our art. And why should they? Everyone is too busy with their own lives to be interested in our artwork. Pursuing one’s art is an extremely personal and often solitary endeavor. Indifference to our art feels like indifference to us as a person, so closely is our identity tied to our art. Indifference feels like a form of rejection. Even though we create primarily for ourselves, we wish for our art to connect with others. We need it to. Some argue that connection is the primary goal of art. 

In my experience, the majority of people who care about my photography are other photographers, with a few exceptions. And it makes sense. To other photographers, that is my identity. To my family and friends, who show little interest in my work, I am a brother, a son, an uncle. That is how I am identified first. Being a photographer is secondary, like a job. To us, however, being an artist is much more than a job. It is akin to a vocation, a calling. I didn’t choose photography; it chose me. I create because I have to. Not for financial reasons, but for my soul. And because it is a calling, it is more special to us than to others. It feels noble, to the point that we can feel self-important and fall into the trap of romanticizing what we do, believing that we have an ability few others share. 

To a greater extent, the type of photographs we produce determines our audience. The more personal and less immediate our work is, the greater its appeal among other photographers. Why? Well, because other photographers “get it” more readily, whether it’s due to having a background in art or simply more experience looking at photographs. Fellow photographers are more apt to recognize and appreciate work that is not mainstream and requires thought. Among the arts center family, there was greater interest in my work when it was more accessible, more obvious. As my photography became more personal and subjective, I noticed interest in it waning. 

In the seminal book Art & Fear, authors David Bayles and Ted Orland discuss the gulf between artist and audience, noting that what matters to the viewer is the final work, whereas for the artist, what is most important is the process of shaping the artwork. They state that the majority of an artist’s work isn't worth caring about, arguing that it exists to teach the artist how to make the small fraction of artwork that soars. I agree. But who decides what soars, artist or audience? What I consider my best work is not at all what the general public would choose. In a recent podcast, the author posited that as photographers, we decide what our favorite work is, but our audience determines what our best work is. I couldn’t disagree more. Ultimately, it is a matter of how we define “best.” If popularity is the metric, then sure, the audience decides what my best work is. However, if creativity and depth of seeing are the measuring sticks, then my best photos and favorite photos are the same.

If fulfillment with our art depends largely on audience reaction to our work, we are setting ourselves up for endless disappointment and frustration. After all, the reason we pursue art, the reason I am a photographer, is not for external accolades, satisfying as they may be. No, we do it because it satisfies a deeper need within us, one that has nothing to do with audience. A need to create and express ourselves, regardless of who sees it. And while it may seem that many are indifferent, some are touched by it- those whom your art inspires. Find joy and satisfaction in the few who see you, and worry not about the rest. 

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