When the World Was New

It’s snowing out today, the pretty wet stuff that clings to every branch and bough. I wonder, if I were to go out with my camera, what would I see that I haven’t photographed before? Would I see the familiar as new, or fall back on old tropes?

I have been passionately practicing photography for 30 years. Like many of us, my desire in the early days was to make photos like those I saw in calendars, magazines, and coffee table books—beautiful images of beautiful places captured under just the right conditions. I bought a book, taught myself the basics, and worked on my composition. It wasn’t long before I, too, made images like those that inspired me. Looking back, the craft side of photography wasn't that hard to figure out, even in the days of slide film. I continued like that for 20 years, gradually improving and refining my compositions and developing a keener eye. The digital revolution opened up a whole new world of possibilities. I was now able to edit my images after pressing the shutter. 

During those first 20 years, everything was new. Every tree, rock, mountain, flower, and stream was something I hadn't photographed before. I recall the thrill the first time I captured flowing water with a long exposure, just like I had seen the “pros” do. I traveled more frequently back then and reveled in the thrill and adventure of exploring new places and all that they offered. I moved back to my home state of New York and began exploring places from my childhood, now through the eyes of a photographer. 

Ten years ago, everything changed again. I discovered the creative potential of photography and immediately shifted from documenting my surroundings to making more subjective images that expressed my inner reality. I felt reborn. Photography became more challenging, but also more rewarding. Finding beauty in the ordinary opened up a whole new world. I was no longer a prisoner to circumstance and geography. Images awaited me at every turn, provided I was present and in tune with my surroundings. I learned to see beyond the obvious and the literal. The familiar became new. To quote Marcel Proust, “The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.”

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In 2009, pioneering jazz/rock drummer Bill Bruford called it quits and retired from performing. His reason? As he puts it, for the first time in his professional career as a musician, he couldn’t see “what came next.” Creatively, he was spent. He wanted nothing more than to get away from a drum kit and do something else. He suffered from burnout and exhaustion from being a bandleader. He began not to enjoy music, the very thing that gave his life meaning for over 40 years. He put down his sticks and followed a path into academia, earning a PhD in Musicology. (He recently returned to the drum kit, playing with an under-the-radar jazz trio. Back to basics, as it were.) With time, I have begun to understand in my own way what he meant. 

Creative burnout is nothing new. At 50, Ansel Adams worried that his best days as a photographer were behind him (as it turned out, they were). The fire within him that fueled his photography was greatly diminished. His focus turned to writing, portfolio creation, education, and conservation. While he still made photographs, he broke no new ground, making only a few iconic photographs for the remainder of his life. 

I’ve looked at countless photos from countless photographers the past 30 years, including my own. Very little wows me anymore. Images of stunning landscapes no longer impress or move me. And while I believe that intimate landscapes afford greater latitude for creativity and self-expression, even most of those images seem familiar. I find myself envious of photographers who are in the nascent days of their journey and for whom everything is new and exciting. As I am loath to repeat myself, I find myself asking the same question Bruford asked. What comes next? I wonder if photography for me has served its purpose, and it’s time to do something else. It’s a sobering if not frightening thought.

I hear Olive Garden is hiring.

In my photography, I strive to make self-expressive images that reflect my personality and way of seeing the world. The question becomes, what more do I have to express? Making images that satisfy me is becoming increasingly difficult. Very few of them excite me. I am bored by my own photography. It makes sense, really. What we photograph tomorrow is in large part determined by what we photograph today and yesterday. If we wish to avoid not only the obvious but also being derivative, then creating meaningful and expressive photographs should become more difficult with time. However, I question if I have enough of the spark left within me to try when success is fleeting and failure is commonplace.

There is the temptation to find creative epiphanies by exploring new places. I don’t mean national parks or other “hotspots” that so many photographers flock to, but rather locations closer to home that I have yet to explore. I’ve long preached that our most creative and self-expressive images come from the places with which we are most familiar. We see and feel them more deeply, resulting in images that go beyond superficial impressions. These are the images that are most authentic and mirror how we see the world. However, over time, they can become stale and boring. We need to feel inspired and excited, to explore new places where we don’t know what’s around the next turn, and enjoy the thrill of discovery. It’s a fine line. Too often, photographers seek new locations as an answer to creative drought, only to produce the same types of photos as before. As Proust argues, subject matter alone is not the solution to greater creativity and self-expression.

Ultimately, the only way to know if the creative spark still exists and discover what comes next is to go through the process. It can’t be forced. If our vision continues to unfold and evolve as we go through life, as I believe it does, then it stands to reason new insights will come as we have new experiences and gain new knowledge. Theoretically, the number of photographic possibilities is infinite. We are limited only by our imagination and our will to push through the fear. The creative life is not one of continuous movement forward; rather, it’s more akin to two steps forward, one (or sometimes two) steps back. It may require starting over, as Bruford seems to have done in joining an obscure and unknown jazz trio. Too often, we place greater importance on our failures than on our successes. Yet, it is the successes that sustain us and keep the spark alive. The creative life is not easy, but the alternative, to give up, is far worse. 

Olive Garden will have to wait.

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