Category / Savant

by CameraTheoretica

Time And Creativity

Is age creativity’s biggest enemy? I have often wondered about this, but it was not until I read a recent article highlighting the brutal fact that most of the world’s greatest creative minds were in their 20’s and 30’s, that my self-doubt went through the roof. For those of us who have flown past those golden years too long ago, such pronouncements hit home with the subtle finesse of a baseball bat. Are we older folks doomed to creative oblivion? Perhaps longevity is not as much of a virtue as we thought it was, but be that as it may, we the forgone should not take this creative excommunication without a fight. We must do so even when accepting the fact that even the best of wines have their peaks and their valleys. In that unpredictable fluctuation between glory and decay, there is no arguing that some of these wines whose lives have been spent in dark, dusty cellars, do show glorious development with time. Who would have known, longevity challenging youth after all.

However, this is not to say that time, that most endangered depleted resource in the world, has been rendered irrelevant. Not by a long shot. In fact, time is always a factor, but perhaps in a more complex way than what the creativity doomsayers would have us believe. Time, in all its hurried glory, is both oasis and desert. Youth enjoys it in abundance, but at the expense of experience; age starves you of it, while overfeeding you with experience. Both realities fertile grounds for blooming creativity, provided one has not given up on the process. And while we could conclude that creativity, in its most absolute form, may not be age dependent, we may have to concede that the willingness to create, that complex blend of passion, opportunity, and industry, may have something to do with age. The passage of time may never diminish our ability to imagine, but it does take its toll on our ability to realize.

So, what must we do to dispel that notion that creativity only belongs to the young? The answer (or at least part of it) may lie in our ability to divest ourselves of distractions, or of what some pundits have dubbed “friction” impeding the creative process. Voices telling us that we are past our prime. Friction. Listening to people’s judgments. Friction. Thinking that we are incapable of doing something. Friction. Expecting recognition. Friction. Talking ourselves out of new ventures. Friction. And above all, not believing in ourselves. Major friction. All of these diversions, and many others, are the weight that keeps holding us back. They weight all of us down with the insensitive cruelty of a maritime storm. Time, while rewarding us with experience, also fills our plate with the accumulated aftereffects of past passions and responsibilities. It certainly doesn’t make matters any easier.

But the wisdom that comes with time may prove to be the great antidote with which to treat the statistical diminution of our creative lives. That wisdom is the key to distinguishing between the important and the superfluous in our daily lives. More than that, it gives us a compass by which to better navigate between the futile and the possible. Like the steering of a major cruise ship, experience tells us at what point to begin to turn the wheel to avoid being too late to be able to dock successfully downstream. Wait too long and failure is inevitable. Start too early and achieve the same results. Such is the case of the creative life. At some point in everyone’s life, it is too late to achieve some things, but sufficiently early enough to achieve others. With some hope, it is the wisdom of the years that will help us realize where that invisible line of demarcation lie between these two time-consuming, warring foes. By all measures, it is a gut-wrenching decision, so choosing wisely on where to apply the famous “Curly’s Law” from the movie City Slickers will make all the difference.

by CameraTheoretica

Hidden Stories

They are everywhere. Hidden, ignored stories that pass us by just as fast as the hours of our lives. What’s amazing is how easy it is to ignore them, or plainly, not see them. They hide in plain sight behind counters at the deli, behind the brisk steps of someone in a hurry, or by the side of the street as rubbish. All of them as important as our own, but just as ignored. Perhaps the result of a world in constant motion that has little time for the individual. We are all passing by, in a sense, deprived of the time and patience that these stories demand if they are ever going to be told. And while this observation is more descriptive than judgmental of the lives we live, it nevertheless identifies a gap in our modern way of living. We look, but we don’t see; we care, but we ignore it. Se la vie, I’m told, but I keep having a problem accepting the neglect.

Arguably, photography can play a role in filling that gap, but to a point. As much as we would like to describe photography as story-telling, the inherent limitations of those frozen moments sometimes make for better portals than history. Rarely do photos tell you about the events that led to that frozen millisecond, or what came after. In some respect, that’s understandable in a world in constant fluidity. Whatever the case, the before and after create vacuums of their own which only our imagination can fill in most circumstances. An object on the street was placed there by someone, but what sort of person would do that? A woman stares at a man descending an escalator, but what must she be thinking? On and on those visual gaps demand to be filled, and on and on we oblige with our imaginations.

That is why we, and I do mean all of us, are proverbial story tellers. We never stop filling in the blanks, faithfully accompanied by our imaginations. We are tireless messengers of life’s narratives, choreographers of the most intricate amalgamations of fact and fiction. Those intractable unknowns lurking in those vacuums leave us no choice. And say what you may, this unconscious byproduct of our less-than-perfect humanity makes for some wonderful stories.

So go on and tell us a story. Add the drama, or the reasons why, make it rain if you have to, tell us about love, about sorrow, and all the facts and feelings in between. What color was it? It doesn’t matter. What did she mean, where did he go? How long was a long time ago? Tell us what moved you, about regrets and tears, about joy and happiness, for we want to know it all. But whatever you do, don’t ever hold back from telling us a story, for we want to hear it. No, more than that, we need to hear it, for in its absence, we will only discover that we have lost all our humanity. And that would be the worst story of them all.

by CameraTheoretica

On Labels

Few professions struggle so ardently in defining themselves as photographers. In historical terms, this identity struggle is relatively new, fiercely manifesting itself only within the last generation or so, when the lines between professionals and hobbyists were dramatically blurred by the digital revolution. As a result of this technological change, the clearly identifiable professional photographer of yesteryear now had to contend with the hordes of talented (and not so talented) amateurs infringing on their business and creative territories. Like an infestation, these newcomers became a nuisance that rocked the existing balance in the profession, not to mention its financial wellbeing. It was a shock to the established system, but not quite a mortal blow. Its primary effect was a democratization of the tools of creation and publishing, and while arguably not as dramatic as the creation of the printing press, it came darn close to it in terms of its impact on society and the distribution of knowledge and artistic expression.

Caught somewhat by surprise in this new world, the professional photography establishment found itself not only threatened, but having to mount an aggressive defense to reduce the financial impact on its profession. Initially, defenses revolved around the traditional distinction that to be a professional photographer, you would have to draw most, if not all, of your income from the sale photographs. This common model had somewhat of a short life, namely because as more professionals began diversifying into teaching, commentary, or writing out of financial necessity, the income being derived from actual image sales began to take a backseat to these shifting priorities. The appearance in the market of the so-called “weekend professional” didn’t help matters either. These weekend professionals, who’s market-entry cost and financial risk was minimal, spent the week working at more pecuniary rewarding careers than that of being a starting photographer in a crowded market. Monetary considerations being less of a worry for these new entrants, their growing participation in the shrinking market began having a deleterious effect on the industry as a whole. As their impact became more pronounced, the newcomers were becoming as welcomed by the established industry as a horde of Taliban fighters at a wedding party. Needless to say, the fight was on, and so was the business of degrading labels.

As the argument of money from prints fell short as a label with which to distinguish between professionals and amateurs, something else would have to take its place. In came the quality argument. This argument revolved around the notion that professionals just produce more “consistent” good work than non-professionals. After all, who would risk their marketing campaign, or wedding memories for that matter, to these one-time wonders? Without a doubt, this was a much better argument, as everyone could relate to the “practice makes perfect” viewpoint. The notion that anyone would turn to other than a seasoned professional for their photographic needs was inconceivable. But the biggest flaw in this line of reasoning was that it ignored the other forces at work in the consumer’s mind of the 21st Century, where technical perfection had receded dramatically in the consumer’s priority list. Content, even if grainy and less than perfect, became not only acceptable, but trendy at that. The dormant, hidden talent of the masses was suddenly catapulted into the limelight, and at a lower cost. The clinical perfection argument was weakened as a result, while the notion of content, regardless of its imperfections, catapulted to the forefront of popular culture. As attitude shifted, so did the money, forcing dramatic changes on the photographic business.

But if traditional labels were not doing the work, what would? The answer would appear to reside in that old purveyor of all that is new: the future. By transforming the seemingly negative effect of modernity from a liability into an asset, a more compelling defense of their financial and market turf was mounted by industrious photographers. The concept of photographers as mere picture takers began to give way to a more holistic approach to the kind of services (i.e., value) a professional photographer would bring to the table. A new spirit of entrepreneurship rooted on the emerging technologies of today (drones, internet, video, sound, storytelling, and rapid customer care) became necessary. As technology and customer expectations continued their relentless progress, the adoption of a “multimedia entrepreneurship” approach has become the new line of demarcation between the professionals and the rest of us want-a-be’s. Such transformation appears to be an imperative for most photographers contemplating a future in today’s market. After all, that hungry twenty-something with an mobile phone out there, capable of shooting video, stills, time-lapses, slow motions, etc., while immediately processing the content using computational technology and distribution tools is not going away any time soon.

So perhaps simple labels don’t work as well as some people thought. In this crowded world of photography as a service, the price of providing these services will still be higher than what the “good enough” photographic community can provide. These newcomers don’t depend as much as they do for such things like 401K retirement plans or discretionary photographic income. And no matter how good your work is, the old cost/benefit equation will continue to be alive and well undermining any attempt at differentiations based purely on labels. The trick will be finding the proverbial sweet spot somewhere beyond the reach of the amateur competition. This may entail saying goodby to that low-hanging fruit that fed the photographic industry for so long, but that may not be as bad as it sounds, for as many photographers who have moved up with the times have found, that unperturbed fruit sitting at the top branches may be a lot sweeter than the picked one below.

by CameraTheoretica

Another Beginning

Thanks for joining me!

There is nothing wrong with starting again.  After years of writing a blog under the now-deleted “whereaboutsphoto” domain, I have chosen to go in a different direction.  Not that there was anything wrong with my previous attempt at punditry, but rather that I kind of found myself becoming a different kind of traveler, and a different kind of photographer.  I needed a change, and this is that change.  Better? Perhaps not, but different, and that is good enough for me.  After all, some people come to this world and dedicate their entire lives to a single pursuit. For good or bad, that is just not me.

What is life without variety?  It could be argued that not much, at least for the restless at heart. So forward I go with my truckload of imperfections and dreams.  A new beginning with a more philosophical flavor to accompany my wanderings and photographic work.  What you will not see here is a portfolio of photographs, as that belongs somewhere else.  Nevertheless, what you will read here is what moves an average guy to travel and to document his journey through this vast, and wonderful world.  Some of it will be upflifting and some of it may fall short of that mark. Like everything out there in those endless roads we walk, it will all add up to an experience like no other.  Such is life, and we must constantly live it with the passion and gusto that once motivated us to take that initial step in the first place.  Welcome again, and I’ll be talking to you soon.