Reflections on Disappointment

My last post shared the  disappointment I felt following my weekend in Northumberland.

On second (third, fourth,...) study the images aren’t that bad. I was hoping for something more – more...different – but there are at least a couple of images there that I’m quite happy with. 2 images in a weekend’s not a bad hit rate to be honest.

Although not quite what I was after they’ve definitely grown on me – and I didn’t dislike them in the first place. An interesting thing for me to ponder further is if I didn't like them at first, but I like them now, how then can they be a realisation of my original vision? Some thoughts on that and quite what this "Vision" thing is in a future post I think.

Anyway after some reflection, one or two chats, and looking at the images again, I think I’ve learned a few lessons (and relearned a couple) that I thought were worth sharing. Most of them are about our own expectations.

1. Approach Trumps Location

I had hoped that a different location would get the creative juices flowing. However approaching that location in the same way with the same mindset won't lead to original images, just similar images of a different place.

At the end of the day I was still planning on shooting rocks, with some long exposure sky and sea. They might be different rocks and even geologically interesting rocks, but they were still going to be rocks in a "milky" sea. The location was irrelevant really.

Approach appears to be the biggest factor in making original images. After all original images can still be made in well known locations.

2. Clear Your Mind of Expectation

I didn't really find the "geologically interesting rocks in the surf" combination that I was looking for and was quite disappointed. Aside from that I had headlands and other rock stratas invading my frame where I wanted a clear, minimalist sea.

I had built an expectation that was quite different to the reality I found on location. This expectation can be a real creativity killer.

Sometimes you can spend all of your time looking for and trying to make as certain shot, yet you miss other likely better opportunities. Who knows, perhaps those headlands and rock stratas I was so busy trying to get out of frame were the image.

An expectant mind isn't an open mind. We put pressure on ourselves to make  images, perhaps even images that aren't even there, rather than just going with the flow.

3. Stop Trying So Hard

If I’m struggling to make sense of things or things aren’t going the way I expect, I find myself trying harder to make them work, and often working too fast and loose in my eagerness to get something. The result is often something forced and visually jarring. The struggle to make the image is transmitted by the image itself.

I find I need to work more intuitively and if things aren’t coming easily then it’s normally a sign to move on, and perhaps to try something different. I don’t mean easy in the sense that actually making an image is or should be easy. Rather that for me the process of image making needs to be a subconscious free flowing one, feeling my way to the image rather than wrestling with what’s in front of me.

4. Learn to Spot and Deal with Frustration

My usual reaction after some disappointing results is to go out and take more pictures. If I'm not able to I get can really frustrated! “You’re only as good as your last shot” and I want to go out and prove myself all over again.

But in that state of mind I’ll be forcing things, willing things to fall into place and setting myself the expectation that I’ll get something I’m happy with. Not good.

I think I’m better giving it a little time, going out as the opportunity arises. Perhaps more importantly I need to stop worrying about it. That feeling of being on a bad run hurts but a clear head and an open mind are required to make better images. They will come if I don’t panic and trust myself. Maybe even take a wee break doing something else to forget all about it.

5. Don't Worry About What Other People Think

Whilst constructive feedback and even praise from others is welcome, this shouldn't be the intention of image making. I think it stifles us and leads to unoriginal and shallow images.

In the field it's better to clear my head, block out others' voices and follow my instinct. There’s a time to worry about what others think and that’s definitely not at the point of image making.

6. Don’t Worry About the Results

Whilst in the field I can spend a lot of time looking at the image review on the LCD. Normally I'm checking for good things - histogram, compositional refinements - but I'm also looking for that 'wow' moment where I got the shot.

It has to be said the LCD can be very flattering to our images! Often I see what I think are amazing shots but I take them home and just go "huh?!".

To me checking and worrying about those results, looking for reassurance on the back of the camera is a bad habit. If I think the results are looking good I may be inclined to think that I've got "what I came for" and pack up prematurely.

Conversely if things aren't looking so good I can feel the pressure mounting, the need to get "something, anything!". Either reaction to this constant progress reviewing is damaging I think.

The problem isn't checking the LCD, and yes I should check it from time to time and use the feedback constructively. Rather it's a reliance on the LCD as the barometer of success and feeling anxious until an image leaps off the screen. I think it's better to not worry, stay in the moment and keep working intuitively.

7. Familiarity Helps

As I said above going to a different location is no guarantee of getting something good or different. It’s still possible to shoot clichés in a new location. Instead I think familiarity helps in a lot of ways.

For one, regular visits can mean that I work the “more obvious” shots out of my system. This frees my mind to explore somewhere more creatively. I know certain places where I can say to myself “I have that shot, now what else can I find”.

I think many of us are looking for some form of familiarity, looking for reassurance that there's potential and that we're not wasting our time. I think this is why honey-pot locations exist - people are familiar with other images and the potential to make their own (or mimic).

Even for a fresh location repeated visits let us get under the skin of a place - see it in different light, weather and seasons, and perhaps appreciate it completely differently. Without at least some familiarity we’re trusting to luck that the landscape will bear its riches to us immediately (which some places do more readily than others).

Of all the lessons this is the one that I feel strongest about. I want to feel like an explorer, but I also want to feel like the land is an old friend. So I'm going to find and keep returning to those locations I can call my own and spend time understanding them better.

8. Let Your Images Breathe

I always feel the urge to race home, check my images and share them with the world. Again I think this is me looking for reassurance, external validation, that my endeavours were not in vain and that I've still “got it”. It goes back to worrying about results.

I think that I review images much too soon after shooting. On occasions where I give them time I appreciate them a lot more. Of course it's not the images I'm giving time, it's me! Time to forget - about the expectations, the emotions, the excitement - so that I can see  the images for what they are.

I’m going to make a conscious effort to delay and then slow my image reviews down.

9. Actually “Look” at the Images

My image review process goes a lot like this "junk - junk - junk - maybe…no - junk - junk - ooh, I like!", quickly racing through the images looking for the ones that stand out. Indeed I'll normally remember those images I have hopes for when I shot them and  jump to those quickly, perhaps not even looking at most of the others.

But each of those hundreds and thousands of images has its own story to tell and its own lesson for us. “I shot too many”, “I was trusting to luck”, “bad light”, “focus was off”, “composition is unbalanced”, “my exposures we’re all over the place”, “I've got a bunch of the inside of my bag because I didn't switch the camera off”, etc, etc.

I think really looking at these failed images and consciously noting why things didn't work will help me to make stronger images in the future. “Learn from your mistakes” as they say. This can be very difficult to do objectively and again highlights the importance of letting time pass to let go of the associated emotions.

I've decided that when I review I'm going to note 2 or 3 things that I think  I need to work on on an index card. I can then glance at that as a conscious reminder before stepping out for my next shoot.

Conclusions

There you go, 9 lessons from my recent experience of disappointment. Some of these things I already knew, but I've taken some time to consciously think about them. In the past I would probably have just got back on the bike and started shooting until something clicked.

But I've found it very interesting and helpful to sit down and reflect on the above points to actually learn some lessons that will hopefully make my photography stronger in the future.

It may read as though I'm beating myself up - and to be honest I've made some points more strongly to get them across - but I genuinely think this a good, positive experience.

One of the things I love about photography is that it presents the ultimate puzzle - how to turn this big complicated world into a meaningful and emotive photograph.

But more so I think the puzzle and challenge is with understanding ourselves. I really enjoy the questioning of myself that photography brings out and the better understanding that follows.

Northumberland: Looking for Something Different

Although I grew up close to the Northumberland coast, as is often the case it wasn't until I started photography that I realised how fascinating it is.

My parents live in Coldstream which is just inside Scotland. So it was the beaches of Northumberland that we'd go to on day trips with a picnic (when it wasn't raining and blowing a gale). Yet I never really fully appreciated the beauty of the area until I started exploring it with my camera last year. Photography truly is a gift far greater than images alone.

The beach we often used to visit as kids was Cocklawburn beach near Scremerston which is just south of Berwick-Upon-Tweed along the A1. Not only is it a beautiful beach but like most of this stretch of coast it has some remarkable geology to marvel at. Rocks resembling pavements, dinosaurs' skeletons, waves, furrows, landscapes in miniature. So much to explore. I still get to visit this area when I visit my parents' for the weekend, which normally means I can take in 1 or 2 sunrises.

But I wanted to spend a bit more time exploring it more fully, further south than I was accustomed. I checked the tide tables and they looked promising for last weekend - close to high for a couple of shots I had in mind, and I generally have better success with a higher tide. So I asked my wife about the possibility of a photography weekend away. "Ooh, that's close to our anniversary, maybe we could combine the two?". Not quite the freedom I was looking for! Still it was a reason to stay in a hotel further south at  Bamburgh (saving me a 40 minute drive from my parents).

With a bit of umming and ahhing and some advice from my twitter mate David Breen (@breenster) my locations were: Cocklawburn for Saturday sunrise (I was staying at my parents' on Friday night), Rumbling Kern near Howick for Saturday sunset and Cullernose Point again near Howick for Sunday sunrise.

[osmap width=600 height=600 markers="NU032483;Cocklawburn Beach|NU262172;Rumbling Kern|NU261187;Cullernose Point"]

My chief aims and really the reason for sharing in this blog post was to do something a bit different. In my "Be Brave" post I've talked about turning my back on more obvious opportunities in favour of finding something more unique and hopefully original. A more typical shotlist for a weekend in Northumberland would perhaps involve some combination of Bamburgh Castle, Dunstanburgh Castle, St. Mary's Lighthouse and Lindisfarne. But I wanted to explore and find something different with a particular focus on the geology.

Looking for something different is something I'm looking to develop in my work this year. This has already manifested itself in the images I made during the recent snowy spell, shunning more typical Peak District locations to make images within a few miles of my house. Increasingly I feel that everything has had a photograph taken of it, in so many different ways, and that as unique and highly creative as (I would like to think!) I am, I can only make a tiny contribution beyond what's already been done. Yet as much as "everything's" been shot there's so much of this country and the world that remains relatively unexplored through a lens.

To continue on this point a little further, my particular particular valley in the Peak District, the Longdendale, has very few images of it beyond walkers' snapshots on Flickr. By contrast Mam Tor, Stanage Edge, Curbar edge and the others probably have a server dedicated to hosting those images alone! That was the reason for me starting my Longdendale project (which I shall update shortly), to find and share something that it seems many haven't seen. Doing a bit more exploring and finding the non-obvious is something I'd like to apply to my image making more widely.

Of course, going it alone like this meant it was going to be tough. There's relatively little imagery that you can use to build a picture of an area, and you're somewhat trusting to luck that you'll find something. Of course, there's always something to find! But I think that's something that you have to build a trust and confidence in. In suggesting locations David had also suggested they were "tough to find compositions". I sort of knew I'd have my work cut out for me. And yet, that's the sort of challenge I feel I should thrive on.

What this more exploratory approach means, of course, is that my image making becomes a bit more hit and miss. There's every possibility I could spend a day, a week, or even months making images that don't really do much for me. In the same time period, I could rely on tried and trusted locations - and even compositions - to create an expanding body of work. There's a part of me that feels the need to do that - you're only as good as you're last shot and all that - but at the same time, I feel I need to do something more and embrace the challenge. Again I need to trust my instincts and yes trust to luck. That gem that you mine yourself is far more precious than that which is handed to you.

On this particular trip David was right - finding compositions and pleasing images was tough! I returned with only a handful of images I'm sorta kinda happy with, and definitely none that I'd consider portfolio worthy. That probably shouldn't come as much of a surprise. Ansel Adams talks about making 12 good images a year, so I am probably being greedy expecting a set of decent images in any given particular weekend, even ignoring my unfamiliarity with the location! Yet I remain somewhat disappointed.

I think I'm disappointed for two reasons. The first is that the images weren't that great. That's an obvious source of disappointment.

But the second is deeper. There's probably only one image here where I felt it was in keeping with my aim, finding and trying something bolder and a bit different (even then I had hoped for a better result, but at least I learned something). I feel like I've gone to difficult places to photograph, and then tried to photograph them in the same way that they and other places have been photographed. I don't think I fully embraced the creative potential. A lot of the shots, unsurprisingly, are long exposures, and in most cases the geology is a supporting feature rather than a primary focus. So the second source of disappointment isn't with the images, but with myself.

I think part of this was due to expectations I had placed on myself to come back with some different, interesting and wowing images to prove to myself and others that this is the right approach. When there's pressure you tend to rely on tried and trusted processes, and your mental dictionary of shots that you know work in particular situations. As I've said before, expectation can be a killer. I went looking for something different and came back with a mediocre version of the usual. Although I don't dislike these images, they sort of feel like someone else's images instead of the ones I wanted to make. Instead of letting myself go, explore fully and see what happens, I created preconceptions and misconceptions of what I should shoot.

Still, it's all good! It's part of the learning process, and I'm glad that I've recognised where I think I've gone wrong here. I'll take some time out to reflect on the results and what I might have done differently, and perhaps more importantly why. Food for thought.

In the meantime I thought I'd leave you with the handful of shots I was most happy with. Photography can be full of myth and magic at times. We forget about all the times that things don't work out, or why they don't, and we don't recognise that others go through the same. The shots below serve as a reminder to me at least that things don't always work out - at leas the way you intend - and that's a very necessary part of our progress.

Be Brave

Considering the size of our planet (510,072,000 km² at last count) it's pretty strange that we, as photographers, cram ourselves into such small areas. Across the globe there are honeypot locations that seem to have an irresistible pull on us. Perhaps these areas exhibit extremely high magnetic attraction pulling us and our metal and electronics to them!

Or perhaps some of us (myself very much included!) are just lacking the inspiration or - more likely - the willpower to break free of this invisible force. We get drawn to the same spots over and over hoping the conditions are that much better than the last time we were there.

I have been musing on such 'honeypotting' for some time now. Why do I feel the need to drive an hour or more on a regular basis to visit a location already visited by thousands? Why can't I just take a walk from my back door? What do I hope to achieve that others haven't already and more successfully?

I'm not sure I have the answer. These questions play on my mind often, and I'll share my perhaps paradoxical thoughts here.

We're Pressed For Time

Time is our most precious gift. When it comes to photography most of us get out a lot less often than we'd like and often in conditions that aren't our ideal. I swear I see the most interesting conditions on the train to/from work! And so we value our time out with the camera, it's precious to us and we want the best results.

Given the choice of potentially 'wasting' that time out - wrong place, wrong time - and finding we don't make any photographs we're happy with, or heading to a well known spot with plentiful compositions and the chance of good light, well, it's not surprising most of us choose the latter. We fear we'll wander the countryside aimlessly, desperate to find something while everyone else is at the best spots with the best light. Why oh why did I not just go there? Doubt, second guessing, disappointment.

Going to these honeypot locations is as close to a guarantee as you get in photography. We've seen the location in books and on Flickr, we know great images are possible here. The variables are reduced, it becomes a matter of getting good light and executing the technical practices well. Our responsibility and set of concerns is smaller.

To be honest I don't think any of us should feel bad for that. For probably the vast majority of photographers going out and making a "good" picture is the only goal. Maybe going to such locations is the best way of doing that with the time we have.

It's Big

The world is just so big. It's overwhelming. If everything is a possibility then how do you choose the right thing?

Constraints are a good thing, it narrows options. I think this plays a role in location selection. If we're going to filter the entire world down to somewhere to take pictures on a Saturday morning then I think it's fairly natural to see what's worked and use that as guidance.

We're not the first photographers, or artists or even people to walk the land. "We stand on the shoulders of giants" and if over our existence we've filtered it down to good places and not so good places, why should we repeat the same mistakes? The human mind is a remarkable pattern matching machine and if we recognise something that works then attempting to repeat it is I think also fairly natural.

Intention

I guess I'm skirting around a key point here, which is that of intention which I need to talk about before going on to my latest thinking on this subject.

We all see the world through our own eyes and as objective as we might try to be, we are always imagining someone else's position yet with our own back story and motivations. Not everyone picks up a camera for the same reasons that we do, they have their own intention.

In our eyes they may use that camera to produce sun drenched images of cliché locations or to create arty farty nonsense. Yet they may be completely comfortable with what they're doing and happy to do it. If somebody wants to spend what time they have with a camera taking photos at honeypot locations then they should - and I have - go and do it. "Live and let live", I say.

Be True to Yourself

From my own perspective, recently I've been feeling a growing need to move beyond making more classical pictures of well visited locations. Not that I think I  mastered that art, indeed a part of me wonders if I'm running away as it's easier than doing so. Personally I hope that this is a sign of growing maturity in my own approach and a desire to produce something more "me".

In art they say "be  true to yourself". Honestly I've never quite known what that means. It's fair to say the more thoughtful, philosophical side of art is still kinda new to me! I've come up with my own working interpretation of what it means. And again I think it has a lot to do with intention.

My interpretation is to listen to your emotional and sensory reaction to the world around you, and use that to guide your work. In some ways trying to avoid preconceptions or being overly influenced, but using more of a sense of intuition, where you find yourself slipping into a certain "zone" where things happen instinctively and subconsciously. It's difficult to put into words. I guess it's about seeing for yourself, reacting to it, and knowing that it's right, that you are moved by it.

By contrast my interpretation of being "untrue to myself" is motivated by an intention to mimic others' images, being so heavily influenced by other images that it's difficult for "you" to shine through, making an image for plaudits and faves on Flickr, etc. To differing degrees these represent only a fraction of us with the input and reaction of others completing the whole. So "being true" seems to me to be about tuning out the influence of others for a while and listening to your own instincts and reactions.

Be Brave

Coming back to my original point, I'm trying to listen to myself and find things that interest me more, and do more exploring to find things that interest me. That means I'm trying to walk away from the honeypot locations and find interest in other areas, or looking at things from a different perspective. This means relying a lot more on my luck and my intuition than it does on research of well known locations. This means getting it wrong a lot in the hope that I'll get it right sometimes!

As an example I headed out in the direction of Mam Tor in the Peak District at the weekend. We'd had snow towards the end of last  week. I was aware that snow was lying on this higher ground (not near where I lived).

But this was a Saturday, and Mam Tor is notorious for being busy on a Saturday morning. I got to the bottom car park and there were 4 cars parked there and I could see people on and heading up to the summit. I could have gone up and taken a similar shot. A snow covered ridge, with a lovely sunrise, what's not to like?

Yet I had come through a fantastic bank of fog before arriving at the car park and it was sitting in the valley behind me.

"Be brave" I said to myself as I started trudging in the opposite direction, towards the fog. Above it sat that fantastic purpley twilight colour that I adore.

Though I stopped for this I cursed myself for not being better prepared, for not being in the right position, for taking a gamble when I'm sure some great images were to be had up on Mam Tor.

Then I looked towards the mountain and could see other photographers crawling over it like ants and reminded myself that there are other images to be had, there's always something else to find.

I didn't quite get what I was looking for but upon returning to the car and chasing the fog bank further along the road I got two of my favourite shots of the year  (top and bottom of this post). Perhaps if I had been up Mam Tor I would have come back down and come to this fog bank anyway, but I like to think this was karma in some way and payment for my decision.

I consider the "true to myself" point again. Are they "me"? I'm not sure. I was certainly having a heart attack from the excitement of the conditions! Is that listening to myself? I think so, and I think "Enveloped" is one of my most evocative images to date, something I consciously hope to capture in my work.

I've often thought the phrase "adventure photography" sounded a bit daring, perhaps involving extreme sport, climbing mountains and the like. And yet I wonder if it's more of an adventure of oneself and what interests you. I think the real adventure is from taking the alternate path or better yet the path not yet trod and finding something that interests and moves you. Perhaps the adventure is more psychological than it is physical, and that is being true to ourselves.

Ultimately I guess it comes down to learning to trust yourself and your ability to make good photographs wherever your travels take you, even if that's means somewhere non-obvious. I think developing this trust and this ability to see and make "something out of nothing" is perhaps the key trait of a landscape photographer. So, be brave.

Peaks and Troughs

As we approach the end of 2012 I've started to reflect on my year's photographic journey . Though I've owned a DSLR since 2007, it's only this year that I feel that I've made real progress as an artist. I thought it might be useful to share some thoughts on the nature of my journey.

It's a Winding Road

The most obvious thing to me is that improvement isn't a straight line. I guess if it were we'd be able to plot a start point, an end point and do what it takes to keep us on a constant trajectory until we reach our destination. And we all know it's about the journey and not the destination. Indeed there is no real destination.

That's the first thing to consider. Unless you have some very specific goal in mind, you're not getting better to achieve something in particular. Rather you're always "just getting better". That might mean any number of things, maybe getting better at realising your own vision and being more honest with yourself rather than generating "better looking pictures". And if we're not really trying to get anywhere then why hurry in getting there? That doesn't mean slack off and stop doing the work, but it means there's a need to slow down, enjoy the journey and take time to reflect as it's often during the quiet times that things fall into place.

Of course it doesn't always feel like we're getting better. Sometimes quite the opposite. Have you ever felt that all of a sudden your images suck? I do. A lot! Sometimes I look back at my images earlier in the year or even in previous years and feel they are much better than what I'm doing at the moment. I feel I'm falling short and my work is getting worse. So I start trying harder, maybe too hard. My images become formulaic and forced, rather than natural and instinctual.

Consistency

In reality our images, in general, aren't getting worse. Looking back I actually find that those older gems were stand-outs from relatively poorer images made around the same time. A few flukes that rise above. By contrast, sometimes individual images I make now may not stand out in the same way but they're supported by a consistently higher foundation of work. They're less reliant on luck and more reliant on my skills and vision.

So it's probably best not to measure progress in terms of individual images. In the same way competitions don't necessarily uncover the best photographer, I think we should be looking at our images as a wider body of work, and looking for a higher level of consistency. When I do this, I can certainly see that my image making is much improved even if my absolute favourite shots may be older images. I can look forward, knowing that my favourite image could just be around the corner, waiting to spring from this fertile ground that I've nurtured.

Eureka!

It feels to me that we have certain times when we're out shooting and everything comes together - technique, conditions, frame of mind - and we produce something we feel is markedly better than what came before it (and perhaps after it). These moments seem like eureka moments! It feels like we've cracked it, we're the best photographer in the world and a slew of great work and admiration awaits us! I often do this, until I get home and see them on my computer at least. (interesting thing to watch for: if you've been out in the field, think you've struck gold and then feel a wave of disappointment as you see the results on the computer - walk away. You're still emotionally attached to that moment  of victory so it's very unlikely the reality will match your feelings. Come back in a few days or weeks and I can almost guarantee you'll feel more satisfied with the results.)

It may be that we've cracked it - though maybe we can't quite work out what "it" actually is. I feel like those images are the result of the days, weeks, maybe months where I'm still going out, still working and practising  producing work I'm not entirely happy with the results of.

I firmly believe that the work that went before was a necessary process to reach that point of satisfaction. Without the previous, our technique wouldn't be honed, our vision would be immature and we may not even be out in the wonderful light as we're lying in bed having taken prior disappointment to heart rather than a natural, necessary part of the journey. In some ways you could think that our successful images are the sum of our disappointments, and that each disappointment is a step closer to something wonderful!

False Summits

When we have these eureka moments, our expectations change. "I'm better now. This will be the new level of all my work." And perhaps for a period it leads to some sustained work that we're happy with. But it will drop off - in our heads at least.

Have you ever climbed a hill where you say to yourself, "the summit's just at the top of this rise" and then you get there and realise it's actually not. "Ok, the top of the next rise". The peak with endless summits, with boggy energy sapping ground in between. Much like the Peak District in fact!

And so this is what it feels like, our moment of photographic glory fades, replaced by the all-too-soon realisation that there is ever more progress to be made. As I said at the top, that is the destination. An ongoing life's journey up the false summit, over the boggy plateau and up the next one!

There's something here about the need or at least the feeling of "getting worse before you get better". You get good at something, and in pushing to get better your results get worse for a period. That boggy ground may be where we're experimenting, trying a new technique that will help us climb that next rise or perhaps scale that cliff.

At first some of these hills may seem steeper, and the plateaus longer and boggier. But as our work approaches a consistently high standard that we're happier with, then maybe that boggy ground seems a little firmer and those hills a little lower.

As they say in the cycling world, "it never gets easier, you just get faster"!

A Life of Continual Progress

"Remember - you're as good as your last picture. One day you're [a] hero, the next day you're a bum..." ~ Weegee

Self doubt and concern that our best work is behind us is something I think we all face, no matter how good our images objectively are - not that we can be objective anyway! You're not alone. There will be artists that you admire and think have "made it" who are themselves unsatisfied with their images, looking at other artists enviously.

So perhaps it's time to settle in for a life of continual and sometimes slow progress. Maybe by settling in we become that little less hurried, a little less despondent with the natural lows, a little more balanced when we reach those natural highs. And perhaps we'll savour the journey with its little victories and false summits all the more.

I don't have the answers and perhaps this post throws up more questions than answers, but a more philosophical "it will pass" approach helps me. I can be a harsh self critic and always striving to get better, something of a perfectionist at heart. I can beat myself up when I'm taking that one step back just so that I can take the next two forward. Remembering that it's part of the process and knowing that the two steps will come I find brings me calm when it would be so easy to be down.

Let me leave you with this video with words by Ira Glass that I came across last year. I find it really encouraging. It makes the point that disappointment is natural and is even a positive indicator. The key is to not let it get you down, just keep working, keep climbing the hills and trudging the bogs:

http://vimeo.com/24715531

 Last week I was very privileged to feature in On Landscape magazine, an online magazine for - you guessed it! - landscape photographers. If you'd like to read more about my journey, you can read the interview here. Aside from my surprise inclusion, I highly recommend On Landscape. It has a wealth of really thought provoking articles that provide a lot more depth than similar magazines you come across.

Make Your Own Luck

The following question was posed on a forum I read recently, "What makes a great photograph?". A rather glib, predictable and perhaps tongue-in-cheek reply followed, "Luck!". It made me smile. Perhaps even I once thought photography was about luck. But as the saying goes, you make your own luck.

I think boiling success down to luck is some form of defense mechanism to deflect attention from one's own failing contribution to the result. If things don't work out, you can put it down to bad luck and move on hoping for your lottery numbers to come up instead.

I think this is similar to the endless gear debates on the Internet - it's easier to talk about gear and which camera or lens is the best, even when the differences are completely imperceptible to the viewer. It's easy to blame your gear or bad luck or your circumstances or your lack of creativity or anything else. It's much harder to accept that if you're not making images you're happy with then it's down to you.

"I'm a great believer in luck, and I find the harder I work, the more luck I have." ~ Thomas Jefferson

Great results require hard work and dedication, often to the point where it seems pointless to go on. Discounting that and claiming "great" is the result of some fluke alignment in the cosmos is incredibly disingenuous to the artist. It undermines and disregards all the hard work they've put in.

For a whole variety of reasons it's impossible to predict exactly what conditions we'll find when we go out. Life is really just one giant equation with about a bazillion variables. Some may call it "luck" when those variables equate to "awesome". We could rely on luck for the occasional good image. But for consistent success I think we need to look at a combination of "anticipation" and "putting yourself out there".

Anticipation

We can't guarantee what we'll see or what we find precisely, but we can anticipate them. As an obvious example we can use our knowledge and experiences of sunrise and sunset to anticipate good light at those times (ignoring the howls of "oh no, not another sunset photo" for a moment!).

We can use our knowledge and experience of a place to know the lay of the land, perhaps identify useful compositions in advance. We can use weather forecasts and our own weather observations to anticipate clear skies or storm clouds.

And we can go on into ever more subtle, perhaps even subconscious observations and experiences from everything from recent rainfall, to seasonal changes, to the smallest details akin to what an animal tracker might use. In a way we're tracking and hunting a "great photo". Using all of these inputs from the big, smack-you-in-the-face research and planning to the almost imperceptible details that you'd struggle to list because they are deep in your subconscious.

This is something I'm still very much learning. It's probably something you never stop learning (and most likely local to your location). Whilst I appreciate some of the nuances in the landscape, I feel very much at the start of my journey. I guess I am still relying on a degree of luck. I'm not that expert tracker, but I'm working my way there knowing it will open the door to better images.

Dedication

The other side of the coin is getting out there. As well as we can hone our sense of anticipation, we can never perfectly predict what we'll find all of the time. We have to play the numbers game and work the odds. That means spending as much time out in the field as we can. Put simply it increases our chances of finding favourable conditions. Just by being out there more we are guaranteed to find more to get excited about.

By contrast, staying in and making infrequent trips out with the camera means we are relying on the luck of the draw. The odds are stacked against us.

Great photographers are going out regularly, often when the rest of us don't expect worthwhile images. They have a strong sense of what they're looking for. They're sticking it out and are ready, when the rest of us have long given up and gone home or to the pub. And by being out there, observing and experiencing, that sense of anticipation develops, increasing the likelihood of future success.

Summary: Being Professional

We need to adopt that 'professional' approach. Make the effort. Get out, stay out. Watch and listen. Experience. Think. Put up with inconvenience and discomfort.

I don't write this to pontificate about what I do. These are the questions I am asking myself. Am I working and trying hard enough? Am I thinking and learning enough? Am I pushing? I am all too often disappointed by my answers but I know what I need to do and have a path forward.

Simply being there through anticipation and dedication isn't enough, we need to build vision and technique and then employ them mindfully. But we shouldn't discount others' successes as 'luck' when they are putting in the hard yards, and we should acknowledge the importance of doing that ourselves.

Finally, if nothing else playing the numbers game means that we'll have more good outings, though with proportionately more bad. When we return with nothing we can console ourselves with the fact that tomorrow is another day with a fresh set of opportunities. Every bad day is another day closer to a good day, and the shorter the gaps between them then the faster we arrive at the good. I always try to remind myself that a disappointing trip is not a waste of time, but another - perhaps smaller than I would like but nonetheless necessary - step of progress.

I wish I had the time, energy and circumstance to go out constantly making great pictures. But rather than bemoaning my luck at being unable to do so I need to channel that into trying and working harder, and improving my anticipation.

Here's to getting "luckier"! :)

Here Be Dragons!

As an adjunct to the above, here's some further less well formed but more personal, angst ridden and perhaps angry thoughts on the subject (and maybe an echo of my Frustrations post). As I say, Here be Dragons, so tread with care!

I've just finished watching a wildlife/nature documentary - Nordic Wild if you're interested - which I thoroughly enjoyed but it gave me that frustrated, "why can't I", "wish I had the luck to do that" feeling.  It would be awesome to be paid to go out and shoot in Greenland, Iceland, Norway, et al, the Aurora, snow, glaciers, icebergs, wildlife, the lot. How freakin awesome? Compared to a desk?

And then, talking of icebergs, you realise all that you see is the tip. The "luck" of getting that great shot or that great job, or doing anything that amounts to very much - running a marathon, inventing something, curing cancer, writing a book, playing an instrument, parenting, literally anything to be proud of - is absolutely, totally, 100% a realisation of hard work and dedication. The result is merely the visible tip, everything else is unseen or not understood.

There's the classic 10,000 hour theory and I'm not going to dwell on that, just the fact that for all of the results you see there is so much that has to go in to deliver that. Anticipation as I reference above is a part of that, but perhaps not the right word. Sure, you could spend 10,000 hours on something, but it's the "anticipation" that decides what the right things to spend those hours on are. Spend the time, and spend the time wisely, because my goodness time is short.

Everything we do of value is supported by a giant mass like that of an iceberg below the surface. Most people don't see a fraction of that and don't understand the value of the results. "A pack of paper is like 10 quid, and you get about 50 prints out of an ink set, so that print should be about like max £1.50 ye?". God, we're so materialistic and lacking in understanding of the hard work and dedication (must look up some synonyms!) we have to put in to deliver.

What about the hours stood in the pouring rain while the world is sleeping? What about the time studying books and images? What about all of those - shit load - bad pictures for that one good one? The inconvenience, the angst? What about all of those times that you beat yourself up that you're no good and can't do this, just for that one moment of jubilance? Monetise that.

None of this is about material cost, or luck, or anything else. It's about putting yourself out there and experiencing stuff, finding something, pursuing an idea, a love, a need. That's where the value is and that's what defines "great". Not luck or money. "Great" is an accumulation of everything that we are and is completely subjective, and perhaps completely unseen ("an artist is worth more dead than alive").

On a slight tangent and so one for another day, if we don't go through the "bad times" then how can we expect to be a unique person or have a unique voice? We are the accumulation of all of our experiences, good and bad. Wanting to cherry-pick the good from the bad is like some form of corruption of ourselves.

If we want to achieve anything, literally anything of real value in this life we have to work our asses off to do it. Anything less is a superficial version of what could have been. And so when I look at my images, and watch documentaries and feel the desire - burning need - to do better, be better, do more and live a truer more congruent life I know I can't look to luck. I know I need to work hard. I need to chase the rainbow.

May you work hard for your dreams and may they come true.