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.

Frustrations

Last week was pretty frustrating for me. I'd love to spend all of my time out with the camera but sadly real life gets in the way. And when it does and I feel like my progress has been halted I get pretty impatient, frustrated, and downright grumpy!

I had to spend 2 days down in London on work. Whizzing down the West Coast mainline on Tuesday morning, I saw the sun rise over the mist covered Cheshire Plain. It was an awesome sight and I was gutted I wasn't out taking pictures. I didn't have any opportunity to take photos while I was there, and before I go and when I came back I spent time with my wife and daughter who I miss dearly when I'm away.

I was also shooting my 2nd wedding (the 1st being a couple of years ago) on Saturday, and so when I wasn't at work or with my family the rest of my time was preparing for (and worrying about!) that.

In short, it was a pretty quiet week for landscape photographs and also for this blog - it's amazing how quickly writing here has become so integral to me.

So I spent the week pretty frustrated that I couldn't get out, especially as I was anticipating autumn to be in full swing. This happens to me on a annoyingly regular basis. My wife says that I put too much pressure on myself. In many ways she's right. I set high expectations for myself and I get down when I don't meet them, which isn't good for me or for her.

I think one of my main problems is that when I'm not active I'm doubting myself. In the War of Art, Steven Pressfield talks about "Resistance". Resistance is that essentially internal force that works against you, subverting and preventing you from meeting your goals.

Having experienced some significant personal challenges in my life I totally understand what he means. It's the barriers that we erect in our head that are the most difficult to hurdle. And so when I feel like I'm not progressing, not doing what I love and not achieving what I want, I become very frustrated. I doubt myself, maybe I don't have what it takes, or that I don't love it enough, that I'm just pretending to be an artist, that others somehow make the impossible possible, that others don't feel the same pain from being held back from their goals. And I want to get out there and re-prove myself to myself all over again to make that fear and frustration go away. It's like I'm actively looking for resistance and when I find it, I feel I'm at fault rather than accepting that sometimes resistance happens in real life and not just in my head.

Of course the reality is that it's just not possible to do what you want all of the time and you have to just get on with it. That goes for professional photographers as much as anyone else, if not more-so (touched on in this post).  So I need to bury those "if only I was a professional..." grass is greener thoughts. We all have our set of constraints and we all have to live within them.

What I'd be better off doing would be acknowledging the source of my frustrations (as my wife says "suck it up princess!") and channeling that energy more positively. So as much as I often can't do what I'd ideally like there are still things to get on with. I still managed to write last week's blog post on Live View. The prep for the wedding, although not landscape based, helps me improve and there are definite crossovers between photographic genres. I took time to reflect on what was frustrating me, what I felt I was missing out on, and so am planning on getting more of that in over the coming weeks.

I also decided to take Friday off work - yay for holidays! My main intention was to prep for the wedding, get all my gear charged and ready, review the itinerary and shot lists, get a haircut, etc. But I also took the chance to relieve some of that frustration with an early morning trip to Higger Tor and then Padley Gorge.

Sitting in the dark of the car park below Higger Tor at 6.15am, the car rocking from side to side with the wind and unable to see out due to the rain, well, it did little to lift my spirits. I waited for it to abate a little, put on my waterproofs, hat and gloves, and made a shivering start up the path asking myself why I bother...

And of course there was no sunrise. And the conditions made it difficult to get anything of great interest. I took the time to experiment with some intentional camera movement (ICM) shots. I'm sort of happy with them though I may be alone there. I think they reflect the grey, cold and blustery feeling of being there. Something I'll experiment further with I think. Images aside, for whatever reason I still had an enjoyable time up on the Tor. There's something about weather beaten adversity that makes you feel like an adventurer.

I then descended into the gorge. Burbage Brook which runs through Padley Gorge was something of a torrent from the overnight rain. It turns out that autumn hasn't quite kicked in so my frustrations were unfounded, talk about a waste of mental energy! I still spent 2 hours exploring the river making images. Padley is such a beautiful spot with so much to explore, you could lose yourself in there forever. And I still want to spend more time in neighbouring Bolehill Quarry. See, my frustrations are already building considering all of these places I want to visit! Life truly is too short.

Thankfully by the time I got back to the car I had that feeling of calm and tranquility that I find is the greatest perk of landscape photography. The week's challenges had gone and I was ready to take on my next challenge - the Wedding.

Fortunately it went well (and huge congrats to Basia and Ken!). I was rather pleased with the results and hopefully the newlyweds share my view. Shooting a wedding is a strange mix of excitement, planning, nerves and a lot of hard work but it was rather good fun all in (ignoring the fact that I dropped and broke my 35mm lens... :(). I've got a post in the works about my experiences that some of you may find interesting.

In the end angst and frustration are self-generated. It's where life falls short of our expectations and desires, and we have an urge to do more that simply can't be satisfied. But it's not helpful. We need to find ways to overcome it and see past the immediate challenges. Otherwise we're likely to lead a pretty miserable life chasing something that's always just out of reach. Better not to worry about it and look forward to the time I do get to spend out there. I must keep telling myself that!

My friend Mike Holley recently wrote a series of articles on the War of Art. As an up-and-coming author he describes its virtues much better than I am able: http://michaeljholley.com/2012/09/11/the-war-of-art-resistance-is-the-enemy

The One in Your Eye

I received a question recently about camera gear - specifically lenses - which left me struggling to phrase a coherent response. The 'Gear Trap' is created by what I consider to be one of the great photography myths - better gear will make you a better photographer. Without denying it's obvious importance it comes a distant second to your own passions, vision and abilities.

Paraphrasing the question for brevity:

"I want a wow, this is a 'could make me money' lens. Would you suggest:

1. Canon EF 100mm f2.8L IS macro - for macro obviously (which I enjoy) and portraits (probably outdoors)
2. Canon EF 85mm f1.2L - for portraits (because there's no money in macro)
3. Canon EF 24-105mm F4L IS - for versatility

I know I'm asking about different lenses that are intended for three different roles, but which one do you think would bring in more money to buy more kit?"

To be honest I didn't really know where to start with a response. Whilst the question may be well intentioned it is very anti- my way of thinking.

The short answer: the simple fact is that no lens or equipment will make you money, short of a money printing press.

The longer answer of course is a bit longer.

There are a couple of points that this question implies:

1. good gear is required to make good pictures
2. you should choose a genre of photography based on what makes money

Gear Makes You Better

Good and expensive gear exists for a reason, it's better.

However it's not better in a "take this crap picture and make it amazing" way. I think it's a common trap to think otherwise, "if only I had...". Yes, better equipment may be sharper in the corners, or give you an extra stop or two of light but when people look at your photos are they saying "awesome shot, shame about the soft corners!"? Probably not.

I like to think of gear as giving you an incremental (and increasingly expensive) improvement. It doesn't give you the massive, occasionally exponential leaps in improvement that working on your vision and your skills will bring. If you are making mediocre images then a new lens will just help you to make better mediocre images - and I'm not sure that's something any of us would aspire to. It's the icing on the cake, not the cake itself.

There are some cases where better gear is a requirement. For example if you want to do macro or wildlife photography you're going to be at a serious disadvantage without a macro or a super-telephoto lens.

You probably already own perfectly usable lenses that cover your immediate needs, you just need to get to work with it. Once you become proficient with your current gear you'll understand what you need from new gear. This is more important than chasing the impossible dream that gear will take your images to the next level.

Choosing a Genre

"Shoot what you love" is a common piece of guidance. This is the way I think, so choosing the type of photography based on money making potential just seems alien to me!

I don't do photography to make money. Photographing the landscape is something I love, for a whole variety of reasons. Making money from it would be fantastic but ultimately should all else fail I will still have my love for it.

Because I love (that word is going to appear a lot!) landscape photography, I get up in the dark to go out on a cold and wet mountainside for a shot I have in mind. I work hard to improve - reading, researching, looking, exploring, getting out there.

I know that I couldn't bring the same level of enthusiasm and hard work to, say, portraits. Sure I can for a time but when the initial enthusiasm wears off it's your passion that sustains you. It's the passion that keeps you going when things are tough, the weather is miserable and you're struggling to make shots you love.

I think without that you have nothing but a job. Sure, for some people photography is just a job and that's fine. But that's not for me. If all you want is a job to pay the bills, there are much easier and more lucrative avenues to explore before you come to photography. The phrase "starving artist" exists for a reason! You've got to be prepared to put up with hard times and a lot of non-photographic related stuff to make it work. I first saw this infographic on Chase Jarvis' site. If you haven't seen it before it may be eye opening!

So to me the question is just back to front. Putting the money first is a sure path to disappointment. You have to find the thing that you love and throw yourself into it, determined to make it work. I'd fully expect that a passionate, energised macro photographer would be more successful than a disinterested, lacklustre wedding photographer.

Of course I'm saying this from the perspective of being a non-working photographer (I have a full time job in IT). There are many professionals out there that have to work across several genres to make their business viable. The difference between them and the question is that the question is putting the money first. Those professionals are putting their love of the art first, and then finding a way to make it work. I'm sure if they didn't love what they are doing then they would have given it up a long time ago (though I'm sure there are more than a couple of dissatisfied photographers out there that may well disagree!).

I know that if I wanted to make this my full time job I'd be doing it because I'm following my passion and my dreams. I'm not interested in just exchanging a keyboard for a camera to still end up unhappy.

And so I say put first things first - find the thing you love, get damn good at it, and then try to monetize it. Anything else is built on shaky ground.

Finding What You Love

I remember having lots of questions like the one at the top when I started out. It felt like I was chasing answers and once I had them, everything would fall into place and I'd be set. Asking about gear, compositional "rules", tricks of the trade, etc lead you to believe that successful photography is an accumulation of knowledge.

But as a creative pursuit photography is about much more than knowledge. Don't read that to mean "ignore technique" which is vital. Rather I mean that knowledge and technique are merely the starting point, they're a given. From there the hard work starts.

That means shooting a lot of images (I have 50k in my catalog over 5 years), experimenting, finding things that interest you, understanding what you don't like, learning to make engaging images, and over time naturally being pulled toward the thing that you love.

For me it clicked when I found myself consistently getting up in the dark, going out in the wet and slogging up hills in pursuit of better images. Before that I would shoot everything I saw haphazardly, with no real plan or particular inclination. I think you have to go through that process. Some may go through it quicker than others, but I think it's still a necessary part of improving and finding yourself as a photographer. In some ways it never stops, you have to keep exploring and experimenting, you just become more focused over time.

I think once you've put in those hours and you've worked at your art and your craft questions like the above disappear into irrelevance, you develop an intution for what you need to do and the tools required to do it.

Becoming a better photographer is the key advancement you need to make. Gear is a distraction and it can be a crutch that you lean on when the truth is that hard work and dedication is what's required to improve.

If you did have £1000 to spend on new gear and you're struggling to work out what you wanted or what you wanted to shoot, I'd say forget about the gear and go on a workshop. I've previously posted about how fantastic I found a Bruce Percy workshop I attended and the improvements I made during and more importantly after it. There's not a single piece of gear that would have had the same effect. It's as close to a shortcut to better photographs as you will find. (Of course, you need to find out at least broadly what you want to shoot to be able to pick a workshop!)

To Summarise

A single piece of gear isn't going to make you money. A new lens might bring you an incremental improvement in image quality, but it won't bring huge improvements to the overall image in terms of how it engages the viewer.

Some genres of photography certainly have higher earning potential than others. But if you don't love it to the point of throwing your heart and soul into it, then when the chips are down I fear you'll fall short and hate it like any other job. Better to find the thing that you love, get awesome at it and see where it naturally leads you.

If you want to make money, you need to become a successful photographer. That means looking beyond the allure of gear, dedicating yourself to hard work and improving your images. In that sense the lens that will make you the most money is "the one in your eye" (thanks to @Anthony__Smith for the title suggestion!).

I'm conscious that this post may open a can of worms but I do fundamentally believe you've got to love what you do to make a real success of it. I'd rather do that than do something half hearted just to make some money. Agree/disagree? Leave a comment!

I'm a big fan of David duChemin's blog and his "Gear is good, Vision is better" manifesto. His Craft & Vision site has loads of affordable eBooks aimed at improving your vision. As a starting point I'd recommend his original eBook TEN, which I believe was originally titled "Ten ways to improve your photography without buying gear". I think the shorter title works better! Or if you want a free intro to C&V, check out Craft & Vision: 11 Ways to Improve Your Photography.

I've also enjoyed reading Steve Simon's The Passionate Photographer which is structured around 10 steps to improving your photography, including the need to find your passion and to shoot a volume of work.

My Own Little Adventures

"So far today I have watched heron fishing on a mist veiled lake, climbed wooded fells, ventured into the dragon's lair, and watched the sun rise resplendent o'er distant peaks. And it's not even 8 o'clock!" ~ my Facebook status on Sept 3rd.

I was in the Lake District last week on a family holiday. Like most photographers that don't make a living from their art, family holidays represent a prime opportunity to explore somewhere new with the camera.

I went out most mornings for sunrise, leaving the rest of the day for the family. This meant a lot of early starts, but it also meant I pretty much had the whole of the Lake District as my own personal playground.

There's something about being out early in the day, in the landscape with only your camera and your thoughts for company that I find incredibly soothing. A wave of peace and wellbeing floods over me, washing away the rest of the world for a few hours at least. It's like the perfect antidote to our hectic, stress fuelled lives.

One morning I climbed Loughrigg Fell above Ambleside. Not one of the Lakes' great peaks but a lovely spot nonetheless and it got the blood pumping. Climbing the fell by the pre-dawn light was fantastic. It's an experience that relatively few share, it was an adventure, a thrill, a moment to take deep breaths of the fresh dewy air and let the world melt away. The view and the sky at the summit were a sight to behold.

It's times like those when you realise that the best thing about landscape photography isn't the images but the little adventures you go on to make them. Sure, we're there to create beautiful images but that - sadly! - doesn't always happen. There would be nothing worse than getting home, being disappointed with the shots and feeling you'd wasted your time. Sure you can be disappointed with the shots, but the experience itself is far more valuable. There will always be more opportunities to get more pictures.

Being out in the landscape seems to be the true reward and the images are a by-product. To use a cliché, it's about the journey rather than the destination. If I was only worrying about making the images themselves then not only am I unable to enjoy the environment, but the very act of getting up early to hike heavy camera gear to a location is a great inconvenience rather than an exciting adventure.

Through landscape photography I've visited places I didn't even know about, watched nature in action, had magical moments when otherwise I would be asleep in my bed. These may not be adventures in the grand scale but they're my own little adventures and are special to me. If that doesn't give you a buzz, why bother taking the photographs anyway?