The Mindset

I vividly remember the moment I fell in love with photography. I was in the darkroom of the Boys Club of Hollywood that my brothers and I attended. I looked into a developing tray where I had just inserted a blank sheet of photographic paper. I rocked the tray back and forth, creating repeating waves over the white sheet. The room was quiet except for the steady slosh of chemicals in a white plastic tray. Slowly, from nothingness, an image appeared. At first, it was nothing more than splotches of gray, but within minutes I recognized it as the scene I had photographed just hours before. I had never seen anything so wondrous.

As I moved the print through the rest of the developing process I felt excitement and joy. The pride that I felt holding the finished print in my hands was unlike anything I had ever experienced before. I had made this, and it was beautiful.

I felt empowered in that moment, a feeling that had so often eluded me. I was a fat kid with a bad stutter who constantly feared failing at sports on the playground or sounding foolish in the classroom. I tried to be invisible, hoping to avoid the ridicule and the teasing of my classmates. The less I stood out, the better.

Though I did not know it at the time, that choice robbed me of the many joys we are meant to experience. By trying to hide, I was closing myself off from not only negative attention, but also the happiness that can be had by exploring the unfamiliar, taking risks, and discovering something new about the world and about myself.

I discovered just such a moment in the darkroom. It is a feeling that I have continued to pursue all these years later.

You have your own story of how you discovered that joy. Your story may be similar to mine, or it may not be. But what we have in common are those feelings of exhilaration, of discovery, of wonder that are derived from seeing our personal point of view made manifest in a photograph. Those feelings are not derived from merely documenting what is in front of us; rather, it is the pride and satisfaction that comes from creating an image that expresses something of ourselves to another human being. With a photograph, we are able to express and share something that we find difficult, if not impossible, to express in words.

Yet, despite the rich and powerful feelings that we often associate with photography, there are so many things that stand in the way of experiencing them. Sometimes the obstacles lie in a lack of technical knowledge. More often than not, it has nothing to do with the camera. The things that stand in the way of our creative selves are often our insecurities or the fear of failure. Frustration only grows as we struggle to consistently make a good photograph. Many times, we fail. And when we do succeed, we do not completely understand how we did it. The fulfillment that came so easily at first becomes painfully elusive.

Thankfully, I have found ways to negotiate around such obstacles. The approach that I share with you in the following chapters will help you to derive more joy from your passion and allow you to make the most of whatever time you dedicate to your photography.

A High Bar – Reasonable Perspective

I am a perfectionist and as such, I have a history of unreasonable expectations. I have often sat in judgment of my talent as a photographer based on the number of exceptional images that I could produce in a photo session. If I returned with half a dozen great images, I was a savant. If I returned with nothing, I was a boorish hack. There was no in-between.

What was lost in those extremes was a true understanding of the nature of creativity. Creativity is not measured solely by its successes, but also by its false starts, mistakes, and deviations. Creativity is as much about those moments of confusion and uncertainty as those times of confidence and clarity. When it comes to photography, creativity is rooted in those photographs that fall short of the mark as well as those that hit the bullseye.

It is important to set a high goal for yourself, a standard that will challenge you in any variety of ways. It is the effort involved in accomplishing such goals that allows you to learn and discover. But it has to be done with the understanding that there will be many missteps along the way, and for photographers that means a lot of bad photographs. But that is okay, because that is part of the creative process.

When I was photographing in San Francisco, I set a single goal for myself. I wanted to make a photograph in the city that I had not made before. I did not want to make a duplicate of a photograph that I had made in San Francisco or even in another city. I wanted to challenge myself to see just a little differently. I wanted to surprise myself.

When I saw the window display pictured in the chapter opening image, I was drawn to how the light illuminated the mannequin’s pale legs and brightly colored heels. As I observed the rest of the scene, I saw a red food cart off to the left and a triangular shadow just below the window. I knew that I could use those elements for an interesting composition, but I also knew that I needed something else. I needed a human figure to help complete the scene.

For the next 20 minutes, I photographed different people as they walked past, constantly shifting my position in an effort to create a sense of symmetry and balance in the composition. Most of the frames were failures, either because the person was not right or my timing was off. I could feel frustration building, but I persisted, trusting the instincts that led me to the scene.

When a woman in a purple jacket and black boots walked by, I waited for the moment when her splayed legs mirrored those of the mannequin. It was a photograph that for me went beyond capturing someone walking down the street. It was a photograph that was built on my growing sensitivity to disparate elements in a scene that could only be connected within the context of a photographic composition.

Remember that a master photographer is often great in the eyes of others because they shared only their best work. They did not share the countless lesser images they made to get to those exceptional ones.

As the photographer, you see everything you produce, so your perception of yourself and your photography is highly skewed. Remember that each and every photograph you produce is just a single step in the journey. You will never arrive at your destination without taking them.

Staying Aware Through Journaling

Photography for me is more than just the act of making a photograph. It is the means by which I am able to avoid the many distractions that exist in my life. When I am out with my camera, I am present in my life and my existence in a way that I often find difficult during my day-to-day routine. I often describe it as a meditative process that allows me to shake away the voices in my head. I enjoy and appreciate what I am seeing in the moment. I am open to anything and everything. It is in this state of mind when I discover subjects and scenes that I never anticipated when I walked off my stoop, camera in hand.

However, these experiences do not always come easily, even with all my years of practice. Sometimes my mind and my feelings are caught up with anxiety about whether or not I will produce a good photograph. There are moments when I am filled with fear as I struggle to summon the courage to approach a stranger to make their portrait. Or I fall into depression when I compare myself and my work to another photographer and find myself lacking. It is in such moments when negative feelings overwhelm. The joy that inspired me to pick up the camera is no longer found.

Photography becomes a struggle and, on some days, even a chore. During such moments, it is hard to find the inspiration to pick up the camera, much less try to make photographs. Does that sound familiar?

I used to think that if I could only get rid of those thoughts and feelings, I would be more creative. I just needed to summon enough strength or force of will to regain my confidence and find inspiration. And when I was not able to do that, I was angry at myself for my weaknesses and lack of discipline.

When I shared this with a friend, he suggested I keep a journal dedicated to my creative process. In it I would write down not just what I did that day, but how I was feeling about the work itself. I would document both my successes and my failures. When I struggled, I would explore what feelings were at the heart of such moments. And when I succeeded, I would examine what I did to help me move past negative feelings and create.

Within a short period of time, I came to recognize that I felt those negative thoughts and feelings virtually any time I wanted to be creative. The intensity would vary, but they were always there. However, I found that when I made photographs, those feelings quickly diminished. They might not completely disappear, but they did not stand in my way of making the photographs.

As I dutifully wrote in my journal, I examined my own process of creativity and saw how my feelings and thoughts helped or hindered that process. Most importantly, I realized that the only solution for those negative feelings and thoughts was the physical act of being creative. I could not wait for inspiration to arrive and save me. I had to create my own inspiration by just taking action and making photographs.

Without journaling, I was trapped in my thoughts.

I was like a hamster on a treadmill, expending lots of energy but getting nowhere. I would think and think, believing that thinking alone would get me out of the rut, but it only led to endless procrastination and self-flagellation.

Each time I went out to photograph and logged it in my journal, I was able to reconnect myself with the positivity of photography. I linked photography more with joy and less with frustration, anxiety, and struggle.

By associating photography with those positive feelings of joy, achievement, and discovery, I moved past the many excuses that I used to not make time for photography. It challenged me to take risks and discover what I was capable of when I moved out of my comfort zone and explored the unfamiliar.

The moment of hesitation described in the journal entry on the following page is familiar to me. I am faced with it virtually every time I go out and make photographs of strangers. Back home, I am able to overcome it easily enough because there is no language barrier. Yet on that day in Paris I proved to myself that language was not the real obstacle; it was my own fear, particularly the fear of looking foolish, that was really holding me back.

Journal entries like the one on the following page helped me to understand both my strengths and weaknesses when it came to making photographs. As I thought of this particular encounter, I came to understand that it was less about the fear of rejection and more about looking foolish in someone else’s eyes. Over time, these observations led me to taking more risks and reconsidering when and how to approach a subject or a scene.

Your Journal

Your journal can be as simple as a spiral notebook or an app on your electronic device or computer. Regardless of format, you want to have it readily accessible. If you choose a physical notebook, choose one that is small enough to fit into your camera bag.

I use an app called Day One (www.dayoneapp.com), which I can access via my phone, tablet, or computer. I sync my photo journal between all those devices, making it completely accessible to me. The reason I prefer this is that I can easily include a photograph from that day’s shooting session that I captured with or uploaded to my phone. It not only serves as a good reference tool when going through past posts, but it allows me to connect what I wrote with a specific photograph.

You should write in your journal soon after you have finished shooting. Do not wait for the next day to write about the experience. You want to write down your thoughts and feelings while they are still fresh. If you have a great day of photography, focus not only on what you saw and felt, but what specifically about the experience made it feel worthwhile. Ask yourself questions such as the following:

How present was I while I was shooting?

Did I feel challenged?

If I was feeling anxiety or fear, how did I move past it?

How did I feel when I was “in the zone?”

When was I at my happiest? My unhappiest?

How did I feel physically during the shoot? How did I feel before and after?

What was the easiest thing about today? What was the most difficult?

Did I allow fear and anxiety keep me from making a photograph?

Was I feeling physically uncomfortable, hungry, or tired?

What negative self-talk was I listening to? When have I heard this before?

Was I putting too much pressure on myself to perform?

Was I competing with or comparing myself with someone else?

I write in my journal before culling through the images on my computer. I do not want my judgment about the images to influence how I evaluate the shooting experience. I want each journal entry to be an honest expression of what I experienced while photographing.

When I make the mistake of looking at the images first, it shifts my perspective from how I felt while shooting to how I feel about the images themselves. If I am dissatisfied with the day’s results, it inevitably impacts what I write down in the journal, which does me no good.

The journal creates an objective perspective on how I think and feel when I am shooting. When I later compare my notes on a session to another single shooting session, or several, this perspective allows me to learn about my process for creating images.

Gaining Perspective

Over the weeks and months of journaling, I saw patterns emerge. I was at my best when I kept my promise to myself to get out at a particular date and time to photograph. I was more productive when I was working alone, rather than with other photographers. I enjoyed the freedom I felt when I chose to work with only one camera and one lens. I felt less pressure when I went out with no expectation, no agenda in terms of what kind of photographs I intended to make. I discovered more interesting subject matter when I limited where I lingered, rather than endlessly walking.

I also realized how unproductive I was when I was hungry or thirsty. I was less interested in seeing when my legs and feet ached. My enthusiasm diminished when I reviewed the images on my LCD and found them lackluster. I was too preoccupied with settings and controls when using a new piece of kit. Sometimes I avoided making images when I anticipated a person’s negative reaction.

Writing down and later reading these entries helped me to identify what to do and what to avoid in order to make the most of my time practicing photography. And when I evaluated my images alongside these journal entries, I saw how my photography benefited from my being in a positive and comfortable a mindset.

These regular entries identified the things that helped me to focus more on my process of seeing. When I focused on distractions, I lacked focus and intent. I would take photographs, but I was not seeing carefully enough to make photographs.

Meditation and Breathing

One of the discoveries I made through journaling was how much I would subject myself to negative self-talk before I exposed a single frame.

“I am not going to find anything good to shoot.”

“I’m not as talented as I think.”

“That person will probably punch me in the face if I try to take his photograph.”

“I’m not fooling anyone. I’m just a hack.”

“I’m not as good as the photographer I am out here with.”

“The light sucks. I won’t be able to make anything work here.”

“I don’t have the right equipment. If only I had (fill in the blank).”

You probably have your own personal version of that voice. But regardless of what that voice says or sounds like for you, it is an obstacle that can stand in the way between you and your creativity. I know it often has for me.

My journal entries revealed that to me. Most importantly, they showed me that the more I tried to fight those feelings, the worse they became. I was having an argument with a reflection in a mirror and was frustrated that I could not win the debate.

The mistake I made was in believing that I had to find a way to get rid of those feelings in order to release my creativity. I falsely believed that other people, especially successful creative people, did not experience this. They simply picked up the camera, the pen, or the paintbrush and beauty and creativity flowed out of them like fresh spring water. They were special. They were talented. It just comes harder to someone like me.

My journal entries made me realize how wrong I was because I could see that there were many times when I was awash in creativity. There were moments when I was completely in the zone and enjoying every minute of the process. Though the images were not always exceptional, I could see myself stretching and experimenting and playing. Yes, there were times when the experience was difficult and challenging, but I began to understand what circumstances frequently led to those bad experiences, and that I could do something about them.

One of the biggest lessons I learned was the importance of establishing my mindset before I even raised the camera to my eye. That moment has become the most important time for any photography session, whether on the street or in the studio.

Each time I begin a shooting session, I make time to simply breathe. It can be anywhere—in my car, a corner in the studio, a bathroom stall—it does not matter. I just need to be free of any distractions as I focus on my breath going in and out of my body. I take a deep inhale and feel the air filling my lungs and expanding my chest. On the release, I feel the warmth of the air as it moves through my nostrils and how the muscles in my shoulders and back relax. The negative thoughts and voice may appear, but I simply acknowledge them and redirect my attention back to my breath.

At first, this was difficult to do and my thoughts kept interrupting, but over time it became easier. Increasingly, I kept the focus more on my breathing rather than the negative voices that invaded my thoughts. I did not linger on what might or might not happen in the next few minutes or hours. In that moment, all that I needed to do was focus on one thing, my breathing.

Taking this time to breathe has become a regular part of my photographic process. It sometimes takes just one or two minutes. Sometimes, I spend more time, especially if I am feeling anxious or antsy. The days when I am particularly impatient to begin shooting are the days I know I need to spend more time focusing on my breathing.

It is in that space of calmness that I am the most creative. It is in such moments that I am actively observing the world around me and am open to the subtle nuances of light, shadow, gesture, and color. Without the pressure to perform or the struggle to silence the voices in my head, I find the place where I can be my best.

My journaling revealed to me how often I felt rushed when making photographs. This feeling of not having enough time pervaded my thinking. I either never had enough time to shoot or, if I was in the midst of creating photographs, I did not have enough time to get it right. And the crazy thing was that there was rarely an external source for all this pressure. There was no boss or client breathing down my neck. It was all coming from me. Journaling helped me to recognize this in myself and led me to using the act of breathing to serve as a ready and simple remedy.