When I was a kid, a year seemed like forever. But in the past decade or so, every year has seemed to move faster than the one before, one year bleeding into the next. I always thought this was because, when you’re younger, one year is just a larger percentage of your life—a relativity thing. But 2007 has been the longest year I’ve had since I was a kid, and that’s forced me to revise my theory: I think the reason time seems to stand still or move much slower when you’re young is because you’re learning so much; every day is full of possibility and excitement and there’s none of that days-running-into-each-other stuff. And that’s why 2007 has been so long for me.
I love a year that seems to last forever.
I spent 2006 taking photography classes, learning some of the technical stuff that I needed to know, and though that was important, it wasn’t until I made the decision in December of 2006 not to return to school in January that things really took off for me. Suddenly I was in charge of my own education, and in my opinion, there’s no better way to do it.
I had no idea then that blogs would become my greatest teachers, or that so many of the photographers I’ve met through blogging would become such good and true friends. I went from starting the year without any real sense of what I wanted to photograph to ending the year so full of ideas that the trouble is, I don’t know how I’ll fit it all in.
My work appeared in
A Field Guide to the North American Family, and online at the
Humble Arts Foundation,
FILE magazine,
White Wall Collective, and a variety of blogs. I was part of three group shows (in New York, Los Angeles, and Detroit) and had my first two-person show, in L.A. I received Honorable Mentions in the International Photography Awards and the Hey, Hot Shot! competition (and was featured on the HHS
blog twice). After being afraid to go out and make portraits, I ended the year with
my own self-proclaimed Portrait Month. And best of all, I got to hang out in person with
Shawn Gust,
Shawn Records, and
Amy Stein, all of whom I met through blogging.
All in all, 2007 was a wonderful year for me and my photography. Not one to be easily satisfied, though, I’ve spent the past few weeks looking ahead to 2008 and trying to figure out what I want to do differently. I recently read Stephen Shore’s letter to a young artist (excerpted from
Letters to a Young Artist, published by
Art on Paper magazine, and available for purchase
here). Here’s the bit that gets me:
I’ve been teaching at Bard College for more than 20 years. I’ve also had the opportunity to meet graduate students at several institutions over the years. More and more, I see students who are driven by a desire to have a show in Chelsea and be a successful artist. Certainly not all students, but I’ve seen a definite shift.
This is understandable, of course. However, for me, it has little to do with why I make art. I believe that art is made to explore the world and the culture, to explore the chosen medium, to explore one’s self. It is made to communicate, in the medium’s language, a perception, an observation, an understanding, an emotional or mental state. It is made to answer, or try to answer, questions. It is made for fun. In short, it is made in response to personal needs and demands.
A student might see a great work of art and say to himself, “This is a great work of art. I want to make a great work of art, too.” And so, the student sets out to try to do so. And if he has some talent, he might produce something that looks just as though it were a great work of art—almost convincing. If one didn’t know any better one might actually mistake it for a work of art. The only problem is that the great work of art that the student so admired was not a product of these same motives. It was the by-product of these same motives. It was the by-product of the artist’s personal quest.
And so my goal going into 2008 is to carry these words with me: to ask myself over and over again why I’m a photographer, and whether what I’m doing is in keeping with the answer to that question.
Although I got a kick out of looking at people look at my work on gallery walls, that feeling doesn’t
begin to compare to the feeling I get when I’m photographing. So I think worrying less about who’s
seeing my work and concentrating more on the work itself will be key to my happiness in the year ahead. It won’t bother me one bit if, one year from now, I’ve had no other gallery shows. But it
will bother me if I don’t make significant progress on my
In Store series (if not complete it), if I haven’t started working on one or two of the other projects I have in mind, if I haven’t better defined for myself what I’m trying to say, if I haven’t discovered the work of photographers I hadn’t known about before, if I haven’t spent time with some more of my blog friends, if I haven’t grown as a photographer, and most important, if my photography has not improved.
There is so much to try, so much to succeed at, so much to fuck up. Attention for my work would be great; but I can live without that, easy. What I can’t live without is photographing.
Labels: Amy Stein, blogs, books, education, FILE magazine, Garth Risk Hallberg, Hey Hot Shot, Humble Arts Foundation, magazines, photographers, portraits, Shawn Gust, Shawn Records, White Wall Collective, writers
