I’ve never been asked to write about a specific topic on this blog before, but recently a friend asked me to address these questions, How do you get through the down time and the anxiety that comes with trying to find a new project? and How do you transition from one project to another?
If you read these posts regularly, you will recall that a few months ago I was in a real slump myself. I wasn’t inspired by anything. I was in the process of producing my second book which was a good distraction, but always, in the back of my mind the question lingered, Is this all I’ve got to say?
I don’t usually carry my camera with me. Many photographers do, but for me, every time I go out to photograph that question sticks with me, along with more specific ones like, Will I be able to see anything? or What if I don’t see anything today? It is these moments, on the morning before I go out shooting, for example, when I am the most fearful, which is why I rarely end up going out photographing with anyone else. I need to be by myself, to cope with the possibility of failure. I’m usually so relieved when a day of shooting is over and I’ve found something to make a photograph of, because the questions are gone—at least for that day.
I believe, that the anxiety and fear comes from too much want. Meaning, we want too much to do good work, or to be successful, or to have our photographs shown—so badly, that it actually hinders our ability to sit down in silence and let the ideas flow. A line from one of my favorite bands has stuck with me over the years that summarizes the feeling perfectly, Hopes haunt me like ghosts, they point their fingers. The truth is, I feel, that until you’re able to let go of the hopes and expectations and sheer desire, you won’t be open to the ideas that are truly worthwhile.
I’ll try, if I can, to go back about 8 months, when this drought started for me, and describe how I came out of it.
As I mentioned, I was in production for Silence is an Orchard, but hadn’t gone out shooting for a while. I was not inspired by what I was seeing, and in fact, didn’t feel like I was actually seeing anything. I didn’t know what to do, it was an extreme feeling of being lost, without purpose. I am my most anxious, my most down, when I’m not creating, and this feeling I had was the most intense it had been—ever.
I sat with it for months and months. And then slowly, I didn’t care anymore. The caring had worn me out. Instead of photographing, I filled my time with writing and reading. I read books on how to be a better writer, on finding authenticity, and trusting your intuition—none of which you would find in any photography workshop curriculum. One of the suggestions that stuck with me was that in order for really creative ideas to come to you, you have to have some quiet time to think. I have never had a great idea come to me while looking at other photographer’s work. But I have from long and regular periods of contemplation.
I started looking back on older work, projects that had been started, but for whatever reason, stalled, to see if something might be sparked. I began a project in 2009 that was originally titled Urban Growth. I had maybe 6 images that I liked, but wasn’t sure what it was really about—the images didn’t make sense together—and I put it away. Looking at the work again was in part what got me out of my slump. They showed promise, but more than that, recent personal events had put the series into perspective and I had a better understanding of what it was about, and where it needed to go. I started photographing again and will be exhibiting that portfolio, now titled Growth in September. I feel so much more confident in the work and in what I’m doing. That was a huge leap in refreshing my eyes.
So, what I learned from that experience is that sometimes you need time to step back from your own work, to let it simmer, and to gain perspective in order to move forward.
Stepping back and taking a break was half of what got me back on track. The second thing I did was temporarily leave photography. I realize that sounds counter-intuitive, that most of you are probably thinking that at a time like this, moving more aggressively toward photography is what would help. And maybe you’re right, but it didn’t work that way for me. The more photographs I looked at the more stress and pressure I felt to produce. There is so much great imagery that I see on a daily basis now, mostly from Facebook and blogs, that it’s hard to avoid feeling the pressure to constantly produce. And maybe that’s why for the last couple of years I’ve done shorter, smaller stories rather than more ambitious, larger projects. But when I look to the photographers whose work really inspires me, like Sally Mann or example, she may not present new work until years after her last series. And I think it’s because to produce great work, not just good work, you need that time to grow as a person, not just a photographer.
A few years ago, I took a 1-day workshop with Raymond Meeks. It was a quick hit, we simply went out and observed him taking a photograph and then process that image in the darkroom. We also spent time talking about photography and the creative process. What I remember the most from that day was not the image he took (although it was a beauty), or his process in the darkroom, but something he shared about this very subject. He told us a story about a photographer wanting feedback on their work and what they got was essentially, “instead of focusing so much time on making interesting photographs, spend some time on becoming a more interesting person.”
Ouch.
I didn’t really want to think, in my time of severe anxiety and depression that the problem was I wasn’t an interesting enough person. But, I kept thinking about that story during my drought and I realized that when we hit these periods of stagnation, that it may be our mind’s way of reaching some kind of plateau, and that in order to continue rising, we have to grow as individuals before expecting to grow as photographers. It’s a hard thing to admit, but by being open to the possibility, I believe I could encourage some very creative thought.
Again, I started revisiting another older project idea (I keep a running list of ideas that I add to periodically). While the original idea still wasn’t right, it sparked an idea for a related project that based as much, if not more, in the scientific community. I started reading articles and books about science and history, my two worst subjects in school. But, this particular topic really fascinated me. I stopped reading about photography and focused on learning more and more about this topic that had taken hold of me. I met with a few local scientists and before I knew it, boom, I was back in business. I was happy once again to be spending money in Powell’s on books that explained my new topic of obsession. I’m now writing grant proposals and talking with some writers about contributing.
This was a long and at times, torturous process for me. I can’t really say how each person might be able to move forward. It is subjective. We all have different interests, different time constraints, and different perspectives. But, from my experience, what Raymond shared was dead on, become a more interesting person and interesting photographs will follow.
