The Photographer I Was Copying Was Me
I was hunting through my archives for a specific photograph when I noticed something. I saw patterns in those images that I hadn’t seen before. And then one image really stood out - an image I took overlooking a Venice canal at night. Instantly I remembered standing there, trying to capture what I saw and I remember taking a few images and then feeling a bit like I didn’t quite capture what I wanted. When I edited those images, I passed over those and narrowed in on some others that make perfect sense to me today (people doing people things).
But this canal image?
It was like being hit by a huge wave 20 years later.
That I saw that scene, dark, dimly lit, with window lights shining like beacons in the darkness, and that I wanted to capture it was enlightening and comforting.
That prompted me to look through every image I took in Venice over several days. I noticed two kinds of cohesiveness; I was clearly intrigued by what the locals did and how they did it. And I was clearly intrigued by light and shadow and the interplay with architecture, water and people.
So why did I pass over this image?
Because I thought, and I was told, that images like that were wrong.
This sounds an awful lot like I’m trying to shift blame. So let me explain. As a new photographer, I learned the camera, and some basic compositional techniques. Comments designed to help me improve came from more skilled and knowledgeable photographers, so, in order to “do photography right”, I listened.
When I shared these types of images with others, (photographers, photography instructors, camera/photo clubs, etc.), the commentary was almost always the same, as though there was a master checklist for good photographs that was universal.
“You lost the details in the shadows.”
“The highlights are blown.”
“Your subject isn’t sharp.”
“Your subject has to enter the frame, not exit it.”
“Centered subjects are uninteresting. Consider using the Rule of Thirds.”
Ad nauseum.
Every improvement suggested was technical and didn’t help me learn nuance, visual language or how to communicate mood and feeling. Despite learning the elements of art, photography was just a technical endeavor.
And another thing.
Twenty years ago, I didn’t have the skills to make my vision come alive. I didn’t have the technical camera skills I have now. And I certainly didn’t have the editing skills I have now. Photoshop and editing tools were pretty basic back then.
A few years ago, I wondered how much of my work was derivative. Was I copying images I had seen? Was I mimicking photographers like Alan Schaller or Fan Ho? I wondered if my ideas and subjects were mine.
I worried that I was copying someone.
I was. But I was copying the photographer I'd always been. The one whose vision had never really changed, even when I tried to “fix” it.
I worried that I was influenced by other photographers.
I was.
Because those photographers were showing me what I liked, and a style I loved, and it was familiar.
It was a relief…comforting…to visit my archives and see that I wasn’t copying other artists. I wasn’t influenced by Alan Schaller or Fan Ho twenty years ago. I realized that my style and preferred subjects were part of my artistic DNA. It had always been there, embedded in my psyche, my preferences, my vision.
When I looked through those Venice images, I was surprised at how they brought back distinct and detailed memories. Not just visual ones, but the physical sensations of that warm, stormy day when I felt, for the very first time, that instant just before a lightning strike.
Hair standing on end?
Check.
Teeth tingling? Metallic taste?
Check.
The unmistakable feeling that I was inside nature’s electrical field?
Check.
Those vivid memories reinforced something important. I had been seeking out high contrast scenes for over 20 years. I had been told I was 'wrong' for over 20 years, but I kept gravitating toward these scenes and capturing them anyway. And when I expanded my search beyond just those Venice images, looking through my entire archive spanning two decades, the pattern was consistent.
Year after year, I was drawn to the same subjects, the same interplay of light and shadow. What I got criticized for then is now considered amazing and beautiful art. I don’t really know if tastes have changed or if the people whom I admire and look up to have changed to more experienced artists who are not bound by “rules” but aesthetics.
Twenty years ago, I was greatly impacted and influenced by those comments. As a relative newcomer to photography, I trusted those people to steer me in the right direction.
But here’s what I know now; I should have trusted myself more than outside influences. I believed I didn’t “do photography right”. I believed I hadn’t exposed my images properly. I believed that the only things that mattered were rule-of-thirds-sharpness-don't-lose-details-in-the-shadows-or-highlights.
That is such a narrow view! And clearly, that’s not what attracted me to scenes. I was trying to express the mood of darkness. The warmth of light. How light caressed everything it touched - people, places, things - revealing lines, shapes, form, scale, and making it all more beautiful.
I never understood why details in the shadows mattered so much. Why can’t every shadow preserve its mystery? Sometimes the darkness, and the unknown, are the point. The shadows give meaning to the light. They elevate it. The light pulls your attention without distraction. And then you see what I saw. What I wanted you to see.
And sometimes, that blown-out window isn’t a mistake. It’s pure light. It’s bright, glowing, undefined. And that is the point. I want you to see what I saw. How that bright, glowing, undefined light illuminates, shapes and forms my subject.
It isn’t wrong.
Art is never wrong.
As I was preparing lesson plans to teach my photography students, I knew I had to share this with them.
I didn't want my students to spend decades doubting their instincts the way I had. Instead of perpetuating that cycle of technical nitpicking that nearly killed my artistic instincts, I wanted to help my students connect with what actually matters to them. When someone shows you work where the exposure isn't perfect but their eye clearly found something compelling, why focus on the technical failure instead of nurturing that visual instinct? That's exactly backwards.
I wanted my students to know that art is never wrong. Art is what you like. Art is what you’re drawn to.
Is there a right way to use a camera?
Yes.
Is there a right way to create art with a camera?
No.
I didn’t learn this lesson until late in the game, and I thought I could help my students avoid the angst of trying to be technically correct but artistically unfulfilled.
Looking back through over 20 years of photographs, I have found some wonderful gems. Gems in that I was trying to capture the interplay of light and shadow. Sometimes I failed and sometimes I didn’t know how to edit those images.
But I do now.
I found other gems in which I tried to conform. I tried to bring up the details in the shadows or the highlights, but I didn’t have the appropriate skills. And photoshop didn’t yet have the technology it has today.
I have edited a lot of those old photos, and an amazing thing happened.
I became proud of myself!
I recognized myself!
I appreciated what I have been trying to do all along. Twenty years of second guessing myself, gone.
I have to mention David DuChemin here because his advice changed everything for me. He suggested that going through your previous work will help you see who you are as an artist. He doesn't teach camera stuff – he teaches you how to use YOU, how to figure out what makes you stop and look, and how to trust those instincts.
For someone with years and years of archives, it might be a little easier to see patterns. But for newer photographers, you can still look through your take after a photography day. You can look at what you were drawn to (whether you got your images technically correct or not doesn’t matter), what you saw, what you attempted to capture. That’s your voice. It isn’t some mysterious thing you need to develop. Your voice is there. It’s always been there. What you might need to develop though, are the skills to create and edit your images to express your voice.
Winter is coming. Make yourself a cup of cocoa and sift through your archives. Don’t look at your images for technical perfection. Look for what drew your eye, what made you stop and raise the camera. Try to remember what you wanted to create. Look for patterns.
Those patterns aren’t accidents or coincidence. They’re YOUR artistic DNA.
Maybe you just haven’t gotten to editing those yet. Or you passed over some of those images, but they grab your attention now. Or maybe you’re waiting for your editing skills to catch up so you can create the image you envisioned.
Trust yourself.
And delete nothing.
How you edit today is not how you’ll edit next year. Or in 5 years. Keep those gems and polish them every once in a while.
Have you perused your archives lately? What did you find?
-Denice
Thank you for being there for so much of this journey and for always encouraging my photography. Your support has meant everything. It means a lot to have someone who remembers those moments and understands what this breakthrough means. oxox
Thank you for the reminder to go back and find myself again. Great article Denice.