The Online Photographer

Followup: Why One Photographer Wanted a Watch

I had tremendous fun yesterday reading everyone's thoughts and comments about my little side-jaunt into watches. I thought as much. This website has the best, smartest, most experienced commenters. It's really flattering to me that you are reading this. Thank you!

A few more resources:

Here's a printable size guide for face sizes. One problem I have is that I don't like large clunky watches—they just don't feel good on my wrist. The feeling I get from them is similar to when you have a spider on you—get it off! And the fashion these days is distinctly for large watches. Of course it depends not just on preference but also on the size of your wrist. You can clip these out and put the cutout on your wrist to get a pretty good idea how a certain size watch will look on you. 

Here's a short, sweet introduction to the difference between quartz and automatic watches. Won't take up much of your time.

A very kind reader, a watch collector, is actually sending me a watch! Can't wait to see what he has in store for me.

Billionaire bling
If I were going to become a watch aficionado, I think I might be most interested in cheap watches...less than $200 maybe, with an absolute top limit of around $400. As Albert Smith points out, I'd be in good company—there are many pictures floating around the web of Bill Gates wearing one of these:

It's a Casio 200M Duro Analog, and you can have one too for a $50 bill...and get change back.

I don't know, though—isn't it pretty snobby to ape the superrich? Every time you checked the time, people would see you unleash the dazzle and go whoa, who do you think you are, Bill Gates?

Regarding servicing, Stephen Gilbert tells me he bought a Rolex explorer for $195 plus sales tax of 2% in 1969. When he had it serviced last Fall, the servicing cost $1,600, and Rolex insisted on replacing the hands and crystal—which they keep, so I hear, to prevent the old parts from being used to add patina to fakes.

Chris R contributed this quick little 4-minute video of a trashed Tissot being restored. Wonderful.

SmartMike
The watch I'm most seriously considering buying is an Apple Watch with a blood oxygen sensor. I suffer from sleep apnea, and the health-monitoring benefits of a smartwatch seem like they might be worth the cost in added life-complexity. Unfortunately I wouldn't know until well after I bought it.

The wristwatch I would most want, typically, doesn't exist. It would be a smartwatch with no smart features...just an always-on OLED screen with a classic watch face design in an elegant case that keeps perfect time and doesn't do anything else. A dumb smartwatch. It would never sell. I love digital analog displays, though—someday I'll have a car with one.

As always, as Michel Hardy-Vallée points out, XKCD has the correct perspective on all philosophical problems:

You need to check your messages?
And although lots of people had good reasons why they wear a watch, Michael Ryan provided a good reason why a photographer might want a watch:

"I bought a watch to keep track of time while shooting. If I'm on a job in an office and I have six hours to shoot 12 locations I have to watch (no pun intended) that I don't spend too much time at each location. I used to check the time on my phone but I became conscious that it might look like I was constantly checking my messages during the shoot. So I bought a nice Tissot for under 300 dollars. It looks stylish and it's so much easier and more graceful than pulling your phone out of your pocket."

That's valid. I can see that. Appearances are everything.

Finally, I realized, belatedly, that I do own a watch! It's this one:

Cute. Available on Amazon. Nice case and everything. I'd never wear it....

Mike

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Featured Comments from:

Bill Tyler: "My guess is that if you do buy an iWatch, you'll be surprised at how useful it is. It's hard to describe convincingly, but I'm on my second iWatch, and my only complaint is that I'd like a longer battery life between charges."

Kenneth Tanaka: "Re 'The watch I'm most seriously considering buying is an Apple Watch with a blood oxygen sensor. I suffer from sleep apnea, and the health-monitoring benefits of a smartwatch seem like they might be worth the cost in added life-complexity.'

I admit, shamefully, that I am something of a closet watch lover myself. On my desk I have a case with a dozen watches, all solar-powered (Seikos and Citizens mostly), basking near the window under their glass-topped case. I doubt I’ve worn any of them for over a year. Why? Because they’re utterly obsolete. Like film cameras they do one thing in one way and that’s it. But they are sure nice to look at. And I do rather lust for mechanics watches sometimes…but only had really a valuable one once, during my 'I'm a master of the universe' phase of life.

"For the past two years the Apple Watch has been my companion. Honestly, it’s been literally 'wonder'-ful, with each new generation introducing even more sophistication. Specifically to your interest in the Apple Watch’s pulse-oxygen facility, yup, it works…kinda. You should realize that it is a bit touchy and not nearly as consistently accurate as a plain ol’ fingertip pulse-ox meter. To quote one of my heroes, Elmer Fudd, 'You must be vewy, vewy, still!' for it to make a reading. And the readings will nearly always be lower than the true finger reading by a few points. But as long as you don’t take it too literally it’s good.

"The more valuable 'health' feature of the Apple Watch is the two-point ECG meter. Some years back I suffered from AFIB and lament that the watch’s ECG wasn’t yet available.

"There are many reasons to get a smart-watch, Mike, and hardly any reasons not to."

Jack Mac: "Your first watch post reminded me that I have several nice watches that I no longer wear and yes I am one of those people who check their pocket watch called the cell phone. So after reading at TOP that checking my cell phone for the time was intrusive, I strapped on one of those nice watches. It wasn’t until reading today’s post on watches that I remembered I had a watch on my wrist! I had automatically been checking the time on my iPhone."

Mike replies: Funny. Reminds me of my early days with the iPhone 4s (my first one) when I'd be out and see something and think, damn, wish I had a camera with me. It took me an embarrassingly long time to remember that, oh yeah, the iPhone is a camera too.

Open Mike: Why a Watch?

[Ed. note: "Open Mike" is replacing "Sunday Support Group" this week because...well, because I wrote this.]

-

I write about photographing so I write, perforce, on consumerism sometimes. (I love that old Englishy word "perforce," although I seldom use it. An adverb "used to express necessity or inevitability," it means "by force of circumstance." It's very rare in modern speech—not sure I've ever heard anyone actually say it—but you'll find it sprinkled here and there in writings by and about the 18th-century Enlightenment authors I enjoy. I'm currently reading a biography of Swift—not Taylor—and a book about the friendship between David Hume and Adam Smith.)

Guy Who Likes Watches
I write about photographing so I write perforce on consumerism, but here's one that flummoxes me. Recently I clicked on a video comparing an extremely expensive watch with an extremely good so-called fake of the same watch. The video kept showing pictures comparing the one with the other, but the pictures were unlabeled, as if I was supposed to be able to tell which was which...and that I could not do.

I ended up thinking the "fake" was misnamed. Actually it's an unauthorized replica. Even the fake costs a thousand dollars, which struck me as absurdly expensive for a watch. Hasn't it been possible to buy a perfectly good watch for a hundred dollars since quartz movements got cheap? Wikipedia tells me the quartz-watch era began more than half a century ago with the Seiko Astron of December, 1969, which cost as much as a mid-sized car at first. I remember that.

Military-style $129 quartz watch. It runs on light, you can wear it water-skiing, and it has illuminated hands. What's not to like?

I don't know what the problem is with a replica Rolex if it costs ten thousand dollars less than the real thing but even an expert can't tell the difference. Except the name; that's a problem. If it's not a Rolex, then it shouldn't be called a Rolex. That's where the fraud comes in. If I were the maker, I'd just call it a Folex (my friend Dan's name for fake Rolexes) and just be up-front that it's a replica.

I'm sure certain patented elements would need to be changed, like the little crown logo. There's nothing wrong, in my mind, though, with replicas. Superformance Shelby Cobra replicas are apparently allowed to use the Shelby and Cobra names now. I don't know the details. But in any event, the new replicas are better than the original cars in just about every way. Except being original.

After fate made me click on that darned watch video, the Dementors of the Internet, AKA the algorithms attempting to take over our lives, decreed that I shall be interested in watches. So watch videos started popping up on my YouTube, watches started appearing in ads targeted at me and in my email inbox—watches all over the dang digi-place. And I sort of am interested, although I didn't know I was. The Dementors aren't right, but they're not wrong. So, being, as I am, online-content-wise, a sheep, I've now watched some more watch videos here and there, and read some articles about watches...you know, just browsing. Which makes the Dementors double down. (Never encourage them.) So now I'm apparently a Guy Who Likes Watches in the files of the invisible but omnipresent Big Brothers of consumerism.

The question
In reality, though, I am, as I said, flummoxed. Why would anyone want a watch?

 

Followup: The Burning Monk

I read once (in this rather scary little book) that as we age, we tend to get better at the things we were always good at and worse at the things we were always bad at. Accordingly, I'm getting even less organized as I age, if such a thing is possible. In any event, I somehow neglected to load the Featured Comments for the "Burning Monk" post...or rather I did, but then I managed to inadvertently default to an earlier version in the compositor (which happens from time to time, despite my efforts) and away they went again. They've been restored now (here's the post again).

Louis McCullagh sent a link:

"I visited the monk's monastery on the banks of the Perfume River. The car was there with details of The Burning Monk."

And Guy Tremblay sent a photo of the car, now on display as a relic.

Photo by Guy Tremblay

Thanks to Louis, Guy, and the other commenters.

Mike

Book of interest* this week:

A Better Life for their Children by Andrew Feiler, University of Georgia Press, published last month. Read the description at the link—fascinating. It's the story of one of the earliest philanthropic collaborations between Jews and African Americans, one that drove dramatic improvement in black education. The story's told visually. *"Book of Interest" means I haven't seen it, but would like to.

The following image is also a link: 

Original contents copyright 2021 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

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What Is an 'Art Photographer'?

Art photography, AKA fine art photography, is just a way of doing photography. It's either a mode of approach or a mode of practice. I'll start with the latter first because it's easy to describe.

Mode of practice: I'll just sort of sketch the standard traditional post-1970 convention; obviously there are many variations. An art photographer typically works on discrete projects, creating what are called "bodies of work." There are tandem goals: to "show" or to be collected. A show can be anything from inclusion in a juried group show or being displayed at a commercial art gallery, to a solo retrospective at a major museum (a "retrospective" attempts to represent the artist's entire career up to the time of the exhibition, and usually is reserved for mid-life or later). These accomplishments are typically listed chronologically, most recent first, in a curriculum vitae (CV) that also includes related accomplishments such as the photographer's academic education and photo-related awards and grants. To be collected is to have one of your prints purchased by a museum for its permanent collection, or by a private buyer known to be collecting along some sort of coherent guidelines or principles (i.e., not just someone who is buying a few pictures haphazardly as decor, for instance). These are also listed on the CV, although sometimes private collectors don't want to be listed by name.

Often, although not always, the art photographer will have a job that relates to her work, for instance teaching at the college level or higher. Many successful art photographers have what's called "gallery representation," meaning they have been selected to be among those artists with an ongoing exclusive or limited association with an art gallery. Finally, a crowning accomplishment for an art photographer is to have their work published in books, called monographs, produced by established publishing houses. A monograph is a book showcasing pictures by a single photographer. Really successful art photographers see their every project reach book form. The highest level of this—the apotheosis, you might say—might be Steidl attempting to publish virtually everything Robert Frank ever created.

Here's a typical exhibition record for a successful photographer, this one for British landscape photographer Jem Southam, maintained by his American gallery, Robert Mann.

Usually, many of these accomplishments support and amplify each other. In many cases photographers work very hard to add to their CVs, and looking at the categories exposes how their activities are focused. A thorough CV might include:

• Solo and two-person shows
• Selected group shows
• Awards and grants
• Collections (institutions or individuals who hold the photographer's work)
• Publications (meaning, of the photographer's own work)
• Selected bibliography (meaning, published writing about the photographer or her work)
• It also might or might not include a record of his or her education and a selected work history, depending on where the CV is presented and whether the education and work history is relevant.

Also, the bigger the name, the more selective the CV. Smaller, earlier accomplishments drop off the list as later, more impressive ones are added. Robert Adams's gallery lists just a few of his museum shows—but in formidable venues such as the Jeu de Paume, Los Angeles County Museum of Art, Yale University Art Gallery, the Getty, and SF MoMA—as well as a longer list of articles about him in major arts and generalist publications. That's considered enough. A comprehensive CV for him would run to many pages with hundreds of entries.

Sometimes, photographers are so "big" that they dispense with the CV altogether—the implication being that they're so famous they don't need one. But you'd be surprised at how many photographers who we would consider to be well established are still marketing themselves and struggling for their share of the available oxygen.  

Speaking of which, note that one thing that wouldn't be included in a traditional art photography CV would be a client list and tearsheets, meaning published advertisements or other kinds of commercial photography clipped from paper publications and so forth. Although, at a very high level, top commercial photographers segue (easily or uneasily) into art-photographer mode, a harder trick for lesser names to pull off without detracting from their status on one side or the other of the divide. An example of this was the subject of one of my earliest published reviews, top fashion photographer Richard Avedon's art-photography project "In the American West." From the other direction, a number of well-known art photographers now and in the past are available to be hired for commercial work, but you'd never know it from their resumés.

It's worth noting that the career activities sketched above are changing, in ways that are not yet standardized, defined, or universally accepted. Younger and newer photographers and digital imagers are sidestepping the traditional gatekeepers (and also sometimes the hegemony of mainstream academic and critical taste) by exhibiting their work and becoming known on social media and by connecting with new audiences in innovative and unconventional ways. The young Moldovan-American photographer Masha Sardari, to name a single example, has 8.8k followers on Facebook.

Mode of approach: Of course, you can still be an "art photographer" even if you don't practice as one. What distinguishes an art photographer in that case?

Don't hold me to this, because definitions are fraught with peril, but, basically, any time you see a picture that's more about the photographer and what they're trying to say than it is a record or a document of what's pictured, you're in the neighborhood of art photography. Art photographers are self-directed, and their work is about feelings, ideas, and effects on the viewer more than it is about the subjects of the pictures. The difference can be very subtle, as in the distinction between an advertising photograph of the Marlboro Man and Richard Prince's copy of the same picture, or the workmanlike photographs in Larry Sultan and Mike Mandel's Evidence transformed by being curated as, and presented as, art. Art photography is about expression. "Expressive photography" is almost a synonym.

But do note that in "self-directed," both parts of the term are important. Art photography isn't directed or dictated by others, and it might not serve an immediate purpose, but it absolutely is directed—in many cases highly so. Just because nobody tells a hobbyist what to do and he photographs whatever he pleases doesn't make him an art photographer. Look at the work of basically any famous art photographer you care to name and you'll see someone with a strong or even obsessive sense of what he or she is after, and, usually, highly developed and coherent strategies as to how to get there. Many of their aims, intentions, theories and philosophies, means of communication, and what they're trying to express can be radically different from those same things in other photographers, often highly distinctive just to their own work. Compare the work of Diane Arbus, say, with that of Bernd and Hilla Becher, for instance, or Julie Blackmon's work to that of Daido Moriyama. It's entirely impossible to mistake either for the other.

Julie Blackmon

Daido Moriayama

With different intents, means, and strategies, no one could
ever mistake one of these art photographers for the other.

What else it is
I'd also make the claim that art photography can depend on not only what the photographer is trying to say but how he or she says it, whether that means beautiful alternative processes such as Pt/Pd from LF negs, or intricate Photoshop creations, or photo-based mixed media. This claim is somewhat outside of current art establishment norms and links more to craft traditions, but hey, I've always lived and worked in the trenches, never in ivory towers; and I look at things primarily with sympathy to the concerns of the photographers.

In any case, "art photography" is a highly defined term, and very well understood among those to whom it's important (although such people do tend to like to play with the boundaries). It's no more pretentious to call someone an "art photographer" than it is to call someone a lawyer or a carpenter.

It would be great fun to run through a range of various kinds of art photography, with examples, but that's the kind of project a blog writer would never have time for...maybe a three-week to three-month writing project. Too much of a luxury for me.

Hope this helps, though, as far as it goes.

Mike

Book of interest* this week:

A Better Life for their Children by Andrew Feiler, University of Georgia Press, published last month. Read the description at the link—fascinating. It's the story of one of the earliest philanthropic collaborations between Jews and African Americans, one that drove dramatic improvement in black education. The story's told visually. *"Book of Interest" means I haven't seen it, but would like to.

The following image is also a link. You support TOP by buying through these portals.

Original contents copyright 2021 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

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Colin: "Fascinating! Thanks for this. I've often wondered about the term. Is it now slightly old-fashioned or still in regular use? Personally, I struggle with all such definitions as, of course, is the right of anyone making stuff. I've never liked the terms street, landscape, portrait, etc. I don't even much like the term photographer which I know is ridiculous because it's my primary tool and way of engaging with the world. No-one likes feeling boxed in, and language both defines and enables and limits and directs. The introductory text on my website keeps getting honed down and pared away; sometimes I wonder whether I'll end up with just 'My name is Colin Buttimer'!"

Joe: "Years ago I gave a lecture and slideshow to a group at the National Arts Club in Manhattan, talking about my work as a fine art photographer, and at the end I took questions. One very skeptical guy in the crowd, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, challenged me, 'What exactly is a fine art photographer?' Off the top of my head I said that's a photographer who shoots with the goal of having his prints hang on a wall. I thought to myself, that's probably the most concise possible definition. Next question."

Kenneth Tanaka: "As a nightcap to this topic I think some TOP readers might enjoy this tangentially-related new book by Andy Grundberg: How Photography Became Contemporary Art: Inside an Artistic Revolution from Pop to the Digital Age. I've only recently started it myself but it's bound to alternately make you laugh and to probably anger you. Grundberg is a good, albeit rather dry, writer on photography in the art world with many seminal titles to his name."

Ah, Youth

I mentioned yesterday the occasion (the ice cream walk) when, at the age of about 42, I accepted the diminished role photographing actually played in my real life. At the time I was no longer a professional and I had made not much if any headway toward a career as an art photographer. I was a single parent and working as editor-in-chief of Photo Techniques magazine, and those two things soaked up most of my energy. I still regularly developed film at the kitchen sink every two or three nights.

But what a change that was from my earlier youth! I had a boundless enthusiasm for photography when I was younger. I first realized it could be a job for me when, as a college dropout, I went into the darkroom in the evening and, before I knew it, saw dawn out the window of the basement laundry room where I washed my prints—I had worked hard the whole night and hardly felt the effort. I immersed myself in the culture and literature of the medium, experimented with techniques, haunted used bookstores for good books, saved my money for gear. "Obsessed" is the usual term—"ate, slept, and breathed photography" is another way of putting it. Working during the day as a carpenter and handyman, I took a second job at a frame shop just to learn how to mat and frame my work. Do I wish I had pictures of the odd and very distinctive world I lived in as a handyman, and all the quirky characters who populated it? I'd give a lot for that.

At the frame shop I heard about the Corcoran's photography program and applied. The advantage of art school was mainly that I could concentrate on photography all day long and yet still be doing what I was supposed to be doing! That was heaven for me. I took advantage of it. Although a slob in "real life," I kept everything at school fastidiously neat; although lazy in most things, I decided to work my hardest at school, and I did. I ended up teaching Summer courses, being a stand-in lab manager for the school darkrooms, and frequently worked in the darkroom till midnight before walking the several miles home to my apartment in Georgetown. I kept my camera with me at all times; I made regular circuits of all the museums and galleries in D.C. to look at work. One of my prouder moments was when a guard at the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division saw me leaving and blurted out, "Jesus Christ, do you live here?" They let me call up portfolios of master prints from throughout photography's past and look at them up close and personal, sitting at a table, without glass (although for the really valuable old work, you weren't allowed to touch—at first, a member of the museum staff had to stand there and shuffle through the prints for me. It was only a short time before they learned I was reliable and could be trusted, so they dispensed with that requirement). I looked through all of the original FSA prints on file from the '30s—a formidable task, as there are thousands and thousands of them. Of course I saw all of the exhibits at the Corcoran itself and went to all the lectures, and got to meet all sorts of people, from Emmet Gowin's wife Edith (the main subject of his famous first monograph) to August Sander's grandson Gerd, half a generation older than I. Do I have photographs that simply document the people and places of the long-gone Corcoran darkrooms and all the people I knew then? A few, but only randomly. Do I wish I had made a more coherent visual record? Boy, do I ever. All those pictures I made back then, and I don't have the ones I really want.

When I realized it was impossible to go to graduate school, which I really should have done to continue the career trajectory on which I was embarked, I made an ambitious list of 11 things that a photography teacher should ideally know—I figured if I couldn't get a Masters degree, I could at least "master" the subject on my own by working hard independently. A few of those goals proved impossible. One was to work at a photography museum for six months. I tried several times, until the formidable Smithsonian curator Eugene Ostroff explained to me that it was an insolent goal because supplicants worked very hard for access to the positions that I proposed to experience as a dilettante. But I think I actually eventually accomplished nine of the 11. I actually did curate a public show, and publish a book, and assist for a top-level commercial studio pro for six months, and so forth. Alas, the "piece of paper" turned out to be just as important, if not more so, than the actual knowledge and life experience.

Anyway, I just wanted to mention my ambitious and engaged younger years in photography as a counterpoint to my admission of yesterday. I don't want younger readers to think I'm just an old fuddy-duddy whose ambition goes no further than making casual family snapshots on an evening walk. I mean, that is what I am, but that's what I've become...because with age comes hard reality. It wasn't always that way.

About photographing
And here's a question I'll ask myself and answer just for fun. If I had anything to do differently, what would it be, looking back from the vantage point of traditional "retirement age"*? First I should say, emphatically, that I don't regret anything about my current situation. It's an honor and a privilege to write TOP, and it suits me just fine. I've worked very hard at it—one year in the early 2010s I worked ten hours a day, seven days a week, and took fewer than 10 days off in the entire year—but it's always been a pleasure.

I really should have gotten an MFA, though. The lack of it stunted my career in ways I can only guess. In the '90s, A.D. Coleman and I hatched a plan that each of us was going to be the other's graduate advisor, and we were both going to get MFA's under Bill Jay at Arizona, working independently. Bill was amenable to our plan. But then Bill retired soon afterward. I guess it was too late by then anyway—it turned out to be one of those great ideas that got floated but then floats off like a helium balloon you let go of. You need to do things in the proper order in life, each in their sensible sequence.

But, specifically about photographing—my actual practice as a photographer making photographs—I do wish I had been able to do differently, looking back. This might sound rather odd, but what I wish I had done was to continue to shoot 35mm Tri-X my whole life, and make simple 8x10 RC prints myself, and document the times and the people in my life in the quirky, idiosyncratic, go-my-own-way, follow-my-own-muse fashion that I wanted to. I used to call it my "Photo 101 technique." That's what I loved doing the most. I actually have a very short essay or artist's statement I wrote way back in the very beginning of my adult involvement with photography that sets out almost exactly that course. All I needed to do was follow it. I wanted to be like Atget...keep shooting the same way persistently as the technique of my youth got obsolescent and then obsolete, true to the same muse all the way to the inn. Ah, well.

In the '80s, when I was teaching full time, a mentor convinced me I needed make bigger, more imposing prints if I wanted to have any success in the art world, and that I needed to move from one coherent, definable project to another that was distinct from the last. I did that for a while, dutifully. Then came magazine work and reviewing, which obliged me to switch from camera to camera and technique to technique. And then came the (disruptive!) transition to digital, which shook everything up.

But little did I know then that a) I wasn't going to have any art-world success anyway, and b) 8x10 RC prints would have carried me through the transition to the digital era just fine: add an ordinary letter-sized flat-bed scanner and I would have stepped over the divide into the online era as neatly as you please, but entirely on my own chosen terms.

You don't really need to do any particular thing in your work, except exactly what you are driven to do. It will actually serve, as long as you commit.

I'm happy enough anyway. Things worked out. No complaints. Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans**.

I think that's enough of these discursive reminiscences! Time to move on to other topics, starting tomorrow. Is there anything you'd like to read an "Open Mike" about?

Mike

*I'm not retiring. Standard joke: "my retirement plan is to keep working."

**The quote is by Allen Saunders, the American writer, journalist and cartoonist who wrote the comic strips "Steve Roper and Mike Nomad," "Mary Worth." and "Kerry Drake." The quote first appeared in a 1957 Reader's Digest article. It was made famous by ex-Beatle John Lennon, who used it in the lyrics of the song "Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy)" dedicated to his son Sean.

Book of interest* this week:

A Better Life for their Children by Andrew Feiler, University of Georgia Press, published last month. Read the description at the link—fascinating. It's the story of one of the earliest philanthropic collaborations between Jews and African Americans, one that drove dramatic improvement in black education. The story's told visually. *"Book of Interest" means I haven't seen it, but would like to.

The following image is also a link: 

Original contents copyright 2021 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

(To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below.)
Featured Comments from:

Mark: "And as a famous pugilist once quipped: Everyone’s got a plan until they get punched in the mouth."

Mark van der Wal: "Thanks Mike for your article. Your sustained passion makes sense having heard your history, enthusiasm and determination from your youth. So much more to the story as we read of your background and experiences. How does one even quantify the value of viewing so many photographic prints in teaching terms or just mere artistic influence? A regular reader for many years. Thank you."

Blake Andrews: "I found myself nodding along as I read this. Obsessed. Check. Shoot film every day? Check. Develop regularly in the sink? Check. No MFA, check. Career trajectory dormant? Check. Long darkroom sessions leading to RC print piles? Check. I’ve plugging away at film photography for 25 years (half a million frames and counting) and I haven’t lost interest yet. I suppose the obsession diminishes for some. Hope I don’t ever reach that point, but of course the future is unwritten. Thanks for the heartfelt post. Check."

Energy and Appetite

Tom Burke said yesterday: "Here's another thought to add: is it possible that when you stop feeling that you're learning new skills and gaining new knowledge but are instead just garnering experience, the passion for (whatever it is) just drops? Not just photography, but lots of endeavours? The 'Do I really want to do this for the rest of my life?' moment?"

A few thoughts about that. First, golf, exhibits 1, 2, and 3 (I'm going somewhere with this, so bear with me):

1. An old commercial: the professional golfer Tom Kite, then at the top of the game, and another golfer are seen getting massages. The other guy asks Kite if he's going to play in an upcoming tournament in Hawaii. They discuss it, sounding glum. Kite, in a resigned tone of voice, concedes that he's being paid an appearance fee to go and he's getting the trip for free, so he sighs and says something like, "I suppose I have to." The joke, of course, was that most weekend warriors would kill to get a free trip to Hawaii to play golf. To me, however, the advertisers' message backfired and an alternate moral was more clear: if you have to do something too much, even a thing that to most people is a special pleasure can become a chore.

2. Once I was out on a golf course with my brothers, playing 18 holes on a regulation course (as opposed to the adjacent par-three course which was more my speed). As the hands on my watch wore past three hours, I suddenly realized I'd had quite enough of golf: I was thoroughly tired of laboring against my own swing and would have quit for the day right then and there if it were easy and polite to do. Had to grind through two or three more holes after that, though.

3. After Vijay Singh won his Masters, tales were told of his epic appetite for practice. Legend had it that after his win, he went to the range and striped the tee until dark. Wikipedia says, "he is known for his meticulous preparation, often arriving hours before, and staying long after, his tournament rounds to work on his game on the driving range and putting greens."

All these things had a decisive effect on me: I never wanted to be a professional golfer. No, let me re-word that: I wanted to never be a professional golfer! Not that I ever could have been—I have slightly more talent for golf than an armadillo has for hacky-sack. But I never had the slightest desire, even in daydreams. No, thank you: I decided I was perfectly happy to blither my way around a par-three course a handful of times a year. That matched my appetite for the game. (I don't even do that any more, although I miss the camaraderie with my bros.) Sink to your level and embrace it!

It's the same way with pool, if the truth be told. I love pool, and I think it's a fascinating game and I'm better at it than most armadillos. But do I have the discipline and patience to run through my "daily" practice routine every single morning? No, sir, I do not. And I know lots of drills, but an hour spent drilling is fifteen minutes too long for me. Would I have wanted to be a pro pool player? Well, the level of skill of Jayson Shaw or Alexandros Kazakis would be great fun to possess, and it's thrilling to watch. (For me anyway.) But even if I were young I would never have the patience to put in the time it takes to get to that level. And I know it.

Be an amateur
I think I first applied this realization to photography following an after-dinner walk with my son, who was then about six, to get ice cream, back when we lived in the town where Groundhog Day was filmed, Woodstock, Illinois. I had along a Contax Aria camera and a Zeiss Contax 35mm ƒ/2.8 lens (still have the lens) and two rolls of Kodak Tri-X. The evening was beautiful and the light was particularly nice. When I got home I developed the film at the kitchen sink and the next day I proofed the two rolls and in my makeshift basement darkroom and made eight or ten nice prints on 8x10 paper using my amateur-level enlarger*. The handful of prints were a highly competent documentary of that particular walk, but beyond that, nothing particularly special.

I decided at the time that that was about the perfect level of involvement in photographing for me.

I like to photograph—it's an essential part of our medium's culture, and the culture of photography is one of my three or four main interests. But do I have the will and the desire to do it every day, all day? I've always been pretty clear that I don't. Note that there are critics who aren't photographers at all—A.D. Coleman comes to mind—so it's not essential to be a photographer to be immersed in its culture or to write about it.

After that, though, when parents would contact me asking if I thought photography school was a sensible investment for their children, it put me in a quandary. I loved photography school: I feel toward the Corcoran School of Art all the sentimental attachment alums are supposed to feel for their beloved alma mater. It was a great privilege to attend for three years and I enjoyed it intensely. Virtually all my experiences there and all of my many memories are good ones. But no, when viewed without rose-tinted glasses, actually art school is probably a particularly poor allotment of resources if what you're trying to do is equip your progeny to deal with the task of making their way in the world. I felt disloyal to the Corcoran in advising against all it had offered me, and I especially didn't want to pour cold water on any kid's dreams, so I avoided the question when it was possible; but on the other hand I didn't want to lie to parents. A genuine dilemma.

My recommendation to anyone who asks is that one simply should have a thick, tough skin in evaluating and appraising what to do for a living. Photography is more likely to be rewarding—and more pleasurable—if one's practice of it is somewhere in the range between dabbling and a dedicated long-term avocation. We all have to come to terms with where our photography fits in our lives.

Chase the dream
And if someone really wants to do it "all in," full-time, front line, do or die, the first questions to ask, and ask comprehensively, would be about a.) their energy level, and b.) their appetite for work. Those are the two essentials that must be present if you ask me. If both those things are genuinely high, they have a chance. In which case, I tip my hat to them.

Mike

*Which did however have a top-flight lens. I still have not one but two, one for each fist when they bury me I guess!

Book of interest* this week:

A Better Life for their Children by Andrew Feiler, University of Georgia Press, published last month. Read the description at the link—fascinating. It's the story of one of the earliest philanthropic collaborations between Jews and African Americans, one that drove dramatic improvement in black education. The story's told visually. *"Book of Interest" means I haven't seen it, but would like to.

The following image is also a link: 

Original contents copyright 2021 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

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Richard Skoonberg: "Mike, thank you for promoting Andrew Feiler's wonderful book, A Better Life for Their Children. The story and images describing the legacy of the Rosenwald Schools are both fascinating and deeply moving. Rosenwald was the CEO of Sears in the early twentieth century. He and Dr. Booker T. Washington created a plan to build schools in the rural South so black school children could attend school in the Jim Crow era. To build the schools, the black community put up a third of the money, the local school board put up a third of the money, and Rosenwald put in the final third. These were often one and two-room schoolhouses with one or two teachers with a K-12 curriculum. These schools helped to create a generation that provided the leaders for the Civil Rights movement. Andrew Feiler's book is the first photographic survey of these schools.

"As a side note, Andrew is a member of our local photo-crit group, so we were able to watch this book project from its inception. Currently, many of the images from the book are one display at the National Center for Civil and Human Rights in downtown Atlanta."

Mike replies: Thanks for sending me the PDF sample pages from the book, Richard (downloadable here). I enjoyed that.

Geoff Wittig: "That's a perfect summary of what's necessary to find a calling in life. Energy and boundless appetite for work are prerequisites, but love of the process is also key. I love photography, everything from playing with the gear to image capture to making an excellent print. But I couldn't summon the constant energy and enthusiasm to make it a career.

"Medicine, on the other hand, continues to captivate me after almost 40 years. I was that annoyingly eager student you wanted to slap for being so perky. I loved working 100 hour weeks as a resident for the intellectual challenge and the satisfaction of mastering something difficult. I still find myself reading papers outside my specialty because they're so darned interesting. The challenge of being thoroughly competent and continually improving is just as compelling now as it was when I was a newly minted 26-year-old MD. I still love the work, every day. What I did not expect as a swaggering young doc was the emotional toll of seeing patients I've come to know so well aging, becoming frail, and dying. Which is where photography has been a Godsend for me. A chilly morning spent scouting, setting up, and capturing a perfect sunrise panorama grounds me and keeps me sane. So I can keep loving my calling."

A different Mike: "'And if someone really wants to do it "all in," full-time, front line, do or die, the first questions to ask, and ask comprehensively, would be about a.) their energy level, and b.) their appetite for work. Those are the two essentials that must be present if you ask me. If both those things are genuinely high, they have a chance.' You are correct sir. I've been fortunate to have made my living solely by making useful photographs for other people since 1979. The dedication and amount of energy it takes to be even moderately successful for someone without either a trust fund or a hook of some sort is beyond the ability of most people to comprehend. Over the past seven days I worked seventy-six hours covering twelve very important events for my main client. Each event was about two hours long. Then I had another two hours in which I would have to download, organize, rename, edit down from 3–5,000 images (people make funny faces when they speak, and people also blink, and when photographing an event with a few hundred people, having more of a selection is always easier than submitting photos of funny looking people with their eyes closed) a cull of about 120–180, adjust the raw files in ACR, convert to JPEG, and then upload to a web gallery. That gallery would then be linked to a story on their web site. And then do it again that evening, which would get me home at 9:30–10 p.m. after arriving at 8:30 a.m. that morning. The next day, do it again.

"Very few people can grasp the amount of physical work entailed in schlepping the gear, looking for angles, crouching down, hustling from one end of the field to another to get in position, and the level of concentration required to do this both during the event itself and afterward in the post-processing. Amidst all of this, three of the days were well over 90 degrees and very humid. To paraphrase Yogi Berra—photography is 90 percent mental and the other half is physical. You really have to be willing to put in the work that it takes to become proficient and develop a voice, to continuously stay up with the technical challenges and changes, and to always push yourself to do the very best work that you can on each and every assignment. If you don’t, then you’ll eventually find yourself doing something else down the line."

Kenneth Tanaka: "I do not completely subscribe to the vocational prep. I am one of those (old) people who still believes that the primary objective of getting an education is to learn how to learn. Still, one would be foolish to ignore practical economics. Consider that the annual tuition and fees at The School of the Art Institute of Chicago (SAIC) this year top $50,000. (And good luck getting accepted at all!) Now consider how many art jobs are likely to pay anywhere near that amount for an entry position (or even after three years). Now consider that an entry-level programmer at, say, Google will likely easily earn $120,000 or more. Yes, attending a school such as SAIC may enable you to make connections that will propel you after graduation. But not that much. Your best shot is probably to land a faculty job with benefits that offers you summers to pursue being that 'artist' you wanted to be. And some top art school grads do exactly that.

"But I gotta say that Mike's suggestion 'Be an amateur' is perfect advice especially where photography is concerned. Attending art school to learn a trade such as print-making or textile design, might pay-off (in 15–20 years). But it's a lotto-class long shot for photography. 'Photography is more likely to be rewarding—and more pleasurable—if one's practice of it is somewhere in the range between dabbling and a dedicated long-term avocation. We all have to come to terms with where our photography fits in our lives.' Truer words were never writ."

Sunday Support Group: Dippers

One thing I've noticed, and suspect is true, but can't support with statistics or facts...

It seems to me that a largish number of photographers are those who dip in for a while and then depart. You know the types I mean? Someone who was around for a while, seemed promising or made a splash or who you seemed to be hearing about everywhere, and then, a few years to a decade later, is gone again. "Rises above the waves" is an expression that might fit. The phrase implies the possibility of sinking below the waves again.

One person (I initially wrote "guy," but they're not all guys) might spend a year or two working on a cohesive body of work that's internally very successful...and then that's it; there's not a follow-up body of work and another one after that. Another might publish a book—a very good book—and then that's...their book. There's not a second one five or ten years later, nor one after that. A commercial pro might be hot for a while, and have a distinctive style, pull in the big bucks for a time, then seem to fall out of fashion and disappear. You might know of somebody locally who was cobbling together a career by doing many things, teaching a course here, giving a gallery talk there, having a show at a local gallery or frame shop or restaurant, adding to a resumé bit by bit...and then, ten years later—remember so-and-so? Where'd they go? Whatever happened to that guy?

I think an explanation in some cases is that it's hard work to be a photographer, and there often isn't a lot of return for it. When people find they don't get sufficient reward or attention in return for hard work, they very sensibly stop working so hard. They go do something else, or maybe modify their practice to make it fit into a more balanced life—turn their intended vocation into an avocation, say. Who wants to work for nothing?

And it takes a lot of work and dedication to be a full-time photographer, regardless of whether you want to make a living at it as a pro or create art and market yourself that way. One art photographer I knew said his life was 25% photography and 75% marketing. A husband-and-wife art-photographer duo, both accomplished artists with multiple monograph books to their credit, split the year up evenly: six months for photography, six months for marketing and sales. They weren't shrinking violets about the latter. They crisscrossed the country meeting up with established collectors and museum curators, trying to sell the work they made during the other half of the year.

-

It's hard work to be a

photographer, and there

often isn't a lot of

return for it.

-

Is it any wonder that there are a lot of photographers who work hard at it for a while and then fade away? It's not based entirely on just the vagaries of their skills. We all tend to believe that everyone is trying his or her hardest all the time, and that however they're doing is the best they can do. I don't think so. It takes tremendous dedication to go all-in as a full-time photographer. When someone comes on strong and then fades away, my guess is that, at least in some cases, they just got tired of working hard for nothing, so they went out and got a real job, one that would actually pay the bills, and dialed back their photography.

The time is past when just putting yourself out there is enough to get you noticed. I used to joke that being a professional photographer was like being a professional eater. A whole lot of people eat; but, amazingly, some people actually do earn a good living at it. They travel the world, eating and then telling about it. But those professional eaters are only a tiny fragment of all the eaters in the world. And you can't just decide that you're really good at eating and automatically start getting rewarded for it.

It's hardly a mystery. People do what they get rewarded for. If they're not getting enough money or attention in return for the work they have to put in, is it any wonder they dial back and go do something else? And then some time goes by, and by and by we're saying, hey, remember her? Wonder whatever happened to her.

She was a dipper, is all. Gave full-tilt, full-speed-ahead photography a shot for a while, then sensibly and intelligently reappraised and redirected. I think it happens all the time.

Mike

Book of interest* this week:

A Better Life for their Children by Andrew Feiler, University of Georgia Press, published last month. Read the description at the link—fascinating. It's the story of one of the earliest philanthropic collaborations between Jews and African Americans, one that drove dramatic improvement in black education. The story's told visually. *"Book of Interest" means I haven't seen it, but would like to.

The following image is also a link: 

Original contents copyright 2021 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

(To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below.)
Featured Comments from:

Edward Taylor: "This is exactly what happened to me. Back in the late '60s to early '70s I was a very successful photographer and made really good money too. I was in demand.

"But I noticed that the people who were in demand a few years earlier were the people I was replacing. I started to think it was just a question of time before I was no longer the 'go to' photographer. I felt a little like I was on a treadmill having to keep moving to stay relevant and knowing that I couldn't go on forever like that.

"One of those photographers that I replaced (at a newspaper) was particularly annoyed with my success and made that fact clear in a number of ways. One day he asked if I would get lunch with him. I thought he was going to apologize for his bad attitude and ask me what my secrets to success were. But he didn't. He wanted to warn me. I could sense that he actually wanted to be helpful, so I listened. He said that what he had learned during his years in photography was that photographers were like rock bands. The vast majority have limited lifespan. One-hit wonders at worst, or an album or two, and they are no longer relevant or able to sell their new stuff to anyone. He said, 'Few bands can be The Beatles, and few photographers can be Ansel Adams.' I had two kids at the time, so I made photography a hobby and went to med school."

scott kirkpatrick: "Bill Owens had a hit with Suburbia. It fell out of a job photographing for a South Bay newspaper (remember local newspapers?) He did one more book, but then started a chain of microbreweries, which was just as much fun and paid much better."

Ed. note: Here's the link to the reprint. The out-of-print reprint. A book that I wasn't attracted to when it came out, but that seems to get richer and deeper as the years go by.

Mike Chisholm: "When I first got seriously interested in photography, around 1984, after a decade or so just 'taking photos,' I fell in with a guy I happened to meet, Richard, who was simply the best, most painstaking darkroom worker I have ever known. His selenium toned prints on the old Agfa Record Rapid were truly outstanding: the blacks were so rich they looked edible. He won various competitions, and once exhibited alongside Fay Godwin. Then Rich simply seemed to fall out of love with photography. It may or may not be a coincidence that around that time he met and married a woman who was into more athletic outdoor pursuits, and the next thing I knew he was a dedicated windsurfer, and had sold off his cameras and darkroom kit to finance the new hobby. Last thing I heard, he had become a serious aquarium enthusiast. I have similar stories about, for example, Andrew, the hippie smallholder who became a skilled carpenter, moved to New Zealand, became a financier (!), took up photography, then painting, then [insert various other phases]. Last heard of leading groups in some intense Sufi-style dance meditation.... Luckily these people leave a trail of top-class used kit in their wake!"

Ken: "My wife was a successful photographer and made a decent living for about a decade and change. Eventually, she got burned out from a mix of the hassles of running a business and dealing with unreasonable customer demands; having to always be on top of your game at every shoot; the 'good enough' attitude that spread alongside iPhones; and, not least, the desire to have predictable hours and a steady paycheck with benefits. Plus, if someone isn't self-employed, they might be surprised at how many jurisdictions (municipal, city, county, state, federal, etc.) want to tax a slice of your earnings...add in insurance, advertising, gear, software, and equipment costs (e.g. lights), and it is not easy to make a living at photography. And that's before you even get to maintaining a website and keeping your skills up-to-date.

"My wife went back to school to get her master's degree and is now much happier—and rarely even picks up a camera anymore. Me, I've always been a hobbyist. Good enough to occasionally wow family and a few friends, and anonymous outside that small circle. And that is good enough. I enjoy shooting and looking back at pictures from the receding decades, and will keep doing that as long as I continue to enjoy it."

Bryan: "I remember (dimly) reading about the results of an interesting study a few years ago. It revolved around the consequences of paying someone for making, in this studies case, a nice painting. The study involved children (or teenagers?) but I don’t recall the actual ages. They tested three groups and in all three groups the children already liked painting pictures in class before the study began. With the first group, the researchers started paying the children for every painting. The second group got praise for every painting. The third group were basically left on their own. After a time period the researchers withheld payment and praise for the two groups getting both. In almost every case the children stopped painting when payment or praise ceased. The third group continued happily smearing paint on craft paper without a pause.

"Of course life is more complicated than the study suggests but we as artists aren’t that different from children, after all we are the same species. So perhaps this study may in part explain these disappearances over time."

Nigel Voak: "I suppose I fall squarely into to this category.

"A move to another country and language at the age of 28 gave me the opportunity to try to make photography my profession. I had been passionate about photography since my late teens.

"I managed, with luck, good contacts, and hard work, to make a go of it for a while. I worked mainly with one of Italy's leading opera houses and a leading national dance company. It was an enjoyable period of my life. I even had two or three exhibitions of my work and I was published at a national level.

"But slowly things changed. I was working in an area that depended on subsidies from the national and local government. Slowly public funding was reduced, which meant less work.

"At the same time I had learned the language well, and my skills as a structural engineer became interesting to employers. Family pressures to lead a 'normal life' were also mounting; performing arts photography means working strange hours. Also, I earned far more as an engineer.

"For ten years I combined my engineering job with photography, until seismic changes at the theatre where I mostly picked up photographic work saw me cast out. First the head of the press office was replaced, and the new chief brought in a 'big' local photographer who demanded exclusivity. Then, a month later, the artistic director of the dance company was ousted in favor of a more 'edgy' director. A change of photographer ensued and I lost this gig too, as a fresh photographic vision was required.

"I became totally disillusioned with photography, but also, if I am truthful with myself, I had reached the point where I felt I was going through the motions. I could produce a good competent set of pictures from any performing arts scenario without the tension and curiosity I once had. I suppose I had nothing more to say photographically. I think this might account for the fact that lots of people in the artistic professions shine for a while and then disappear. They just get bored with the whole thing.

"Photography has been a lifelong passion, but I just do it for my own pleasure now. It takes me to some interesting places and I have had some interesting encounters with people thanks to photography."

Followup

I think I found the place I mentioned Mark Brautigam before, the photographer who did the series "On Wisconsin" that I linked to the other day. It was in 2011, in a post called "A Few Examples of Naturalism in Photography." Some of the links in that post are broken now.

Do you actually read old posts on TOP? I often wonder how many people do.

Hope you're having a good Saturday.

Mike

Product of Interest this week:

As Porsche does with the 911, Fujifilm just keeps refining its perfect pocket camera and making it better and better. Also available from Amazon.

As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

Original contents copyright 2021 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

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