Lots has changed in photography since I entered the culture as a boy. It used to be that photographers communicated mainly through books—other publications as well, but the published book was the ultimate final form of accomplishment, and you needed to see a photographer's book or books before you could have any claim to know what they were up to. That's changed. The camera used to have some authority, commanding respect or at least attention wherever it appeared. Anyone remember what a big day it was when the photographer came to do your school pictures? And if the newspaper sent a photographer, it meant the story, whatever it was, was being accorded a certain respect and importance. No more. Nowadays, some guy with a big DSLR isn't even a potential terrorist or a scummy Princess-killing paparazzi any more! (To name two of the slanders against us that pertained in recent decades and thankfully seem to have subsided.) Photography used to be a specialized skill that took some effort to master, which had the effect of elevating the status of those versed in the art—and of keeping the hordes at bay. Those days might not quite be gone, but they seem to be going.
Book or box
In those days, your main calling card was your portfolio, an idea that seems to have become...quaint, let's say. The portfolio, which took the form of a box or book of prints (in fact it was called your "book" in several branches of the craft), was the well-arranged and carefully judged shop window of your expertise—it showed people not only the best of what you could do, your skills and competencies, but also who you were...your concerns, your way of looking at things, your style, your chosen subjects.
This was as true for art photographers as for pros of all sorts. Editors called to see your book if they got interested by your mailings or heard of you some other way. Engaged couples were shown the photographer's book in a carefully orchestrated meeting while deciding on a wedding photographer. Artists dropped their boxes off at museums for review, picking them up a week later, so the curators would learn their names, see what they were up to, and consider their work for purchase or exhibition.
Great care and attention was lavished on what form the portfolio should take. In art circles it was often a deluxe solander case with beautifully matted fine prints inside—sometimes you'd find a pair of cotton gloves carelessly tossed in on top of the pictures as a convenience for whomever would be handling the pictures (replacing dirty mats was an inconvenience for the photographer, expensive or at least time-consuming). In professional circles the form of the book was endlessly discussed, and part of the creativity of the, er, "Creative" (an unfortunate shorthand name I never did like). One guy I remember had his pictures laminated by an outfit that made paper art into placemats! As in, for the dining table. The resulting mats were rigid and had a soft felt backing. Unfortunately the hard plastic covering was not quite transparent, so his pictures had a soft matte sheen to the surface that didn't suite every image. He did think the presentation was distinctive, but he did it mainly because they wore like iron, as serviceable placemats must, so he didn't have to re-do them so often.
Of course amateurs, wannabes, students and hobbyists often imitated the pros and artists in this aspect of the practice of the art, as in others. So they, too, were encouraged to create portfolios. How else could anyone see a formal and considered presentation of your pictures?
Well, that's over, clearly. Slap a JPEG on the web. One picture can be exchanged for another with a few clicks, and the whole pile can be accessed by anyone the world over at any time (as long as they have a desire to go see it, which turns out to be the hardest part), and it never wears out from handling. And you can have five portfolios, or ten. Even though the limits of a physical portfolio were a great help in staying focused and keeping it all on point.
Doldrums
I wonder, though, if the portfolio might not be a key learning experience for many of us still. I heard from a reader the other day who finds her creativity in the doldrums. "I feel quite stuck and uninspired," she writes. "I keep asking myself questions about photography, but I just don't have a vision about it (pun intended). The state of the internet these days sure does not help: you know better than me how depressed to the bottom the landscape is, and how gear-driven and content-empty. I'm convinced that if it was not for TOP, I would not be into photography any more and with young kids and little spare time, I just can't engage in classes or activities...."
She was looking to me as if I'd have some answers, but, actually, my first reaction was to think, I know how you feel! I'm in a similar boat, I guess.
The art of the portfolio
It did kindle a glimmer of memory, though—a memory of how deeply satisfying it was to work on a portfolio. From the photographer's vantage point, a portfolio wasn't just a motley collection of the best snaps they had managed in the past. It was a hopeful statement for the future: this is who I want to be, it said; this is what I really love. This is me, in short.
Because, really, a portfolio had to be composed of things you had done in the past, but what it really was was a projection of the work you wanted to do in the future. If you were a wedding photographer but you wanted to do commercial product photography, you showed a portfolio of the latter. If you were a jobber photographer-for-hire doing grip-and-grins but you wanted to be a wedding photographer, you shot a few weddings for friends and relatives and put that work in your portfolio. For pros, as much as possible you made the portfolio show the kind of work you wanted to be hired for going forward. I remember reading stories of hardworking assistants, eager to strike out on their own and make a name for themselves, holing up for months in the studio to create a portfolio of new work in a new style, hoping to transform themselves.
I suspect the same relationship translates to a personal artistic portfolio as well. You can reinvent yourself, reimagine yourself. Start with a core of a few shots you've taken that intrigue you and work outward; pare away everything that's not what you do best. Keep questioning the work: what are you doing? Who are you?
Don't pander. No clichés, no "likes-bait," no conventional "I'm-supposed-to-do-it-this-way" kind of stuff. Maybe even head the other way. Challenge the viewer; find your depth. Use your online communities to help edit; make online versions so you can see, visually, how each picture works with its neighbors; carry a miniature version made of tiny prints so you can show willing friends and acquaintances, and watch their reactions as they look through it.
To put together a group of pictures that shows who and what you are as a photographer: it's a tougher task than it might seem at a glance.
Does it sing?
In a recent book review, Charles Yu writes: "In his craft memoir, On Writing, Stephen King describes a moment in his process when he asks himself the 'Big Questions.' The biggest of which are: 'Is this story coherent? And if it is, what will turn coherence into a song?'" Good questions for a portfolio, too.
When you find the right work, it flows. Sings is a good word too, because what's a song but notes in the context of others? A picture in a portfolio has to be in balance and harmony with the others.
Just a thought, really. I don't have a portfolio now and it's been a long time since I've put one together. And I know many of you already do practice what I'm preaching—I've seen great portfolios by readers who've come to visit. Thoughtful and coherent sets of pictures in self-published books and calendars and many other forms have crossed my desk. But I wanted to say this anyway: I guess one thing I have left over from the old culture is a faith in the powers of the portfolio and a faith in the creative rejuvenation of portfolio-crafting. As a curative, and a restorative, a way to rekindle and reinvent. A tangible stakepost in the ground that says "here's me, now." And as a way to forge forward, a way to get out of the doldrums, and get wind in your sails again.
Mike
(Thanks to Daniele)
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(To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below.)
Featured Comments from:
Kenneth Tanaka: "I suspect that the days of assembling a portfolio of work as an aid in soliciting photo work are long past for many TOP readers, if they ever occurred at all. I also suspect that the traditional portfolio—i.e. a large, heavy book of plastic-covered prints—is itself a bit of a relic.
"However, this statement at the end of your essay is as valid now as it ever was: '...the powers of the portfolio and a faith in the creative rejuvenation of portfolio-crafting. As a curative, and a restorative, a way to rekindle and reinvent. A tangible stakepost in the ground that says "here's me, now." And as a way to forge forward, a way to get out of the doldrums, and get wind in your sails again.'
"More to the moment, the act of building books or magazines of one’s work is a powerful medium for self-realization, creative expression, preservation of work, and, yes, representation of one’s work. It’s something that nearly everyone can do today through desktop tools that you may already have. Even if you never print a single copy of your book or magazine you will be stronger and rejuvenated just by the act of curating some of your work into a cohesive collection. Guaranteed.
"I have made four self-published books of my own work and have plans for three more. I’ve just come to treat it as part of the creative photographic cycle."
John Camp (partial comment): "I know this post was about portfolios, but: Too many people think they have to go to some grand vision of 'art' to be a real photographer. To the woman who feels uninspired, and believes she doesn't have time to do serious photography, I'd say (from the perspective of 77 years and two kids and three grandchildren) DO THE KIDS. No matter whatever else you do in photography, or how great it turns out to be, when you finally get old, that's what you'll come back to, time after time."
[Full texts of "partial" Featured Comments are published in the full Comments section. Click on "Comments (#)" in the footer of the post. —Ed.]
Bob Rosinsky: "The thing about physical portfolios is most galleries choose to look at websites instead. It's like trying to pull teeth to get a curator to view actual prints. I am greatly chagrined by the lack of interest to view prints...I've spent 45 years devoted to the craft of printing, both analog and digital."
DavidB: "Just the other day, while looking for something else on my crowded shelves, I came across my portfolio album. Putting aside my immediate task, I sat down and flipped through it looking at the prints I had made at a time when I was considering becoming a full-time photographer. I never took that path but looking back at the portfolio was an opportunity to think 'What if?' The portfolio did its job. I showed it to many business owners and was granted the opportunity to display and sell prints in local businesses as well as one art gallery. The gallery showing was so much fun!"
Gordon Haddow: "I often aspired to having a portfolio, but procrastination always seemed to get in the way. I managed to produce a website for a show but this site is now woefully behind my photographic production (procrastination again). For my annual performance review at work, I had a long-running joke with my boss that my one of my three goals was to work on my procrastination 'but it was taking longer than thought' or 'I have not managed to start.'
"I gave up on the portfolio but always wanted to show my family and friends what I was working on. Then in 2007 I hit on the idea of giving them a calendar of photographs as a Christmas gift. The rule was that I had to print and produce it myself. They are archivally printed on matte paper. Only the binding could be done in a shop. Usually, they were photographs taken the previous year, or a particular subject, or a particular location. That year I printed 20. Last year (a calendar of San Miguel De Allende) the gift list had grown to 100. Some years are better than others, but it has revived my interest in photography, gave me an ongoing project and lots of feedback. It has given me much joy to see them hanging in the homes of my family, friends and colleagues. Many tell me that they still have all of them and treasure them.
"Maybe next year when I will be retired, I will work on a portfolio (and my website) but the calendar will come first."
Richard Skoonberg: "I have had the opportunity to share my 'book,' a portfolio box of large, curated prints, in face-to-face meetings with gallery owners, museum curators, and directors of photography centers. They like to see large, finished prints, 13x19", without plastic sleeves, unless, of course, you have a clear reason why they should be smaller. The print is the final artifact; the item to valued, exhibited, and sold. Your book should contain no more than 20 of your best prints and you should be able to talk about each one."
Mim: "My local photo club runs an annual portfolio process for all members who wish to participate. At your own level, you put together a coherent set of photos on one subject. Continuous support and feedback is available from specified volunteers in the club, and also in several structured meetings during the year from the membership as a whole. It culminates in a show at the end of the year. I've found it to be a really worthwhile process that stretches my abilities and challenges how I think about my photography. It's been great to think about how images fit together, and not just whether I've got one good (lucky?) shot."
Mike replies: I remember trying to collate and group together all my own "one good (lucky?) shots." The effect was rather disconcerting...they didn't work together very well, and each one seemed to be a little diminished in the presence of the others. I guess that's what happens when the whole is less than the sum of its parts, rather than more.
Sharon: "Well, we all should be making prints of our work. We may not need them to lug them around as much but the physical print is a different cat than looking on the web. There is a deep, deep satisfaction in holding a beautiful print. I put ours in archival boxes. I love the documentary The B Side, about Elsa Dorfman. She pulls print after print out of boxes and flat files and talks about them. That would have been a lousy movie without the prints."
Adam Lanigan: "I tried a few times over the years to put together a portfolio as it just seemed like the thing to do, but it flopped every time.
"I've totally fallen in love, though, with putting projects into book form via online self-publishing tools. As you said, pulling together the notes and stringing them from page to page to sing together is hugely satisfying. It's really helped me focus the work, but also shifted my perspective away from always just showing the very best shots (the melody) and elevated marginal ones (the harmony) that lay the foundation, build out the context, and let the melody photos sing louder. (Apologies for any metaphor abuse.)
"I've got three separate books on the go right now and it's great to push back and forth between them depending on what I'm feeling when I sit down at the computer to move them forward. I may print them all, I may not. (I've fallen in love with the possibilities offered by layflat books, which, of course, are far more expensive.)
"For me, these project books have replaced the need and function for a traditional portfolio, helping me get shows in the past, showing various aspects of what I do, putting that focused vision on a subject, etc. In fact, for the last show I did at the central library, they purchased a copy of the book and it now sits on their shelves, which is still the coolest damn thing to me. I'm currently working on reorienting my website around this project/book focus."
Thomas Walsh: "I would like to second what John Camp wrote about doing the kids. If one is blessed with grandchildren, the possibilities of building portfolios of their growing up are infinite. Who cares if my wife and I are the only ones who see them? The happy memories that they bring are worth far more than any accolade that may (more probably may not in my case) come from any photographic merit they possess."
Tom Duffy: "I endorse John Camp's advice. 'DO THE KIDS.' I was an early adopter of COVID, getting it in March of 2020. While recovering, I realized that if I didn't print my countless sheets of B&W negatives of my kids growing up, these pictures would essentially be lost forever. For every negative worth printing I make three 5x7s, one for each of my daughters, whether they are in the picture or not. They'll each get the same complete set of about 400 pictures. I'm objectively a mediocre photographer, but the number of really good pictures is pretty impressive when all is said and done. This will be my only photographic legacy but it turns out I'm happy with it and hopefully my kids will be too, come Christmas."