Over the past month or so I just had not been feeling it. Work was piling up, other interests were interceding, and the camera, aw that damned camera, was becoming a liability. And having been on Flickr for nearly 2 1/2 years, I was growing tired of seeing the same old crap: face paint, uninteresting ideas, jump shots, selective color, the list is endless. Even this blog was pissing me off, as it was eating up too much time trying to think up something I felt someone would read and comment on.
So I did what I had not done in all the time I’ve had a DSLR. I put it in the bag and ignored it.
Think about that for a moment. After 2 1/2 years of shooting nearly every day, I stopped. And damn it, it felt great.
And being the reflective one, I sat back and reassessed what I wanted with my photography.
I’ve realized that not every pic has to be perfect, that I don’t have to go back and forth wondering what to upload, and that every pic doesn’t need a strobe. I think I’d forgotten what originally drew me to photography.
It wasn’t trying to impress you, to make Explore, get 50 comments, or process the hell out of something to try and make shit look like solid gold. No, it was the emotions that a photo can capture and convey.
Let me interject there that Flickr, while being a great means of letting others see your work and vice versa, constructs a certain amount of peer pressure via its system of commenting that turns reciprocal and even certain styles that become prevalent for a time.
I actually thought about that a lot while I was in New Orleans over a week ago. I realized that when I got back home and uploaded the pics that they wouldn’t receive the type of response a strobed SP would. In fact, the strobes stayed in the bags 90% of the time. I realized that these pics had to be for me for once. And so they were.
Most of what I got in New Orleans are nothing more than snap shots capturing a time and a place. In fact, a lot of what I’ve posted isn’t that great. The composition is off, the focus is wack, and the night shots are filled with digital noise. And I could care less. Because when I look at them I remember laughing my ass off with some people I consider not just good friends, but great friends, I remember walking through a city that five years ago I figured was pretty much done for only to arise from a watery grave, and I recall finally that the camera I’m holding isn’t always going to capture the perfect image. In fact, I doubt it ever will. And you know, I’m fine with that.