27

The Heart of the Photograph

THE HEART OF ANY PHOTOGRAPH will be as different from one image to the next as the infinite subjects and our thoughts and feelings about those subjects are from each other. What I have tried to do in this book is give you tools to explore those subjects more deeply, and to interpret them in your own way according to how you see them, how you feel about them, and what you want to say about them. I have tried to get you thinking.

I have tried hard not to give you formulas, rules, recipes, or platitudes. In giving you questions, I hope to nudge you away from the tendency of so many photographers to look for rules, to ask the one question I hope you will never ask:

“What should I do?”

There is no should in art. There is no one lens you should use for anything. There is no one setting, no single aperture, no rule of composition that will universally make a good photograph. There is only possibility. What lens might I use? What setting, aperture, shutter, or composition might I use? What can I try? What can I risk?

As I’ve written this book, in my mind I’ve treated this one idea as my north star: the heart of the photograph is the subject best expressed. But best is a meaningless word unless we agree on who is determining that, for this one subject, in this moment, there is no better expression. So . . . best according to whom? You, and you alone.

Best according to how you see the subject and what you want to say. Best according to your tastes and preferences, the life you’ve lived, the emotions you feel, the opinions you have. Best according to your level of skill as you learn this craft. But never best in reference to the work of others. Art is not a competition, despite a photographic industry that makes it so. We do not make our best work looking at what others are doing, but rather by following whatever thread of curiosity is ours and ours alone.

We live in strange times. Never before has an artist been able to put his or her work into the world so broadly and so quickly. Never before has an artist been able to hear every voice that cares to praise, criticize, or issue feedback with neither context nor conversation. Most often, it’s just a binary reaction: yes or no, a like or not, a heart or no heart. The subtle and complex shades of human reaction and emotion go out the window, replaced by comments like “Nice pic!” or worse, an emoji.

Not only can this suffocate our creativity, but it can lead us to misunderstand who our audience is. Surrounded by the metrics of social media or even the dozen people in your camera club, it’s easy to begin thinking that they are your audience. They are not. Not at first. You are.