Chapter 13. Never Make a Mediocre Image

Airshow pilot Sean D. Tucker of Team Oracle flies south of New York City.

ISO 320 f/6.3 1/1250 16mm

The reality for any photographer is you are only as good as your last photograph.

It doesn’t matter how good the image was that you shot last year or last week; you’re always in pursuit of the next image. And that pursuit of the next great image is about finding something new and different that you didn’t know, or haven’t seen yet, or haven’t thought of yet. It’s just a way of life.

It’s very easy to go through your career making predictable photographs. You take few risks and face few discomforts, and that can be your approach to photography. There’s nothing wrong with that.

But there’s something inside of a lot of people, including myself, that refuses to take those predictable images—that refuses to take the same images over and over again. Instead you make the choices that cause discomfort and create uncertainty. It’s only when you take this kind of risk that you discover the images you’ve never seen before, ones you can’t expect.

It makes me feel very alive, and reignites my love for how beautiful and unpredictable life is.

Striving for the Unattainable

I’m a photographer because the single worst thing I can imagine in life is going to the same office every day at the same hour, sitting in front of the same computer and desk. What keeps me ticking is going out and discovering new people, new places, and new things every day, and it’s a tremendous privilege.

I think for that privilege, you have to sacrifice a lot—not only the comfort of that desk, but also the comfort of the predictable image. You have to strive for the images you think are unattainable, the images you’re not sure you can make, because when you do make them, even if it’s two or three times a year, it keeps you going. It keeps me going.

It makes your career interesting, and also helps build a healthy respect for the photographers who push the envelope and go into areas that are unexplored, or where images are difficult to make.

It’s far too easy to do what’s predictable with a camera, and for me that is far too boring. I can’t take that image. I’ve shot it 100 times or I’ve seen it dozens of times. I want to find an image that I’ve yet to see or take.

The first BMX competition of the Olympics in the summer of 2008.

ISO 50 f/3.5 1/800 24mm

The Perils of Praise

Because I began as such a young photographer, I often received praise.

“For your age, you’re so far ahead of the game.”

“Attaboy. Nice stuff.”

“Man, I wish I had your talent when I was your age.”

I knew innately that the praise was not helping me. Praise does not help you grow. Praise slows you down. Praise lets you rest on your laurels.

Instead of pursuing praise, spend your time studying your failures.

Making that choice forced me to study what I was doing, and to learn ten times faster. When you examine your failures or where you have fallen short, you are forced to think about what you are doing and how you are doing it.

So I welcome criticism. I have to admit I have a pretty thick skin. But whether you do or not, I think that when you receive criticism, you always have to analyze who it’s coming from.

Does this person know what they’re talking about? Do they have an agenda? Do I respect and admire their work?

Do a little bit of research. Don’t listen to just anybody, because most people don’t really know what they’re talking about. But if they do know what they’re talking about, even if they’re from a very different field than you are, there’s almost always something to be taken from it. It helps you grow.

The Role of Ego

This isn’t about having an ego or not having one at all. Ego needs balance. If you don’t have enough of one and you’re too insecure, you get stepped on. You need enough ego that you won’t take no for an answer. You have to persevere. You need enough ego to be able to talk about yourself, to sell yourself as a photographer. It’s what gets you in the door, gets you the project.

You also need enough ego to have confidence. You need enough ego to say, “I can shoot this, even though there are 70 other photographers over there and I’m the only one here.” That’s ego. It’s almost arrogance, but it pays off.

Hurricane Katrina. One year later.

ISO 100 f/3.5 1/1000 24mm

Where ego should have no place is in how you treat other people, how you treat other photographers, and how you act. It’s a tricky balance.

I hate talking about myself. When my son was going through the kindergarten admissions process in New York, the school interviewed the parents, which I thought was the most asinine thing. I didn’t mention anything in my interview about winning a Pulitzer Prize. I refused to. It just felt wrong. This is my kid trying to get in a school, not me.

But the point is, ego is necessary. Humility is necessary. Perspective is necessary. It doesn’t matter how famous a photographer you are, you’re still a human being like anyone else.

Recently when I went to pick up my laundry, a guy walked up to me.

“Are you Vincent Laforet?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, I really like your blog.”

That tells me that I’m doing some good stuff in my blog. That’s all it tells me, and I appreciate it. It’s an affirmation when people actually take the time to compliment you or thank you. That’s the best thing you can ask for.

But ego is dangerous, too. Confidence and arrogance in a job like mine can get you killed, literally, especially when you’re in war zones. Again, Katrina reaffirmed this in a way that nothing else ever did. It isn’t about me. It’s about the pictures and the stories I’m telling, the people I’m photographing. It’s about them. And I really understood that in Pakistan and Katrina as I never had before.

Lessons Learned

Over time, no matter what the size of your ego, you’re going to learn some lessons as a photojournalist. One is that the event trumps you and your work. And it’s going to happen—over time the world will teach you that it’s not about you.

The second thing you learn as a photojournalist is how we’re all equal human beings on this earth, and that gives you a very unique perspective.

I have been in the presence of and photographed some very important, wealthy, and successful people. When you meet them and spend time with them, you see beyond the veneer. You see how insecure they can be, how some of them are so unhappy even with all their wealth. You come away from this realizing that beneath the surface, we’re all the same.

I feel good when I’ve taken an image that has helped someone. I’m not sure true altruism really exists, but I think working for a newspaper can get you pretty close. When you’re documenting things, it kind of brings you down to earth a little bit—or a lot. I ultimately find that the best photojournalists are the ones who care, because they’re able to connect with the people they’re photographing.

Aboard the U.S.S. Abraham Lincoln, in the Persian Gulf, in 2003. The pilots and most of the 5,500 crew members took part in the “Steel Beach” picnic on their second day of rest, prior to resuming their eighth month of duty at sea.

f/7.1 1/1000 14mm

And the best way to connect with someone is to be genuine and to really understand, or admit you don’t understand, to be real. If you’ve got a huge ego and you’re arrogant, dismissive, or uninterested in them, they see right through you.

I tell people that if you’re a photojournalist or a street photographer and you’re uncomfortable photographing someone, everyone within 100 yards can feel it. I think it’s intuitive. But on a more practical level, it’s probably the way you look at people, the way you comport yourself, the way you move.

On Persistence

Finally, this game is about persistence.

People look at my career now and think that the New York Times or National Geographic are always pounding on my door. What they don’t know is that even after 20 years of work, I still have to practically beg for a big project, and I often have to face being turned down.

Seven is my lucky number. I usually get turned down six times, and on the seventh time—with many big projects—I’m told yes. I just don’t take no for an answer. I do it politely and very respectfully. I don’t argue with people, but I don’t stop asking them to hire me. If it’s important to you, people will see. It’s not that you’re obsessed, although you may be.

The Canon 5D Mark II, the camera that helped launch my filmmaking career—I created the video Reverie with it—is a great example of that. That camera was not meant for me to test. Canon said no six times over four hours. The seventh time, they got so tired of me asking them politely that they finally said, “Fine, take it for the weekend. Ship it on Monday to the guy who’s been chosen to shoot video with it.”

That changed my career. I have David Sparer and Hitoshi Doi to thank for that opportunity.

A still image from “Reverie,” shot in Fall 2008.

I think people, including myself, get very excited when we have eureka ideas. The reality is everyone has great ideas. The number of people who see them through to the end is incredibly small. And a lot of that has to do with perseverance.

Every success story could be written with the same narrative: “I had a great idea. They told me no. They told me it was stupid. They told me it wouldn’t work. I did it anyway.”

And that spirit of perseverance and stubbornness carries through into my photography.

For the Chrysler Building aerial photo shoot, we had 14 days we couldn’t fly because of weather. The first day we got clearance to go up in the air, but then were told that we couldn’t fly over lower Manhattan for security reasons. It was total B.S., but it’s what air traffic control told us. We called the supervisor on Saturday and got his voice mail. What’s the chance of getting a callback?

We sat for 45 minutes with the helicopter blades going, when finally the pilot got a call on his cell phone and was cleared to go. This photograph is the result of not giving up. It wasn’t an option.

The reality is everyone has great ideas. The number of people who see them through to the end is incredibly small. And a lot of that has to do with perseverance.

Chrysler Building, New York City.

ISO 200 f/2.8 1/500 145mm

Aiming for the Best

Making great photographs is not just about aiming for the best. It’s about being able to say no to all the mediocre ones or even the good ones.

You need to become a giant rejection machine saying, “I’ve seen it before. I’ve shot it a 100 times. It’s not relevant to the story. It doesn’t really do anything for me. Sure, it’d be good in my portfolio, but what I’m looking for is just not there.”

Improve your ability to see photographs move up, down, left and right, and keep moving till you find the best one.

Ultimately, photography is about documenting everyday life, the unspectacular. But what you’re looking for is something you’ve never seen or your audience has never seen. While we do travel the world and see amazing things, 95 percent of our job is photographing almost mundane stuff that we see every single day. The job—our profession—is to find something special in the everyday. As I photograph people and the world, I feel I’m most alive during that quest for the extraordinary.

A surfer makes his way toward the Rip Curl Pipeline Masters, one of the most prestigious surfing competitions in the world.

ISO 200 f/5.6 1/2500 500mm