I began making images 50 years ago at age twelve - simply because it was fun. I was proud of the images I developed and printed myself. Family and friends were impressed and it stroked what was my fragile ego and lack of identity at the time. Being the youngest, it gave me confidence in myself, along with the pride and identity that was sorely missing in an adolescent. But at the root of it, I loved being able to express myself through my images and my view of the world with those around me. Though HS and college, I was prolific. I made thousands of images. and loved getting published - whether it was doing the many yearbooks, student and local newspapers, or small exhibitions. But as much as it helped me gain the confidence I had been missing, something happened along the way - I didn't need the images and accolades to stroke my ego anymore; I was making images for myself and for my own memories - and I also loved how the images touched the lives around me. My camera was like a passport. I was everywhere, with everyone, all the time. I gained as much joy connecting with diverse groups of people and individuals from all walks of life. As a result, my social circles grew far and wide. I continued to make images, both as an observer and a participant. Like any craftsperson, it remained part of my identity, but only a healthy facet of it. I had gained additional interests along the way in music, writing, higher ed, and of course the typical diversions of romance.
Of those early images - thousands of frames, only a small fraction were ever seen or published. Decades later I scanned most of those frames and shared them with the hundreds upon hundreds of people with whom I had connected and grown-up - people who were part of the fabric of who I had become. My camera and my art were my passports. The reaction to those images some 40-50 years hence - most of which had never been seen, was incredible. I had visually journaled my life and the lives of so many others around me. Was there ego involved in sharing? Some, but it mattered little - it was the joy those images brought to others back then and now decades later that mattered. It also gave me an entirely new perspective on documentary/journalistic imaging. After sharing those images decades later I thought far more about the images that I had passed up that I didn't make - those are the ones I remember most. It taught me to value image opportunities I might otherwise take for granted.
I never considered the value of my images 50 years in the future, but wish I could have known the scale of the impact it could have - not as a tribute to my own ego, but as a life treasure to others. I don't care one bit about my images 50 years after I am gone - I've been blessed to have had the opportunity to experience seeing how the images I made touched the lives of others and their loved ones 50 years later while I am still living to share that joy.
Michael
Smokin' in the boy's room...
Of those early images - thousands of frames, only a small fraction were ever seen or published. Decades later I scanned most of those frames and shared them with the hundreds upon hundreds of people with whom I had connected and grown-up - people who were part of the fabric of who I had become. My camera and my art were my passports. The reaction to those images some 40-50 years hence - most of which had never been seen, was incredible. I had visually journaled my life and the lives of so many others around me. Was there ego involved in sharing? Some, but it mattered little - it was the joy those images brought to others back then and now decades later that mattered. It also gave me an entirely new perspective on documentary/journalistic imaging. After sharing those images decades later I thought far more about the images that I had passed up that I didn't make - those are the ones I remember most. It taught me to value image opportunities I might otherwise take for granted.
I never considered the value of my images 50 years in the future, but wish I could have known the scale of the impact it could have - not as a tribute to my own ego, but as a life treasure to others. I don't care one bit about my images 50 years after I am gone - I've been blessed to have had the opportunity to experience seeing how the images I made touched the lives of others and their loved ones 50 years later while I am still living to share that joy.
Michael
Smokin' in the boy's room...
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But at some point, we have to set them aside and move on. When I'm out focused on my photography, that helps. When I call someone else who's having a problem, lost a relative, or whatever, it takes the focus off of me and thinking about all my problems. I often get it wrong too and forget my own advice. But when I get miserable enough, well, enough is enough.
