During high school and college, I took photos of friends and they were not necessarily formal portraits. During the 40 year h.s. reunion gathering, one guy walked up to me with his wife, and reminded me of a photo I took of them, and pointed out that it was their favorite photo. Some time later, a long time friend and his wife reminded me of a photo taken by me of them while in college, and it was their absolute favorite photo. Two special reasons why taking portraits can be personally fulfilling...because it can be so impactful in the lives of others.
This isn't too far off of my own reasons.
I'm not a portrait guy, but I like the challenge. And I have the same ideas, I prefer to engage and get genuine expressions. The best "real" laugh from Santa at a photo shoot last year came from telling him a dirty joke. The best shots of my friends and their baby were after the shoot, when having lunch and they were not so damned worried about their baby looking perfect. The best shot of a young friend came after a half hour of uncomfortable shooting trying to make him look "rock and roll" for his album cover, when his friends and I got him chatting and laughing so he relaxed.
The young friend died this summer, suddenly, which was difficult to watch. That photo, the finally relaxed portrait, was on his obituary and a copy still hangs on the corkboard where he worked. In fact, there was a memorial with a score of photographs, and more than half were mine. Small solace, but his friends and, especially, his family were exceptionally grateful to have them.
Portraiture done well is appreciated. People connect with it, and on an emotional level more easily than landscapes. I take pictures of pets and children, too, for the same reason. The challenge of making something good, with emotional appeal. Maybe something true, or even harder something that lies a little in the way you want.
Example of lying: The nicest, goofiest kid on earth. So much so a mutual friend, when told I was going to take "rock and roll" photos, said "Oh, he's way too sweet for rock and roll."
Or of seeing through the lie to the actual thing: After a lot of fake poses, here is Santa, laughing for real.
Or the duality of the portrait Mom wants, which is the lie, and the portrait I want, which is the truth.
Or when a friend's wife wants a picture of him right after promotion to Sergeant so you make him look so much as much like a jarhead as possible without the uniform in the shot. The truth without browbeating anyone about it:
The portrait of my mother and her dog from 15 years ago, before she passed away, is still on my sister's desk at work. My landlord's dog in his old truck is still hanging on the wall of his room. The baby with Santa? I got a great shot of her, all eyes and drool, that is currently underappreciated. But I guarantee you, 15 years from now, her dad is going to appreciate the hell out of that one.
Long lasting, usually positive effects aren't easy to achieve in life. If I can get a portrait someone loves in a decade or two, I've done well.