David duChemin

VISION IS BETTER
Free the Mind, Free the Camera. Again.

2
44 Thoughts About The Photographic Life & Craft Originally Published on THE PIXELATED IMAGE BLOG
VISION IS STILL BETTER.
[AN INTRODUCTION.]
What can I say? After flogging the concept of vision for a few years
now, I still remain unrepentant about my overuse of the word.
We create our art in the midst of an odd industry trying
desperately to sell us new gear - and we rely on this gear, to
a greater or lesser degree to do what we do. But relying on it,
and being distracted by it are not the same thing. In the end
most of us simply want to achieve basic competence, to get
to the point where the camera no longer stands in the way
of what does matter - the reason we want to make a photo-
graph and the way in which we express that reason through
the unique visual language of the medium. That’s all. Intent
and expression. The rest, as far as I’m concerned, is simply
how-to, and that’s a simple matter. Monkeys could learn it.
Don’t get me wrong, I still love my gear. I need my gear,
at least some of it. But I use it to serve my vision. Vi-
sion - or intent if you prefer that word - is primary.
Vision is still better. From that spirit and emphasis I’ve written
the following essays, articles, blog posts - whatever you call
them - to remind us all, myself included, that the point, for
most of us, is deeper photographs, not merely larger ones. This
world needs stronger, more honest photographs that are true to
their creators. Art is meant to be a gift; if the best the world can
do is praise the sharpness, or technical merits of a photograph,
we’ve failed to bring a gift. It’s the photographic equivalent of
giving perfectly crocheted socks to an 8-year old for Christmas.
The essays in this book, with a couple noted exceptions, origi-
nally appeared on my blog, PixelatedIamge.com/Blog. They’ve
had as little editing as possible, and where I have edited them
in significant ways it’s either been noted or the edit was made
so the articles made sense in the context of this compilation.
I’ve left dates on the articles, in case you want to access them
on the blog, read the comments, or interact. I hope these ar-
ticles deepen your love for the art and your skill at the craft.
Aside from the usual articles from my blog, this compilation
also includes my updates from my crippling fall in Italy and
the months of recovery afterwards. There aren’t many of them
but I included them because, ideal or not, they are a significant
part not only of my year but of my relationship with my read-
ers. I don’t believe in compartmentalizing my life; the more
we allow ourselves to be honest with our lives and allow that
honesty to find it’s way into our photography, the stronger
our work will be. The same too, with writing and teaching.
The last months of 2011, during which many of these pieces
were written, were a challenge, and many of you, in many
ways, were incredibly supportive of me during that time.
GOING BACKWARDS,
MOVING FORWARD.
[PREVIOUSLY UNPUBLISHED.]

It’s been over 16 months since the last first volume of Vision Is Better
was compiled. Somehow I’ve managed to cram much more than a year
and a half into that time.
In that time my publisher released two more heal, stay positive, and not fall off the bedpan. ting about my ISO and wandering around are all clamoring for more assignment work
books with my name on the spine. Inexplica- Some days were more successful than others. By in broad daylight shooting at ISO 1600, or I wanted less; while amateurs are climb-
bly, people keep reading them. I went through all appearances I have been moving backwards. neglecting my sensor to the point that clean- ing over each other to be pros, I wanted
a difficult divorce. I shot what will be, for a ing it with my tongue would be an improve- desperately to claw my way backwards.
while, my last assignment for a client. I gave I didn’t move backwards by accident. Truth- ment over leaving it in its layer of dust. This
up my condo and sold my furniture, moved fully it’s not backwards at all, though I think might be considered a follow-up to that.
into a somewhat unpredictable Land Rover that depends on your perspective. A couple
Defender and set off to live nomadically, with years ago I wrote a piece called Confessions For a so-called professional photographer, it
cameras in hand. Then I fell off a wall in Italy, of a So-Called Pro. It was a simple confession was a strange move but at the end of 2010
broke both feet, cracked my pelvis, and began of some of my photographic sins - simple I did the last assignment for a client that I
the hardest 3 months of my life as I fought to things no “pro” should be doing, like forget- will take for a while. While my colleagues
Losing Clients
I’ve been an unabashed fan of the amateur
for years, though by “amateur” I don’t mean
at all whether there’s a pay-check involved.
I mean it in the simplest terms, in the way
it was once meant: to be a lover of the art. I
love being a vocational photographer, and
still am, but the hazards of client-based work
were beginning to chip away at what I loved
about the art, and when you find the ground
of your artistic existence shaken underneath
you, the best thing to do is find new ground.
I found that ground, in part, in becoming my
own client. I like to say I’ve stopped working
for clients. I haven’t. I’ve just changed whom
that client is. Now my work stems from what
I want to photograph and on what terms and
timelines. I have the freedom to do photog-
raphy like I once did, without channeling an
imaginary Art Director (or a very real A.D.,
back at home!) I have re-gained the joy and
spontaneity I once found in photography; the
ability to ask the most fundamental creative
question: “What if?” and answer it as I wished.
How I’ve become my own client is a discussion
of it’s own, but essentially my photographs
now find a place in my books, eBooks, and
blog, instead of in use by outside clients.
Will I shoot again for outside clients? Very
likely. I enjoy the challenge. And in the case
of my humanitarian work, it’s a calling. But
it’ll only happen when I feel like I’ve found
my solid ground again. This is a long game.
Remaining creative and finding joy in that
work isn’t a sprint to the finish. It’s a long run
and if you don’t pace yourself, whether you do
this vocationally or not, you run out of steam.
The creative process has a rhythm and requires
not just time but energy, and to keep that
energy you need to watch how fast you burn it.
Whether you’re a so-called working pro or not,
your creative energy and drive are your greatest
assets; do what you need to to protect them.
Slowing Down
The big lesson for me this year was to slow
down, to burn my creative energy on a hot
simmer rather than a full blaze. What began
with a year-long road trip slowed me down
like never before. I didn’t think I could get
any slower without being in a coma. And
then I fell off that wall and the pace of life
I’d just adopted and considered glacial sud-
denly looked fast in comparison. Lying in a
hospital bed, unable really to do anything
for yourself, does that. But what it gave me
back for the time I put in was a gift: the rec-
ognition and appreciation of the moment.
Learning to slow down is more than a zen
habit or a spiritual discipline. It is profoundly
pragmatic. I think sometimes people mistake
my focus on the WHY of photography as
needless navel-gazing. “Get on with it, already,
and tell me what lens and aperture to use.”
If only photography were that simple. But
it’s not. Photography is about mindfulness
and receptivity; it’s about observation. All the
technique in the world won’t compensate for
the inability to observe or really see, the world
around us. I think it was Elliott Erwitt that first
said that. Slowing down has done that for me.
In my case that came on the heels of letting go
of the pressure to create on demand. It came
from being free from the obligation to create as
many photographs as I could, and focusing on
making the ones I really wanted, not settling
for merely good enough, but pushing - tak-
ing, for example, a whole day if necessary, to
wait for the light. Sometimes it meant making
100 really lousy sketch photographs - images
I could look at and react to, asking endlessly,
“What if?” What if I moved to the other side?
What if I got lower? What if I waited until
twilight? I waited until twilight a lot this year.
I slowed down. My shutter slowed down.
But the slower I got the more time I had to
let the chatter grow silent, and I’ve found
that once the chatter fades, it’s easier to hear
my muse. Creativity needs time to incubate.
Slowing down helps us see the moment.
Moments are all we have. Annie Dillard said,
“how we spend our days is, of course, how we
spend our lives.” I’d go a step or two further
(or backwards) and say how we spend our
moments is how we spend our lives. The gift
of photography is the way it empermanences
(I might have made that word up) fleeting
moments. Moments are here and then gone,
but give such beauty and meaning to life.
Elliott Erwitt made a photograph of Robert
and Mary Frank in their kitchen, kissing. It’s
deeply intimate. It’s a moment that will never
happen twice. The photograph allows us to
hold those moments in our hands a little
longer, to retain - or regain - the memory, the
beauty, the joy. Photography puts a value on
moments that the rest of the world throws
away - moments that no one notices until the
photographer seizes it and says, “Look at this.”
To recognize the beauty of these moments,
with a camera or without one, gives us a fuller
life. We can do nothing about the length of
our days, but we can make our days deeper,
full to bustin’ with appreciated moments. If
enjoying life more is of any value then that’s
a gift all on its own. If you need something
more pragmatic or utilitarian, then know
that this ability to see and appreciate the mo-
ment will vastly improve your photography.
Cutting Back
Living in a truck forces a certain economy of
possessions; it makes you make more of less.
But when I fell off that wall I set into motion
a forced, and more austere simplicity. I was
casted on two feet and one wrist when I arrived
back in Canada on the MedJet plane. The only
camera I could use was my iPhone. My truck,
Jessie, would wait 3 months in Atlanta for
me, all of my possessions with her at a friends
place. I lived out of one small camera bag, and
one small suitcase. And with the exception
of some new clothes to replace the ones that
no longer fit my much-reduced frame when I
left the hospital, I never once wished I’d had
more. If what you value is your creativity and
the photographs it produces, then constraints
are a welcome collaborator. The photographs
matter, the gear does not. A month after I was
cleared to walk, I traveled to Cambodia and
Laos. I left with the least amount of gear I’ve
ever shot with - a Fuji x100, a Gitzo Ocean
Traveler tripod, and an 11” MacBookAir. I did
it in part because traveling light was a neces-
sity, and although I could still have taken a
Nikon D3s and a 24-70, I was more interested
in whether all my talk about the primacy of
vision over gear would survive being tested. It
did. There were rare times I missed one lense
or another, but those times were trumped
by the freedom of traveling with less.
At the risk of preaching this sermon one too
many times, no amount of gear will make you
a better photographer. It may, one day, help
you make photographs you couldn’t make
without it, but the question still remains - are
those photographs really stronger images? Sure
you could photograph faster, smaller, ducks
with that D3s and a 600/2.8 lens, but are those
photographs you make any better? Do they
move anyone? Becoming a better photographer
must happen first, and you’ll get there faster
when you abandon the need for more gear.
Better gear seldom leads to deeper, stronger
photographs. You make those, not your gear.
Furthermore, too much gear brings with it
the paralysis of choice. You get more creative
with less gear, not more of it. As a working
photographer your client needs demand certain ever other walls our fears lead us to erect. When
pieces of gear, larger sensors etc., I know that, we make art and revel in the moment it takes to
but there’s much to be gained by keeping it all make it, when we slow that moment down, and
in the closet after hours and approaching your when our gear no longer gets in the way, what
candid work or your personal project with your does it matter if another soul loves it or not?
old Hasselblad and one lens, or your iPhone,
or your Holga. And if you really want to scare
yourself, ask yourself honestly, as I did, “Do
I love photographs, light, and moments, as
much as I love gear?” The answer’s revealing.
Moving Forward
So here I am, client-less, using less pro-gear, and
taking longer than ever to make a photograph.
And I think my work is getting stronger. Or
maybe not. But I’m enjoying it so much more,
it really doesn’t matter. And that has been the
final revelation. What matter most to me is that
I enjoy the making of photographs, and take
pleasure in the photographs I make. Whether
anyone - friends, fans, or clients - likes them
is secondary to me. And so it should be. That’s
what brings me full-circle to being an amateur
in the most beautiful sense of that word. I do it
because I love it. When we make art free from a
mis-aligned ego that wants attention and vali-
dation, we make it from a more honest place. A
place less restricted by self-protection or what-
BEGIN
[MAY 30, 2010]

Goethe is frequently quoted as saying:

“Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin

it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it!"

It’s likely he never said it quite this way, but

the quote holds, and is relevant to this post.
BEGIN [ MAY 30, 2010]
I’ve been reading a couple books lately. The first
is ReWork, by Jason Fried. The second is Mak-
ing Ideas Happen by Scott Belsky. Both intersect
at the idea of work. In fact, a third book – The
4-Hour WorkWeek, Timothy Ferris – intersects
here as well. Belsky especially is relevant to
what we do, whether we do it as working
photographers or not. I tell you all that so you
know my sources as I get up on my soapbox.
As the so-called Creative Class you and I put
a lot of stock in the value of ideas. Inspira-
tion. Creativity. We often do not put a lot of
stock into work. In fact work is often set up
as the opposite of artistic endeavors. Where
Belsky rocked my world is in pointing out that
how great your idea is means almost nothing
without the will to carry it out. And to do that
you need motivation and organization and
perseverance and the willingness to get up at
5am if that’s what it takes (don’t look at me,
I’m pretty sure my muse wouldn’t ask me to do
that. That’s crazy talk. But for some people…)
You can generate idea after idea, fill your
Moleskine notebooks so jam-packed with
great ideas the world would fall down at your
feet if only they knew how creative you were.
But the trap lies in thinking that coming up
with the ideas is where the value is. It isn’t.
The value lies in your ability to execute.
Forget all the hundreds of ideas. Pick one.
And do it. Then pick another, and do it too.
We sometimes get paralyzed by too
many options. A million ideas and
we’re stuck because we can’t pick one.
Stop it. Pick one. Move forward.
How does this apply? For working photog-
raphers or those who aspire to it – pick one
project and do it. Finish it. Then do another.
Which one? Who cares! Pick the one you
most want to do, the one your dog wants
you to do, or the one on the top of the list.
But pick one, and do it. Because picking the
“wrong one” and getting it done puts you in
motion and is better than doing nothing at
all. It’s the same with your day-to-day tasks.
I know, you’ve got too much to do. Lord
knows my calendars and to-do lists have
never been so long, so I feel your pain. Don’t
stare at it, don’t whine. Just pick the thing at
the top of the list – or better – the one you
most dread doing, and begin. Just begin.
And for the ones who just do this for fun
– same thing. Begin. Pick a project. Begin.
Work it through. Then finish it. Nothing
helps us move forward like momentum;
beginning is the hardest part. Get in motion,
and watch things begin to fall into place.
You are not creative until you actually create
something. The root word itself requires that.
That old adage about creativity being 10%
inspiration and 90% perspiration? It’s true.
Don’t let your piles of notes and your great-
sounding ideas lull you into thinking you’re
making progress. You make progress when you
begin. Ideas are great, but they’re no substitute
for the thrill of creation, of seeing that idea
become real. All you need to do is begin. And
then finish. But beginning is the hard part.
There are a million excuses – we’re too busy is
the best one. But isn’t it interesting how the
Too-Busy still have time for Lost and American
Idol? How they’re always talking about their
next great idea? How they – and by “they” I
mean “we” because I’m the first one that needs
to hear this sermon – are always talking about
photography more than they are actually
making photographs. Watch TV if you like,
just don’t complain you don’t have enough
time. And don’t try that “but I watch TV to
get inspired!” line with me, most of us don’t
need more inspiration. We need to begin acting
on the inspiration we’ve already been given.
Timothy Ferris is a good read on this. The first
thing he suggests is to adopt a low-information
diet. Fried says decision are progress: stop
thinking about projects, make a decision and
move forward. Belsky suggests you adopt a life
with a strong bias towards action. I suggest
the same thing when you get stalled. Stop
thinking about it. Stop complaining about
it. Just begin. I’m not sure there’s magic in it,
but power certainly. You will get more done
than most creatives by taking that first step.
I know this post doesn’t seem photographi-
cally relevant but the fact is most of us have
enough technical knowledge and at least one
good idea. What we need is to get moving.
Heck, even a mediocre idea – even a BAD
idea – once in motion is better than a good
one that never finds legs. At least the bad
idea in motion has a chance of becoming
a better idea and one day actually becom-
ing something more than an idea. Begin!
HIDING BEHIND
SHINY PILLARS?
[JUNE 6, 2010]
I’m re-reading Hugh MacLeod’s IGNORE EVERYBODY. Great book.
You should read it. Seriously.
But that’s not why I bring it up. I just posted about shooting with
a little less gear and then I sat down with a glass of wine and
this book and a pen and read the following. I think it applies.
There’s no correlation between creativity and
equipment ownership. None. Zilch. Nada….
A fancy tool just gives the second-rater one more pillar to hide behind.
Which is why there are so many second-rate art directors with
state-of-the-art Macintosh computers.
Which is why there are so many hack writers with
state-of-the-art laptops.
Which is why there are so many crappy photographers with
state-of-the-art digital cameras.
Which is why there are so many unremarkable painters with
expensive studios in trendy neighborhoods.
Hiding behind pillars, all of them.
Pillars do not help; they hinder. The more mighty the pillar, the more
you end up relying on it psychologically, the more it gets in your way.
Ouch. And yet it I wonder if it hurts because it’s more true than
not in this particular neck of the woods. Some photographers
seem to escape this. I’m sure they have their own pillars to
deal with. But the gear thing, man can it get in the way. I’m
going to leave you with Hugh MacLeod’s words because I
don’t think they need elaboration, but feel free to discuss. I
know, I KNOW, we need good gear, etc, etc. But once you lay
down all the excuses and the reasons, seriously, when’s the
last time that new piece gear really truly made better, truer,
more honest photographs for you? I’m a fan of the What If…
question. So in the spirit of that…what if our hunger was
less for new gear and more for images that were more deeply
personal, more honest, more powerful, more subtle, more
emotionally compelling, more beautiful, more luminous?
BEGIN.
AGAIN.
[JUNE 7, 2010]

Genova, Italy. 2010.

BEGIN. AGAIN. [JUNE 7, 2010]

Last week’s posts on putting your ideas into action seemed to really
resonate. This one’s aimed at all of us – the amateurs, the ones that do
this because we love it, paycheck or no paycheck. Heck, some of us
don’t earn money at all with our images, we spend it! This one’s for you.
If you’re coming to believe that your creativity list of shots you want. And a timeline. Stop talk- begin to play. Pull your flash out. Right now. If, once you’ve begun, you want help on mak-
needs legs before it comes into the world, if you ing about your great ideas. Make them happen. Play with it. Now set one hour, one day, one ing your ideas happen, then take a look at Mak-
buy the notion that a great idea for a photo- weekend, aside right now and don’t come ing Ideas Happen, a solid book by Scott Belsky.
graph isn’t a great photograph until you make it You’ve been meaning to print the best of your home until you’ve had some fun and become
happen, then perhaps it’s time to begin pushing work. Or put it into a book. Begin. Make a new a little more comfortable. Understanding
your creativity a little harder towards action. collection in Lightroom or a new folder in comes through play. Go play with it. Begin.
If you read BEGIN and got fired up but simply Bridge and begin the process. Open your brows-
had no idea where to begin, here’s some ideas… er and make an album on mPix,com or down- Whatever it is – reading up on a long-gone
load the software for Blurb.com. Begin. Don’t master of the craft, beginning a 365 project,
Pick a personal project. Perhaps it’s one of many think about it. Begin. And now set a deadline. printing your work, learning a new technique,
– too many – that you’ve got on little pieces of I will send this work to mPix.com before the embarking on that personal project you
paper and stored in the “One day I’d like to…” end of the month. I will have my book printed never have time for. Begin. Life doesn’t get
part of your brain. Pick one. Don’t deliberate. by the end of July. Begin and set a deadline. longer if you wait it out. We get less time as
Pick one. Now do it. Don’t start tomorrow or life goes on, not more. Begin. And when those
next week. Begin now. If it’s a project about Still wish you understood off-camera flash? thoughts arise that say, “Yeah, I’ll begin, but
coffee shops in your end of town, grab you Reading all the Joe McNally books in the world first I have to….” Ignore them. First you have
camera, a 50mm lens and go scout it. Don’t isn’t going to help until you pull out your to begin. The rest can wait. Your ideas are
come back until you’ve got some images and a flash, put it on a stand, gel that sucker up and waiting for only one thing to be born – you.
GO TO THE “When I shoot a scene I often
shoot a hundred frames

WRITERS.
sometimes over a few hours or
days, before I begin to get a real
handle on what I want in the
frame and how I want it there.”
[JUNE 9, 2010]
GO TO THE WRITERS.
I’m re-reading a stack of books about the
creative process. Anne Lamott, Stephen
King, Annie Dillard, Robert McKee, et al.
When what I want is to hear about the crea-
tive life, I don’t go to photographers – most
of them are good with images, lousy with
words. Want insight into how this whole
creative thing works? Go to the writers.
Anne Lamott, in particular, has helped me
as both a writer and a photographer. Prob-
ably because she’s more neurotic and self-
deprecating than I am, and I take comfort in
that. In her book Bird by Bird she talks about
the first steps in writing, among them this:
Write shitty first drafts. Don’t over-think it,
just get it down. Put the words on paper, no
matter how loud the inner critic is screaming
that those words are juvenile, self-indulgent,
cliche, obvious, crap. Just get it down.
Interestingly most creative disciplines have
a similar process. There’s a time and place at
the beginning of creation, to be messy and
to create really horrific stuff. Painters sketch.
Musicians write lousy first drafts on napkins,
their angst and heartbreak leaving puddles
of tears on the bar. And we photographers,
no less artists – potentially – than the others,
seem to feel we need to hit the shutter, create
something great, and move on. Bollocks.
Creation is almost always messy. Because we
are messy. If your plan is to from Point A (no
photograph) to Point B (iconic photograph
which will define my career and on which I
will retire fabulously wealthy) then you’re in
for a shock. If there is such a transition at all,
it’s from Point A to Point Z. And in between
are the shitty first drafts, the sketch images.
When I shoot a scene I often shoot a hundred
frames sometimes over a few hours or days,
before I begin to get a real handle on what I
want in the frame and how I want it there. It is
rare – very rare – that I pull it off in one burst
of the shutter, yet alone one single frame. Of
course that happens once in a while, but the
[JUNE 9, 2010]
vast amount of my best images, the ones I
am most proud of, are ones that are preceded
in my Lightroom library but several, if not a
great many, frames of total crap. The process of
creating the crappy images, reacting to them,
and trying something else, is what gets me to
the final draft. Few writers sit down and just
fire off a novel in a couple days. They write
crappy first drafts then they edit and re-write
and polish and sweat over their keyboard.
Very early tomorrow morning we’re releas-
ing my VENICE book, the first in The Print &
The Process series, and that’s a great example
of my own process of first writing a shitty
first draft photographically. Those images
were shot over 5 days in Venice and many of
them – no, MOST of them – were shot in one
form or another, many frames of them, over
the course of those 5 days – sketch images,
crappy first draft images – before I got them
right. Sometimes the moment wasn’t quite
right. Sometimes it was the light. Other times
I’m not even sure, it just didn’t work. But
for me, I can’t bypass the sketches or crappy
first drafts. Those lesser images aren’t in the
way of me creating the better work; they are
the way of me creating better work. Don’t
sabotage your process, wait it out, and in the
meantime; give the sketch images their room to
be crappy images, let them out, look at them,
play with them. Don’t let them discourage
you, let them bring you to your better images.
In case there is any confusion or ambiguity,
the VENICE book discusses my process in
general and in relation to the images in the
monograph, but does not show you -as this
post does – the crappy first drafts. But that
might not be a bad idea in the future, eh?
ART AND RISK
[JUNE 16, 2010]

I had a video chat with Dane Sanders and a virtual room full of folks
on AskDane.com this week and one of the questions touched on an
itch I’ve been meaning to scratch for a while. And now I’m beginning
to read Art and Fear, Observations on the Perils (And Rewards) of Art-
making, by David Bayles and Ted Orland. So the time is right to scratch
that itch publicly, if you’ll excuse the somewhat indiscreet metaphor.
The question that was asked was along the lines of we ourselves are bound to be overly critical. We risk that we’ll Or we don’t. We have a choice; the alternative is to risk nothing,
the kind of advice I’d give to people starting out, spe- never be the genius we wish we were in a culture that seems remain safe, and create art – or run a business – that comes not
cifically those wanting to make a living with their pho- only to honour the very few extraordinarily talented ones from a place of vulnerability and transparency, or a place that’s
tography. My reply is the same whether or not you ever (whatever that means), or the ones who market themselves truly, uniquely ourselves, but from the surface. We might even
intend to make a dime at your art: Take more risks. best as such. When we could have taken a so-called real job do well commercially, creating from this space (after all, there’s
instead, we risk not making enough to make ends meet each plenty of money in creating crap) – but even if it rises above the
Art, like love, like business, is about risk. We risk that our work month. We risk rejection from the critics and our peers, or even mediocre it will never, ever – and this is the point – say the thing
will fail. We risk that no one but us will like it, and then even worse – indifference. We risk disappointing those closest to us. our soul has been wanting to say. We will always be dissatisfied.
ART AND RISK
Art is about risk. Anyone that tells you otherwise is
a fraud. It’s not easy; it’s hard, and it’s risky.
But so is everything else. Because really, this is about your
perception. It’s about feeling that something is risky, and that
feeling keeps you from doing it. We feel secure in our 9-5 cubicle
job, while the idea of forging out on our own scares us because
it feels insecure. But why? Are you sure the monkey at the top of
Cubicles Inc. knows how to run a better company than you? He
might, he might not. But are you sure? Are you sure the markets
are stable? Are you sure that job, that pension plan, that <insert
name of your favourite safety blanket here> is as secure as you
think it is? And what of the risk of failure? Again, it’s about
perception. We all fear failing publicly, creating something that’s
not critically acclaimed, even if the critics are morons. But what
about the fear of a life fully lived? What about the fear of never
seeing your work realized, your ideas fleshed out, your words
unsaid and images unmade? Isn’t playing it safe even riskier?
A few weeks I wrote a couple articles about beginning the work.
This taps that theme. What’s holding you back from creating
the work you truly want to create? Your market? Your peers?
Your blog readers, your fans or Twitter followers? Your spouse?
I know it’ll feel like a risk to step out into a space where you
[JUNE 16, 2010]
can create boldly, and fail more boldly still on your way to Please note, I’m not talking about stupid risk. I’m not tell-
making your art. The question isn’t, Should I risk? Of course ing you to put a new Hasselblad on the credit card. In fact,
you should! But we’re already risking. The question is, Which that will only make risking where it really counts that much
risk should you take? Which risk scares you more – the risk of harder. Clear your debt, live within your means, and you’ll
failing, of thrashing about creating a bunch of crappy images have one less reason not to risk, to do that personal project,
on your way to creating something great? Or the risk of doing to fund that gallery show, to set time aside to finally put that
nothing, watching your ideas gather dust while the images photo book together. I’m talking about the risks that are much
in your mind go unexpressed, unmade, as your life passes. harder to commit to, the ones that keep us from getting down
to creating something potentially great, true, and unique.
Life is short. You can take this little sermon or you can leave
it, but the longer I live and look around at the people who’ve We’ve so much to gain; the creative life is so re-
carved out for themselves a unique life in business or art, or warding if you’ll take the risks. Who’s in?
any field of endeavor for that matter, they’ve all of them done
so while risking. They’ve failed, they’ve learned, and they’ve
tried again. Some of us have failed personally in embarrass-
ing ways, and we’ve gone bankrupt, and I’m not suggesting
you take that route, but where it counts – where it really
counts – to get where you most want to go involves risk. If it
didn’t you’d already be there. Some of us will take that risk,
some will shy away from it. The people on the shore always
outnumber the ones willing to brave the water. And they
almost always desperately wish they had the courage to take
that first step. There’s no guarantee of success, even if we risk
it all, but there’s no surer way to failure than not trying.
OH SNAP!
[JUNE 19, 2010]

I feel a rant coming on. I can already

hear people rolling their eyes on this
one, but hear me out.

Monterosso, Italy. 2010. Photo credit: Jeffrey Chapman.

OH SNAP!
This morning I made a quick tweet about a
pet peeve of mine and got an interesting ar-
ray of responses. Clearly 140 characters on
Twitter is not the best place to nail my theses
to the door and start my new religion, so
I’ll do it here. And in the spirit of all great
reformations I’m going in hard. No holds
barred. I’m going to paint with broad brushes,
make sweeping generalizations and – dammit,
Jim – I might even throw a baby out with the
bathwater. But that’s what reformations are
like. They’re messy. And not everyone agrees.
So I’m expecting some actual discussion here.
So. Here we go.
Could we please, please, for the love of Elliott
Erwitt, stop calling photographs “snaps,”
“pics,” “photos” or any of the other diminu-
tive words we use to refer to our photographs?
Please? If not for me, do it for the children.
(* Editorial Observation Made Months Later:
Of all the photographers I admire, Elliott
Erwitt is the one most likely to use words like
this. The front of his website says “for life-
like snaps.” So clearly he and I won’t agree
on this! He’d probably tell me to chill.)
[JUNE 19, 2010]
I’m not being pedantic (editor’s note: I was.),
and I’m not trying to make trouble (editor’s
note: maybe just a little), honest I’m not.
But seriously, if I hear one more person refer
to the hard work of one of my friends as
a “pic,” I’ll snap. Hell, even as I write that
word, my spell-check is freaking out.
Words matter. We put so much effort into our
craft, hoping to create work that resonates,
that’s more than the sum of its parts. We
wrestle to discover our vision and then to
express it with these limited tools. We create
work that we’re proud of. We hope, some of
us, to bring that work to the broader world in
books, exhibits, and prints. We risk. We fail. We
triumph. And some of us hope to bring that
work to the marketplace and get prices that
reflect those efforts, prices that allow us to keep
doing this, prices that don’t completely demean
our efforts. And we do all this against the flow
of a market that’s increasingly apathetic and
unwilling to pay even a fraction of what we
hope. We struggle to educate friends and family
about the value of our work, hoping to God
they won’t ask us one more time to “just bring
your camera along and make some snaps.”
And in all that we reference our own work
as snaps or pics. Jeezo peezo, no wonder
people don’t respect our work; we don’t
respect it enough not to refer to it in cutesy,
shorthanded, diminutive language that im-
plies our work is no more than the matter
of pressing a button. If you deeply love and
respect your work and the work of others, you
might still use these words, but I’m not sure
they communicate that love and respect.
So what am I hoping for? Nothing, really. I
know it’s an uphill battle. I’m phasing those
words out of my vocabulary but I’m not ask-
ing for others to do the same. I’m just tossing
the idea out there – a bone to be chewed.
Would you pay as much for a snap as for a
photograph? If you’d laboured hard to create
an image you’re proud of and hung that print
with care in a gallery, would you not feel a
little like your work had been trivialized when
someone walked by and said, “Nice snap”?
Words, despite their own devalued currency
these days, matter. I’m no art snob and I’m
not calling for people to elevate their work,
or mine, more than it merits, because your
art must stand or fall on its merits, despite
your choice of words in describing it. But I
am suggesting that as the creators of this work
we care enough to do it to the best of our
abilities, to wrestle our vision to the ground
on days it proves elusive, and to speak about
our work – and the work of others – with
something more than familiarity and flippant
shorthand. Your work is worth more than that.
Postscript. I know. I got a little bent out of shape
about this one. But I’m publishing it anyways
because while I’ve softened a little about this I
still think we should think about the words we use
to describe what we do. Many of my readers are
frustrated amateurs who have a hard time using
words like “Art” to describe what they create, and
the longer we avoid giving our work a growing
reverence, the longer we’ll be prevented from seeing
it as something worth sharing with the world.
ISOLATED
BY LIGHT
[JUNE 25, 2010]
ISOLATED
BY LIGHT
[JUNE 25, 2010]

We talk a lot about isolating elements within the frame. We do it with

our choices of angle, optics, and aperture, but one of the techniques
that often slips my own mind is to use the limited dynamic range of our
sensors to our advantage.
To heck with HDR images (High Dynamic of mid-day to your advantage. I look for sees things in a much greater range than
Range), I want LDR images (Low Dynamic areas where there is a large differential in the camera will so what you record will look
Range)! When the light is right and the range the light. I manually expose for subjects in much more dramatic than what your eye
exceeds our sensor’s ability to capture detail in the brightest area, and let the left side of sees, making it necessary to remain conscious
both the highlights and the shadows, choos- histogram shout and scream all it wants about of these dramatic light differentials because
ing to favour the highlights and plunge the lost details because that’s what I’m going your eye won’t necessarily immediately see
rest into shadow can have a dramatic effect. for. The shadows obscure everything else, them. This is one of those cases where be-
allowing the brightest areas to be properly ing familiar with the technique enough that
I spent time in Italy working on this with exposed and turning your exposure into you know it when you see it, is important,
some of our Italy Within The Frame students another isolation tool in your visual toolbox. in much the same way as developing an eye
this May, and had a blast (though the ac- for longer exposures when we can’t actu-
companying image is from India.) It’s easy, What makes this hard, I think, is not the ally see the resulting blur with our eyes.
and it’s a good way to turn the hard light technique but the seeing itself. The eye/mind
FILTERS &
THE CREATIVE
PROCESS
[JULY 18, 2010]
FILTERS & THE
CREATIVE PROCESS
[JULY 18, 2010]
Good news for all my friends and students who
have been eagerly chomping at the bit to get their
hands on the Singh-Ray Gold-N-Blue Polarizing filter:
they’re back in stock. Now I know y’all don’t like
these things, and I’m as guilty as anyone of struggling
to learn to use this filter a little more judiciously. I
also know not everyone is on board with the use of
filters at all – last time I posted about this kind of
thing someone accused me of lacking integrity – odd-
ly not something I’ve been indicted for when using
a 17mm lens or duo-tone treatment on the print. I
know, Galen Rowell wouldn’t have done it this way,
but then I’m not Galen Rowell. So I’m putting my
armor on and cutting/pasting an article that Singh-
Ray just released on their blog that has some of my
thoughts on the creative use of filters in digital pho-
tography. Feel free to disagree if this is one of your
weird little hobby-horses, but let’s keep the ethical
assertions to a minimum. This is art and if you can’t
be an anarchist as an artist, you may as well get a job
making motivational posters. You do things your way,
I’ll do things mine. Here’s the article from Singh-Ray:
From his home in Vancouver, Canada, international
assignment photographer David duChemin roams
the world specializing in humanitarian projects and
travel workshops. He’s also the author of Within the
Frame, a noteworthy book on his images and the
thought process behind them. Here’s a brief example
of that process as applied to his Singh-Ray filters. “I
just got back from teaching workshops in Italy on
the beautiful Ligurian coast, and then later in Venice.
These workshops, whether in Italy or further abroad
in India or Nepal, are often the times I learn the most
myself. Nothing galvanizes what I’m learning faster
than teaching it to others — and one of the things
I am consistently asked about is my use of filters. I
think the digital world continues to labour under the
delusion that optical filters are a thing of the past
and that most of the effects once possible with filters
can now be done as easily in Photoshop. The more
I show my students the filters I use and give them a
chance to try them, the more certain I become that
filters still have an essential role in digital capture.
FILTERS & THE CREATIVE PROCESS
[JULY 18, 2010]
“Photography, for most of us is not merely
a technical pursuit, but an aesthetic one. If
that is true then what truly matters is what
our images look and feel like. Filters still en-
able an aesthetic that’s not possible through
simple post-production, and in some cases
not possible at all, even in Photoshop. The
aesthetic they enable may be forcing a slower
shutter speed to blur motion, or polarizing
light to reduce glare, or knocking part of the
frame down a couple stops to darken a sky or
lighten a foreground — in each case the filter
remains a mainstay in the photographer’s kit.
“The images that accompany this article were
shot in Italy this spring. So much of my time is
spent in the so-called ‘Third World’ that being
in a place like the Italian Riviera and Italy was
magical — so different from what I usually
photograph — and with that difference came
a different experience. When I looked for tools
to help me express how I felt about the magical
light in these places, the Singh-Ray Gold-N-
Blue, complete with un-corrected colour cast,
was what I settled on for these images. Did it
look like that? I’m not sure that’s the point.
It felt like that and I’m more interested as a
photographer in communicating my own
very subjective response to places and mo-
ments than I am in pretending at objectivity.
“What the digital world at large has at
times failed to recognize are two important
understandings. The first is that every techni-
cal decision at the point of capture has an
aesthetic implication and that means filters
will allow you a significantly different look
than a mere adjustment layer in Photoshop
can replicate. The second is the importance
of the creative process itself. Most photog-
raphers I know struggle to find a balance
between the Artist and the Geek. Optical
filters, used well, can meet the needs of both.
“When I made the transition to digital I
sold my film gear and a box of filters, most
of which I’d never use again even if I had
them now. At the time I was told that, ‘you
don’t need filters when you shoot digitally.’
I believed it for a long time until I began
looking at the work of photographers I really
admired – particularly those working in fine
art and landscape disciplines. What I saw
was a noticeable difference in the aesthetics
of their photographs, and it pushed me into
what is now nearing the end of a year spent
learning about and playing with filters.
“I now carry 2- and 3-stop graduated ND filters
(both soft transition and hard transition), a
Gold-N-Blue and an LB Warming Polarizer.
It’s a small set of filters, and it doesn’t take
much room in my bag, but I no longer leave
home without them. Together they allow me
to capture a broader dynamic range of light,
turn mundane light into spectacular light,
take longer exposures, and deal with reflec-
tions on water. All of that without hours in
Photoshop. In fact my images captured with
the use of filters consistently need less work
in post-production than others. But the big-
gest benefit my filters have brought me is
in service of my creative side, the Artist.
“We all work differently but many of us seem to
work dialectically. In other words we begin with
A, we react to B, we get C. While this thought
process can and does happen in the darkroom,
it is much more powerful when used at the
point of capture. When you put a filter on the
lens you see the results immediately, you react
to it, it gives you an idea, helps you see in new
ways, and then you change what you’re doing,
follow the muse. In my workshops, I’ve seen
this process over and over again in my students.
They’re shooting a scene, they look at what I’m
shooting and exclaim, ‘Wait! How come that
looks so different from mine?’ I explain, hand
out my filters for them to play with, and watch
them run off giggling. The key word in there
is ‘play.’ Creativity is one big ‘what if,’ and the
more we engage our craft with a sense of play,
the more creative and unique our results. En-
gaging that sense of play is an important step
in the creative process, allowing the filters to
not only change the way the image looks but to
change the very process, making these simple
tools a catalyst to in-camera creativity — some-
thing Photoshop, for all its marvels, can’t do.”
GETTING IT DONE
[AUGUST 6, 2010]

I had to laugh today when I got yet another couple of comments and
emails asking how I get so much done. Caffeine? Red Bull IV Drip?
No sleep? Secrets gleaned while in Bhutan? I’ve never been to Bhutan,
so that can’t be it.
It’s true, I do seem to get a lot done. But then This isn’t a photographic post but it relates end of the day for doing non-priority stuff so days I get more done there in 2 hours than I’d
I’m single. I have no children. My play and my to getting things done, and that’s relevant it doesn’t pile up, but do first things first. get done sitting in my home office in 6 hours.
work are the same thing. And this is what I do for everyone who’s ever had an idea begging
for a living. So before you get down on yourself to be made real, begging to be created. So 2. Know How You Work. Don’t try to put a 3. Find Balance. I know, I stink at this. But
for being less productive, remember that I’ve here’s a few thoughts about productivity. square peg in a round hole. If you need to go to when people I assume I get no sleep they
also got fewer things pulling me in other direc- a coffee shop to work, do it. If you need to listen couldn’t be more wrong. I almost always get 8
tions. I can’t imagine doing what I do if my con- 1. Prioritize. Know what matters and what to music, do it. Whatever makes it easier for you hours of sleep. Heck, I often take naps in the
text were different. I’d slow down considerably does not. We get so distracted by things that to be productive – get comfortable with it. Some middle of the day. Exhausted people are not
if there were other factors. And one day there do not matter, we spend hours chasing our of us work better in 2-hour chunks in the early productive, lucid, healthy, or creative people
will be and I’ll just get less of these things done tails. Don’t be afraid to say No. In fact, learn to morning every day, others need a couple late most of the time. I know some of you think
in favour of other things. And that’s OK. But I make No your first reaction, then change it to nights a week. Not everyone is productive in an you’re functioning really well on 5 hours, but
believe life is short and we get meaning from our Yes if the thing you’re debating fits into your 8-hour stretch at a desk. If it ain’t working for I’d be willing to bet you’d do better on 8. I
work (among other things), so I work hard at priorities. If you don’t know your priorities you, don’t do it. And when you find what does know, some of you can’t, in which case you
the things I love. I think I also work smart and then this is much harder, so that’s where you work for you, make it happen. I work best at a need to work even smarter. But I’m sticking by
in 20 years of making a living as a self-employed need to start. Write it down. “This week/today coffee shop with Van Morrison, so each morning this – I think rested people get more done. So do
creative, I’ve learned a thing or two about mak- my top 3 priorities are _____________________” I get on my Vespa and go to the “office.” Most people who eat well, take time for themselves,
ing ideas happen and getting things done. The rest has to wait. Put an hour aside at the and spend time with the ones they love.
GETTING IT DONE
4. Kill the distractions. If you don’t have enough
time in the day, stop watching TV. Reduce the
number of blogs you read. Stop reading the
papers and the magazines. Go on the low-infor-
mation diet that Timothy Ferris recommends
in The 4-Hour WorkWeek. Try it for a week and
see if it doesn’t free up your time and attention.
5. Batch your Tasks. If you check Twitter for 5
minutes every half hour that’s not only a ton of
Twitter time, it’s also a loss of the time it takes
to wind down and ramp back up on the tasks
you should be doing instead. Multi-tasking is
not the best use of most people’s time. We just
aren’t wired to do a million things well. And if,
like the sleep thing, you think you are function-
ing really well as a chronic multi-tasker I still
suspect you’d do even better if you increased
the period of time over which you focused on
singular tasks. Look at the things you do often
in the day and see if you can do them less fre-
quently. Do it for 30 minutes at the end of the
day instead of 5 minutes each hour for 6 hours.
Same amount of time, but more concentrated
attention on that activity, as well as on the other
tasks from which that activity distracted you.
6. Do The Thing You Fear. If the worse thing you
have to do today is kiss a frog then do it first. Get
it over with. Often the thing we most fear is the
thing that has some of the highest benefits for
us, and fearing it distracts us from other things.
Suck it up. Take a deep breath. Do it. Move on.
7. Make A Check-List. Write it down. Put a
checkbox next to it. When it’s done, check
it off. Look back over that list at the end of
the day, as well as the end of the week, even
the end of the month. Much harder to let
tasks slide by when they are written down
and the empty checkbox is taunting you.
8. Break It Down. If the thing you have to do
is so large and intimidating that you just can’t
seem to start in on it, break it down. Don’t eat
the whole salami, just eat it slice by slice. Instead
of putting Write Book on your checklist, break
it down into pieces and begin with Brainstorm
topics for book. Outline Book. Spend 2 hours
writing Introduction. Small bite-sized pieces
allow you to get moving, steer a moving ship,
and begin to make some progress – momentum
is hugely motivating and before you know it
you’ll be half-way through a list of small tasks
instead of still staring down one large one.
[AUGUST 6, 2010]
9. Find The Empty Spaces. I need 30 to 60
minutes to do solid work. 2 hours is best. But
when those larger slots get eaten up with lots
of little details, they stop being useful. So I do
the smaller tasks when I can’t do the larger
ones. I bring my laptop to the doctor’s office
and clear off some emails in the 15 minutes I
wait. I take my iPad on the bus or in a cab and
I catch up on blogs or reading articles I haven’t
had a chance to read. I find spaces in my day
to get the smaller tasks done in order to keep
larger slots open. It’s the “Put the big rocks in
first” approach. Fill the little spaces with little
tasks so there is always room for the big tasks
in the big spaces. I know, seems simple, but it’s
amazing how often we let those little moments
get past us, and then we get a free afternoon
and drown in a sea of little things we could
have taken care of here and there. I use time
on planes and in hotels and airport lounges
to get things done instead of just sitting and
staring at my watch. Sitting waiting for your
son to come out of hockey practice? Don’t
freak out because he’s late, do something with
that unexpected 15 minutes. Read something.
Reply to an email. Call a friend you’ve been
meaning to call. One task accomplished and
less stress when staring down the bigger things,
just don’t “kill time.” Never, ever kill time.
These are just some of the tactics that work for
me, but driving them all is one thought that
I think is most important: Redeem your time.
Time is not money. To even compare the two
trivializes our most limited, non-renewable
resource. Time is far, far, more valuable. Life is
very short; once it’s over it’s over. That knowl-
edge is what makes it easy to prioritize, makes it
easy to say no to the unimportant, and to work
hard in the time that I have. Because the better
I can manage this stuff the more time I have to
do the things that are most important to me
– time with friends, time to travel, to write, to
create, to make a difference. I only have, what?
50 years left in which to do it all (if I am really,
really lucky) – and while that 50 years may seem
like an eternity now, in hindsight it will feel
like a vapour, a breath. That perspective makes
it much easier, for me, to make the most of the
time I have now. Because my bucket list is long,
my loved ones are many, my best work is still
waiting, and my days are only getting shorter.
NOTHING
LEFT TO
TAKE AWAY
[AUGUST 11, 2010]
NOTHING LEFT
TO TAKE AWAY
[AUGUST 11, 2010]
Antoine de Saint-Exupery said, “a de-
signer knows he has achieved perfection
not when there is nothing left to add but
when there is nothing left to take away.”
I wouldn’t claim perfection for any of my
images, that’s not the point of my quot-
ing this, but I love the idea that a move
towards mastery in photography is a
move towards including the essential and
excluding all else that doesn’t contribute.
I’ve spent the last 3 days working on
images from Iceland and building the
Iceland Monograph for the Craft &
Vision Store, so these images and the
things I learned about my own process
are on my mind. If there is one thing I
am constantly encouraging my students
to do it’s to identify their intention for
an image and then remove everything
that doesn’t support that vision. If that’s
a line, a person, a background, whatever,
shoot in such a way as to exclude the
extraneous. Use a longer lens, a different
point of view, a shallower depth of field,
a change in the orientation of the frame,
or rendering an image in black and
white, whatever it is, edit out the fluff
until all I am left with is the photograph.
How did Michelangelo sculpt? He re-
moved all the marble that was not part
of the statue. While that over-simplifies
the means of getting there, I think it well
identifies the intent – to be so aware of
what you want to say that you remove
everything unnecessary to say it.
 IN DEFENCE
of
INSPIRATION
[AUGUST 18, 2010]

Last week Owen Shifflett wrote a post on Viget.com
that made the rounds. I tweeted it. Chase blogged
about it. And it got rounds and rounds of kudos
and attaboys, among them my own voice. And then
something started to bug me. Owen’s title – How
Inspiration Killed – Then Ate – Creativity, says it
all. It lays the blame for the death of creativity (I
didn’t get the memo on this one, but moving on…)
at the feet of our need for inspiration and the usual
imitation and derivation that occurs in its wake.

Iceland, August, 2010

IN DEFENCE OF INSPIRATION
It’s (still) an article well worth reading. I
suggest you read it before you read this
post, but once you’re done there, come
back here and let me throw my towel in
the ring in defence of Inspiration.
OK, done? Here are my thoughts. Consider
them thunk for your consumption and dis-
cussion. Comments, as always, are open.
1. This is a case of mistaken identity. What
we now call the phenomenon of inspiration
is often Inspiration’s doppleganger, Imitation.
To be clear about this, Inspiration means to
inspire. It means to breathe in, it is the gather-
ing of raw materials. Before we engage in any
creative endeavor we must have raw materials.
The more we increase our inputs the more raw
materials we have to engage the “what if?”
of creative processes. What we do with that
inspiration is up to us. We can incubate the
stuff, work within constraints, and do some-
thing true and unique (hard road) or we can
peel the skin off the old stuff and make it look
new, look like ours. But faulting an essential
part of the creative process for our natural
inclination to take the easy road isn’t helpful.
2. Everything is derivative. Ultimately there is
nothing that is not created in the context of
other stuff. We see two things, combine them
and juxtapose them to create something new.
We see something we don’t like and we react
and move in the opposite direction. But to
advocate a creativity free from true inspiration
is a step in the wrong direction, which, by the
way, is not what I believe Shifflett is suggesting.
I think he’s simply using the word the way so
many do and in doing so making his point
well to those that use it that way. The danger
is that in so-doing we villainize an important
part of the creative process and suddenly
we’re heading in the same direction Owen
is arguing against – the death of creativity.
3. Adapt but don’t Adopt. What is needed is
an adaptive approach to creative processes,
not an adoptive one. In the words of Bono –
every poet is a cannibal, every artist is a thief.
We all draw from sources outside ourselves.
The challenge is in finding your own voice,
in adapting elements, thoughts, processes –
whatever – and not in adopting them. One
strips former things down, re-purposes them,
combines them with parts from myriad other
sources still, and takes us to a different place
than when we started. The other just likes
what he sees, gets “inspired”, steals the original
idea, and makes it his own with a can of spray
paint. One is creative, results in something
new and comes from the inspiration of many
sources; the other is just imitation and while
it might well be the first step in learning
your craft, it won’t get you any further.
4. Inspiration Comes From Working. Inspira-
tion, in the rare sense that it appears like that
bolt from the blue (it never is, but let’s pretend)
still comes from working. It doesn’t come from
flipping through a book looking for an idea. It
comes from putting your camera in your hand
and being honest with yourself, and learn-
ing your craft, embracing your constraints.
In case it’s not clear, I’m advocating (I think)
for the same thing Owen Shifflett is, but I think
I want the word Inspiration back. I’d rather
re-align our use of the word to its original
meaning than cave in to a popular use that
leads us in the wrong direction. The more
we understand how creative processes work,
particularly our own process, and that includes
[AUGUST 18, 2010]
a proper understanding of inspiration or in-
creasing our inputs (and then using them for
good and not for evil) the more life and breath
we give to our creativity. Creativity is far from
death, but if we deny it the need to breathe in
and out we’re stepping closer to the morgue.
Updated
5. One more thought in post-script: I think
there’s another issue here and that’s where
we go to find our inspiration. If our primary
source of inspiration is other photographers
then I think our work becomes not only more
derivative than usual, but we begin to draw
from a thinner gene pool and, well, y’all know
how that turns out. No one wants to see the
results of our artistic in-breeding. We should be
drawing from the widest pool, breathing in the
purest air. By all means see what other photog-
raphers have done in order to learn from them,
but when it comes to filling our creative wells,
it might just be best to drill into the deeper,
purer sources, not just the groundwater down-
stream from everyone else. I’m not sure if those
metaphors work for you, but they do for me.
BEYOND
CRAFT
[SEPTEMBER 5, 2010]
Several months ago I wrote a post about whether
photography was or was not Art. The absurd dif-
ficulty of defining “Art” aside, I came down on
the side of “photography is a craft, excel at it,
love it, and let others decide if it is or isn’t Art.”
I’ve changed my mind. Rather, my thinking
has become a little clearer, and in part I’ve got
Seth Godin to thank. It was while reading his
book Linchpin, that I began to put the pieces
of things together, and I bet you’ll be shocked
when I tell you it comes back to Vision. Intent.
First, a couple thoughts from others. Anne
Lamott says “Art, to be Art, must point
at something.” My friend Jeffrey Chap-
man says Art needs to have something of
the artist in it, otherwise it’s just craft.
Is photography an art? Maybe. Can
photographs be Art? Also maybe.
It depends not on how skilled a technician you
are, nor on which gear you use – though to one
degree or another both of those affect how you
create you art. It depends on two things. The first
is a desire to make it a gift, the second is the vision
of the artist himself. I’m not going to explore
the first too deeply this morning, my coffee’s
barely kicked in and I’m still processing this part.
I do know that propaganda posters are not made
as a gift in any sense of the word, but they do
have intent and I would argue that alone doesn’t
make them Art. I could be wrong. I do suggest
you read Lewis Hyde’s book The Gift if you’re
interested in the discussion. Seth Godin references
the book in Linchpin but doesn’t do it justice.
BEYOND CRAFT
[SEPTEMBER 5, 2010]
It shouldn’t surprise anyone that it’s the
second aspect of this I’m most interested in.
Maybe I’m just seeing what I want to see, but
it finally clicked in Maui – it’s the combina-
tion of Craft and Vision (no promotional plug
intended, but I don’t think it’s a coincidence…)
that makes Art. Godin argues that craft isn’t
relevant – and perhaps he’s right. Perhaps
we’ve elevated Art to a pinnacle it doesn’t
deserve – perhaps there’s something higher
to aim for, not merely Art but beautiful art,
true art, art that expresses the author’s intent
or vision as elegantly, uniquely, powerfully
as possible. If that’s the case then a poet who
masters the language has a better crack at that
goal than one barely out of grade school. But
it’s no substitute. I’ll take the grade-schooler
with something to say anyday, even roughly,
over the eloquent poet without an original
thought or honest emotion to share.
This is why Vision matters. Without it, we’re
pointing at nothing. Without it we’re creating
perfect images without passion, risk, failure,
or humanity. It’s also the reason Craft mat-
ters. A man can say, “my heart is broken, my
God has forsaken me,” but without Craft it’s
neither a poem nor a song, it’s just a lament.
The way he says it determines whether his
words are merely heard or if they in turn cause
hearts to quiver and break, to feel something.
This is also why the some of the old school get
very twitchy about all this. There are forums
aplenty full of grumpy old men talking trash
about this emphasis on vision as though it
were a complete dismissal of craft. They argue
that the recent accessibility of digital gear
that was once out of reach of the beginner
has “made everyone a photographer.” They
argue that learning the craft used to take time,
it used to matter, it used to take dedication,
dammit! Oh please. Talk about golden calves.
So what? So the craft is a little easier now,
so what? These codgers are just making my
point for me more elegantly than I could. If
the gear is getting better and cheaper (and it
is getting cheaper in the long run – look at
what we get now for $2000 compared to the
price of early digital monsters, ) and if the
gear is getting easier to use then, yes, you still
need to master it. But if the ground around
gear has been leveled, what’s the only ground
left on which to differentiate (they use words
like “compete”) ourselves? Vision. And yes, as
cliche as it’s become – Passion too. Don’t set-
tle for eloquence (Craft); say something that
matters to you (Vision) and say it as loudly and
courageously and powerfully as you can (Art)
I know the old school is scared, nervous,
wondering how they’ll switch gears. But if
their craft is as good as they say it is, then
its time to stop bitching and start looking
inside themselves to find that spark that was
there when they first discovered the magic
of the camera. This didn’t begin as a rant
about professional concerns, but if there are
people that seem dismissive of the need to
develop and express our vision, this is where
it is most profoundly pragmatic. Anyone can
now hire someone whose sole qualification is
competence with a camera. If the client wants
more, they need someone with vision and a
voice, and that’s where the money is. Want to
compete solely on your technical competence?
Get in line behind the 16 year old with the
ad on Craigslist and get ready for the fastest
race to the bottom you’ve ever experienced.
Wow, that went off the rails fast. All I really
wanted to do was encourage you to keep at it
– both in learning your craft and in the harder
work of discovering and expressing your vi-
sion. They work together, don’t neglect them.
So is it Art? The last time I discussed this I
concluded that that was up to the person look-
ing at your work. To some degree that’s true.
But it has much, much more to do with us. To
be sure, we’re craftsmen. But Artists? That’s up
to us to decide – are we willing to do the hard
work of moving past mere competence and
into the scarier realm of expression, at point-
ing at something we see in a way others do
not? At the risk of quoting myself, I think it’s
motivating to remember that merely perfect
photographs don’t move the heart, only art
does that. We can do better than perfect his-
tograms and compositions that take no risks.
WRESTLING IN
KATHMANDU
[OCTOBER 5, 2010]
WRESTLING IN KATHMANDU
[OCTOBER 5, 2010]
We’re on the second full day of the Kath-
mandu Within The Frame workshop, based
in Boudhanath, and man am I struggling.
My first task here is not creating a body of
work, but teaching, but I believe the best
teachers are the ones that are always learn-
ing, and man am I learning. The hard way.
I’ve never shyed away from just being hon-
est, but man is it hard to admit the struggle
I’m having right now. The creative life rarely
exists in a vacuum, and mine increasingly
exists with the demands of photographs for
books, ebooks, blog posts, etc. That pres-
sure – and I put it on myself – is becoming
hard to deal with. It stands in the way of
seeing things. In the case of Kathmandu, I’m
here now for the 4th time and I’m repeat-
ing myself. Even the shot at the top of this
page is a repeat of one I shot for Within The
Frame. Heck, it’s even the same man! And it
feel like the pressure to make photographs is
the very thing preventing me from doing so.
On top of this I’m re-thinking the way I ap-
proach people. I’ve photographed people
for the last 6 years, and it’s always been dif-
ficult, but it’s getting harder. Perhaps I’ve just
lost my nerve, perhaps I’m becoming more
conscious of the people themselves and less
willing to intrude. I don’t know. Maybe it’s
just that I’ve been there done that and the
photographs that once said what I longed to
express, I’m no longer burning to shoot.
Whatever it is, it’s a good reminder of the
winding road of creativity. We’re never in the
same place twice. We change. The things we
see change. And so the way we photograph
changes. I talk and talk about how hard it can
be to create great images and sometimes I think
my readers roll their eyes. Truthfully it’s not
usually this hard. But right now, it feels like it’s
killing me. All there is to do is push through it.
Keep at it. Get my ass out of bed at 5:30am and
remind myself that Resistance (see War of Art,
Pressfield) is at least as hard at work as I am.
Creating photographs is my work. Sometimes end of the world, but not paying attention
it feels like play, but it’s work. The work. to those road-blocks, and the lessons they
have for us might be the end of our work.
Why am I telling you this? In part because
it’s the principle. Lots of blogs tell you about But whining/suffering artist crap aside,
the latest toy and how great business is and being in Kathmandu again is amaz-
how amazing the latest images are. But I’ve ing, particularly Boudha which is the
always felt like this blog has been a bit of an Tibetan side of town, and a serene place
exercise in disclosure and that part of the in the middle of the chaos of the Kat.
value has been in relating my own journey
and struggle. No photographer I know finds
this easy all the time. No artist I know doesn’t
wrestle the muse to the ground at times. Not
the ones creating meaningful art. Maybe the
meaning is in the struggle, I don’t know.
It’ll come, I know it will. And if it doesn’t
then there’s a lesson in there about my work,
my methods, or just the reminder that the
well from which we all draw isn’t bottom-
less – it’s never bottomless. Might just be
time for a re-fill. We’re in this for the long-
haul, so short-term road-blocks aren’t the
LEAVING
KATHMANDU
[OCTOBER 8, 2010]
LEAVING KATHMANDU
[OCTOBER 8, 2010]
After the last post, and what one reader
called my exhausting angst, I’ve been
shooting very little and just enjoying this
place. Guess I just needed a break.
I’m really grateful for the comments left, and
for the thoughts and ideas expressed in them,
but I trust you know I don’t share this stuff
to get sympathy or even input on solving a
problem. I don’t think the creative process –
complete with challenges and struggle – needs
solving. I was sad to see one reader tell me he
was checking out, cancelling his subscription
and moving on because he felt my speaking
honestly and openly about the struggles was
“disappointing and misleading.” You can’t
please everyone, and I’m not about to try.
Still, that outlook saddens me, though I
understand it. I’m just not sure anyone
who expects to create photographs that
stir the soul, either our own, or of others’,
can expect to do so without the struggle.
To be sure, the struggle is not the be all and
end all. This is not angst. And it’s far from
hopeless or even self-pity. It’s living life with
a strong desire to find hope and beauty,
and those things come not in the absence
of struggle, but through them. Much like
faith, which is not, as it’s often sold to be by
hucksters, denial of doubt, but a choice of the
will in the face of doubt. The reason I keep
on about this stuff is because so many people,
like me, wrestle to express something more,
and are willing to put in what is sometimes
surprisingly hard work, to find beauty. Once
in a while our successes lull us into thinking
the wrestling is over, so it hurts all the more
when we find it’s still there, lurking in the
corners of our illusions about mastery, etc.
We all have dry spells, and as some of
you have pointed out, those do not sig-
nal failure, they herald possibilities.
I’m lying in bed with food poisoning right now,
not sure when I’ll have a chance to hit Publish
on this. But if this struggle I’ve been engaged
in is in fact a search for beauty and a way to
express it, then last night – before the gut rot
started – was another milestone in that search.
We left the hotel to find butter candles being
lit, and rushed to dinner. When we came back
it was raining, and the women tending the can-
dles for the faithful were under umbrellas that
bounced the gorgeous light around and added
elements I’ve not seen here in 4 years of visits,
proving once again that beauty is in the unex-
pected places, and is more like a lover playing
coy than prey to be hunted. She has her own
ways, and I find that makes the struggle much
more enjoyable, and so much worth the effort.
Sorry if you feel the angst exhausts you
at times, I really am. If you need to check
out, I can recommend some conspicuously
angst-free blogs that will focus entirely on
kittens and rainbows and ways to make
photographs with very little effort.
Thank you again for being the kind of com-
munity that embraces the mess and human-
ity of this art. If I survive the wrath of last
night’s Veg Manchurian, I promise lighter
things ahead, like trying to explain why this
Canon shooter is beginning the switch back
to Nikon, which I abandoned when I transi-
tioned to digital. That one ought to be full of
chuckles and giggles. Put your helmets on.
PS – 24 hours since I wrote this. Beginning
to feel better, at least enough to get out of
bed. We leave Kathmandu this morning for
3 days in Bhaktapur, then on to Bandipur.
UNSEEN
[OCTOBER 17, 2010]
UNSEEN
[OCTOBER 17, 2010]
I just walked through the door a couple
hours ago, sifted through the pile of mail
and stuff that builds up over a 5 week+
absence. Tomorrow I’m on a plane again.
Feeling a little rough around the edges!
The images above and below are two I shot in
Kathmandu while feeling I was having a hard
time seeing things. The man in the top image
was blind and sat there each morning, statue-
like, hoping for alms. The contrast between
being both unseeing and unseen struck me.
This man kept me conscious of people be-
ing unseen, and it might have been that that
made me both angry and saddened by the
tourists and photographers I saw on this trip.
We teach our students to engage people wher-
ever possible, to create images that have some
context of relationship, and to give subjects
the chance to say “No.” I think this is just basic
respect and the recognition that others are no
less human for the fact that they live elsewhere
or wear different clothes. So why do I see over
and over and over and over again the tourists
with cameras who act like they’re at the zoo? I
see it so often it makes me furious. They walk
around, checking things off on their mental
checklist as though to merely have looked
at it is to have experienced it. They have
vacant eyes, raise cameras at people without
ever really seeing them, and they move on
without so much as a handshake, a cup of
chai, or a Namaste. Hell, not even a nod or
eye contact. It’s not even the zoo, it’s worse.
At least people interact with the monkeys.
Perhaps that’s the reason I shot so little work
with people, I think I’m just way more sensi-
tive to the issue right now. But man, some
days my camera made me very uncomfortable
on this trip. Sometimes it stops us from re-
ally seeing people, really enjoying a place.
When I expressed my difficulties on this trip,
a number of wise voices reminded me to take
a step back and just relax. Great advice. We
all photograph for different reasons, but I
want my photography to enhance my life,
not to be a substitute for it. And I want my
images to be more than a record of what was
there, but what I experienced and truly saw.
BLURRED
VISION
[NOVEMBER 1, 2010]
BLURRED VISION
[NOVEMBER 1, 2010]

So what do you do when you feel your vision has abandoned you? That
it’s dried up or gone missing? I talked about this while I was in
Kathmandu on a personal level but I’m seeing it all over the internet and
in emails from friends. I can’t be the only one.
The downside to believing that our photog- To be honest, I’m almost at the point where I’ve One guy tweeted, “Screw Vision”. It made me So what do you do when you can’t find your
raphy is an expression of our vision, and heard the word “vision” come out of my mouth laugh in agreement but I’m not sure that’s the vision? The ebook I’m working on now (The
that photographic vision is connected to our one too many times. It’s a good word but it gets answer either, though I know the feeling. It Vision-Driven Photographer) talks about
personal vision, is that what’s going on in our invoked like an incantation and if there’s one might be healthy to go out and make some exactly this thing. But your vision is there,
personal life can affect our work, in some ways thing I know it’s that there’s nothing magic photographs without over-thinking things it just might be that it needs coaxing out.
it must affect our work. Personally I wouldn’t about vision. It’s not some guiding force that for a while. Taking a break is healthy. Here’s Push too hard and it just retreats. So ease up
have it any other way. I don’t want my art to pushes us forward, protects us from the funk, or what I know. We need to de-sacralize vision. and give it some breathing room. Go live life
be anything less than honest. I’ve seen several makes our images magically better. God knows It’s nothing magic. And we need to lighten up. for a while without the camera. Or go make
people post comments on Twitter lately that other artists have no such thing protecting We put so much pressure on ourselves. Can some photographs with nothing in mind but
their vision is nowhere to be found. I’m in them from periods of malaise or indecisiveness. you imagine a songwriter doing a 365 Project play and experimentation, stop freaking out
a funk now too, it’s just part of the cycle of Vision doesn’t replace the need for struggle where she has to crank out one song a day about making something great. Sometimes
being human and being creative. We have or hard work or simply making a choice and for a year? The thought of it exhausts me and the muse needs a break, she doesn’t always
ups and we have downs. Some of us use those moving forward. It’s absence doesn’t mean I don’t even write songs. Or a sculptor head- respond well when pushed too hard. Go
downs to create honest and powerful work, we’ve got a reason to stop pushing forward, ing to the studio with his chisels for a couple make something beautiful all the same.
some just take the downs as what they are and nor does it’s presence guarantee us amazing hours with the expectation of cranking out
wait it out. All of us, at some point, feel the images. If I’ve ever given the impression that a dozen keepers? And then when he hits the
hollowness that comes when we pick up our finding your vision is easy or that once found wall he says, ah screw it, this vision stuff is
cameras and realize we’ve got nothing to say. it’ll remain the same, then the error is mine. over-rated? It might be time to slow down.
LIFE IS SHORT
[NOVEMBER 16, 2010]
LIFE IS SHORT
[NOVEMBER 16, 2010]

This isn’t really one of those helpful photographic posts, so if you’re

jonesin’ for info on what gear I’m packing for New Zealand, you
might want to just kind of move along. But I’m bursting to say these
things, and I’m hoping someone out there needs to hear. I do.
As some of you know there’s some big all the time in the world to chase their dreams. fail, forgetting – or never realizing – that it’s happen! And 5 minutes later got a reply telling
changes coming down the pipe for me and But we don’t. None of us do. It’s an illusion. better to fail spectacularly while reaching for me the leukemia had returned with speed and
I’ll give you a full report as soon as I can. I’ve the stars than it is to succeed at something fury and within days he’d gone. Even now,
fought the urge to make these changes for a Life is short. We seem to think that we’ll live we never really wanted in the first place. I’m writing this with tears, though anyone
while now and something finally cracked. forever. We spend time and money as though that knows me knows it doesn’t take much.
we’ll always be here. We buy shiny things as A woman emailed earlier this year. Her hus-
I had breakfast with a close friend of mine yes- though they matter and are worth the debt band, the love of her life, was a fan of mine We think we’ve got forever and that these
terday and it’s that meeting that is making me and stress of attachment. We put off the so- and he’d just come through a tough fight with concerns that weigh us down are so pressing.
write this, because I can’t keep it in this morn- called “trip of a lifetime” for another year, Leukemia. She asked if I’d take some time We worry about the trivial to the neglect of
ing. His wife, Barbara, one of my favourite peo- because we all assume we have another year. with him, go shooting with him if he came the most precious thing we have: moments
ple on the planet, is fighting for her life against We don’t tell the ones we love how much we to Vancouver, sort of as a celebration of his we’ll never see again. We talk of killing time,
inoperable brain cancer. She’s fighting, but love them often enough because we assume recovery. I said yes, of course, how could I passing time, and getting through the week,
she’s not well, and the doctors are talking in there’s always tomorrow. And we fear. Oh, do not? But I was busy, about to travel, and could forgetting we’re wishing away the moments
terms of quality of life, not healing, not remis- we fear. We stick it out in miserable jobs and we do it in a couple months when summer that comprise our lives. We say time is money
sion. My heart is breaking for her. My heart is situations because we’re afraid of the risk of rolled around and I had time to host him. Of when in fact the time we have is ALL we
breaking for him. A young couple that, like all stepping out. We don’t reach high enough course. Let’s talk soon. I got back two months have. Money can be borrowed, time can’t.
of us, thinks they have forever together, have or far enough because we’re worried we’ll later and sent an email saying, let’s make it
LIFE IS SHORT
[NOVEMBER 16, 2010]
We fear taking risks, unaware that the biggest
risk we run in playing it safe is in fact living as
long as we hope and never doing the things
we dreamed of. And then it’s too late. We
watched our favourite TV shows, we fought
a losing battle with our weight, we picked
up the guitar once in a while and never
quite finished the French language courses
we wanted to do. We managed to get a large
flat-screen TV and new cars once in a while,
but the list of things we’d have done if we
could really, truly could have done anything,
kept growing. And we never did them.
I don’t know how to wrap this up. There’s
no resolution. I was in Sarajevo last week
thinking about all this; I’d be walking the old
city thinking how amazing it was, looking
into the hills that surround it. And then it
occurred to me, just over 15 years ago the
citizen of Sarajevo that stood in this spot was
likely to be hit by mortar shells or sniper fire.
We’re all terminal folks. We’re all in the sniper
scope. We’ve got less time that we think. For
every ten people that email me and say, “I
wish I could do what you’re doing. I wish I While the ember is still lit, fan it to flame.
could follow my dreams, I wish, I wish…,” I Be bold about it, even if your circumstances
wonder if even one moves forward. I hope so. mean all you have is to love boldly and
laugh boldly. Because now is all we have,
Whatever your dream is, find a way to make and these dreams won’t chase themselves.
it happen. Your kids can come with you. Your
job can wait. You can find someone to feed
the cat. I know, I know, there are so many
reasons we can’t and some of those reasons Postscript. On July 24, 2011, my friend Bar-
are valid. Life is not only short, it is also some- bara lost her fight with brain cancer, leaving
times profoundly hard. But I think sometimes behind an absence in our hearts. She was 35.
our reasons are in fact only excuses. If that’s
the case, take stock. I talk a lot about living
the dream, and I’m an idealist, I know it. But
it’s not self-help, positive-thinking, wish-up-
on-a-star. It’s the realization that life is short
and no one is going to live my life on my
behalf. And one day soon – because it’ll seem
that way, I know it – my candle will burn out;
I want it to burn hot and bright while it’s still
lit. I want it to light fires and set others ablaze.
Life is short. Live it now. And live it with all
your strength and passion now. Don’t keep it
in reserve against a day you might not have.
JESSIE AND I
[NOVEMBER 22, 2010]

Photo credit: Al Smith

JESSIE AND I
[NOVEMBER 22, 2010]
Last week I wrote a post about wringing the most from life, and
like most of what I write it comes from stuff I’ve got bounc-
ing around in my own head, wrestling with the angels and
all that. I invited you to contribute your own thoughts, and
many of you did. I’m still inspired by those comments. As for
me, I can’t get Jessie, and our plans together, out of my mind.
This is a long post. I hope you’ll bear with me.
I am changing my life. For the last year I’ve been in a state
of massive transition and stress. Don’t get me wrong, it’s
been an incredible year for all kinds of reasons, but it’s
been juggling more balls than I’ve even had to do in my
life. And somewhere in there, amidst personal failures,
some amazing travel, the unexpected success of a couple
more books and the incredible reception of my eBooks,
I just kind of stalled. I lost my vision – not photographi-
cally but personally. I stagnated. Started drifting.
I’ve always been a dreamer, always had to have something
to aim at on the horizon and the last couple years I lost that.
In the face of so much unexpected success – for which I am
so grateful – I found myself getting bored. Restless. I know,
cry me a river, right? But they say that boredom is the lack
of a lack, and recently the lack of something to strive
for has become very apparent, sitting in my soul like
a lump of undigested funk. It’s not at all a complaint,
just the discovery about something in me – a need
to move forward that is stronger than I ever knew.
In January 2010 I was on my way to a breakdown. It
came for all kinds of reasons, not the least of which was
a failure to find balance and take care of myself. The
breakdown, such as it was, happened at the worst of
times, in a hut in Senegal not far from the border with
The Gambia and I remember saying to my friend and
producer, Gary, that I wanted nothing more than to
throw my stuff into a truck and travel. As I write this Gary
and I just finished another week together, this time in rural embarking on an adventure.
Bosnia-Herzegovina for World Vision. We spent several eve- I turn 40 this coming
nings talking about these plans over homemade slivovitz. year, December 24, 2011,
and before I do that I
So I want to introduce you to Jessie. See the photograph above? want to spend a year doing something that scares
She’s the one in blue. Jessie is a 1993 Land Rover Defender. In me, something that simplifies my life, something that forces
late February Jessie and I are leaving for a while, setting out me to breathe deeply and open my eyes. See what watching
on an adventure. I’m selling some of my stuff, putting the rest Dead Poet’s Society one too many times will do to you? The
in storage, packing my cameras into Peli-cases and throwing fact that I am turning 40 isn’t relevant, but it’s convenient.
my laptop, sleeping bag and tripods in the back, and we’re
JESSIE AND I
[NOVEMBER 22, 2010]
The plan, so far, is a loose one. I’ll head south
down the coast towards San Francisco, then
inland across the Sierras, through Death Valley
and towards Zion and from there towards the
Gulf of Mexico, which Jessie and I will hug as
we drive east, eventually stopping in Atlanta.
I’ve got workshops in Italy and Croatia in
April and May so I’ll park Jessie for a month
while I do that, then I’ll come back and head
south again to the Florida Keys. After soaking
up some sunshine and doing some fishing
and underwater photography, I’ll head north,
with a brief stop back in NY to fly to Norway
for a week. Then across the border and east
to Newfoundland, the Canadian Maritime
provinces and eventually I’ll point Jessie
towards sunset and head clear across Canada
before hitting Vancouver. No idea when that
might be. I’ve also got a few chances to give
Jessie a break while I fly off to do workshops
here and there. All I know is I need to be in
Ushuaia, on the tip of Argentina, to catch a
boat to Antarctica in December. Then we’ll
see. Drive south again? Head to Alaska? Ship
Jessie to Iceland for the summer of 2012?
Along the way I will be photographing,
writing, connecting with this community
that has formed around my blog, and my
books. I’ll meet friends, both new and old.
I’ll work on another book. I’ll give ad-hoc
lectures and instigate some impromptu meet-
ups. I’ll have coffee with people I’ve never
met, spend lots of time unplugged and in
the open air chasing the thing I’ve chased
these last few years; my vision of the beauty
of this world we live in and the people that
share it with me. I’ll write about the entire
adventure and take you with me constantly
through this blog and the odd video update.
I sat in Vancouver’s Creative Mix conference a
few weeks ago listening to the Head of Creative
for Pixar Canada talk about what he called
the Challenge:Ability line. Where challenge
is equal to our ability to meet that challenge
we are most comfortable. Below that line is
where challenge lags behind our ability and
there is stagnation and boredom. Above that
line is where our ability has to run to keep
up with the challenge. It’s scary as hell but
it’s what propels us forward. Steven Pressfield
in The War of Art, talks about fear being the
magnetic needle that points us precisely in
the direction in which we most ought to be
moving in order to do our best work creatively
and personally. Both those voices are part of
the larger chorus urging me forward to do this.
I hope you’ll join me on this journey as you
have over the last years. I can’t wait to meet
some of you. Once in a while I’ll be letting
y’all know where I am and I hope we can make
a way to meet and to share a meal together.
If you have a spare couch I might even be
induced to spend the night if you don’t seem
too creepy and all Kathy-Bates -in-Misery’ish.
I’ll soon be posting some ideas about my route
and I’d love your input. Don’t do it now,
because I’m trying to come up with a way I
can put it all in one place instead of comments
on multiple posts, but a little local intel goes a
long way and if taking one diversion takes me
to something little-known and amazing, then
I’d be grateful to know of it. I’m not doing
this to get anywhere, per se, but to enjoy the
journey. And you’re part of that journey, so
if I happen to be where you are and am not
already completely peopled-out, I’d love to
share a meal or a cup of coffee with you.
I will have no fixed address. I will often have
no schedule or plan. It’s already distracting
me at the oddest times, and is taking hours
and hours of phone calls and prep to get my
affairs in order. I’m kind of nervous about
the remaining work it’s going to take to get
all the pieces in place, especially as I’ve so
little time at home in the few months before
I plan to throw my bag onto Jessie’s left-hand
passenger seat, climb behind the wheel and
start moving. In fact nervous doesn’t even
describe it. Some moments it’s excitement.
Some moments it’s just plain fear/terror/
OMG!!. But that fear points me toward
JESSIE AND I
[NOVEMBER 22, 2010]

something amazing. It usually does in life,
which makes it all the stranger to think
we spend so much of our lives running
from fear. I do know, fear or no fear, that
some of the happiest times of my life, some
of the most enriching ones, have been
when I’ve been in motion, when I’ve had
fewer possessions, and when the highlight
of my day was the people I’ve met.
So getting back to the post from
last week, and my own response
to the question I posed to you:
Life is short and therefore I will spend
a year in motion, re-examining what it
means to live more simply, meet new
friends, photograph new beauty, and
live new stories. I will experience the
change the oil. I will open myself to new
friendships where my own inclination is to
keep to myself. I will go to bed when the
sun does and greet the dawn from my roof-
top tent with a cup of coffee brewed by my
own hands on a stove I had to light myself.
I will be grateful for each passing day, each
mile under the wheels, each unexpected
diversion. I will get lost and some days I’ll

Life is short and these dreams don’t chase themselves. In the face of
the brevity of life and the wonders that await in the short span we’ve
got, a little fear standing between us and our dreams – whatever they
are – seems a poor reason, for not reaching out for those dreams.
If it all goes to plan, on February 27 I will seasons and the geography and people of stay lost. I will learn with an open mind.
have a going-away party/thing here in the continent on which I live and have I will teach with an open heart. And I
Vancouver at a friend’s studio, Jessie and I spent so much time away from lately. I will share this journey with you. I hope
will spend the night parked out back, and will risk the break-downs and the detours you’ll join me, and along the way I hope
when the sun comes up on February 28, and the flat tires and the learning curve you’ll share your adventure with me.
we’ll grab a coffee and start our journey of maintaining a handmade truck when I
around this vast incredible continent. haven’t the first clue how to do so much as
DON’T
BREAK
THE RULES
[JANUARY 2, 2011]
While I can’t yet talk openly about the next book,
my time in Jamaica brought me to finishing about
2/3 of the draft and as it slowly takes shape it
comes closer and closer to becoming a real thing,
a thing I can talk about and start getting excited
about. And I am excited about this one – really
excited. As I write, the book begins to suggest
things to me, tells me what it is and is not, and
what it is is a book concerned with photographs
themselves, and what they say. It will, if it has
to be pigeon-holed, be about composition. So
last week on Twitter I asked a casual question:
Do you have any questions about composition
and visual language that you want discussed in
the new book? Among the replies was one that
kept coming up; it led to a few new paragraphs
in the book and I’m bursting to expand on it.
The question, reworded, was essentially this:
How do I know when to break the rules and
when to follow them? After thinking about it
for a while I started chuckling because what this
question is asking is for another rule concern-
ing when to break rules. So let’s back up.
We’ve chosen the wrong word.
There are no rules in art.
I call this one, OH MY GODMonterosso,
HIS HORIZON IS2010.
Italy. IN THE MIDDLE!
Photo credit:New Zealand,
Jeffrey 2010
Chapman.
DON’T BREAK THE RULES
There are none in composition, exposure,
focus, or any other element of our technique.
There are principles of good technique, and
there are many so-called rules that once
upon a time had a known rationale behind
them, but as with so many things those rules
broke free of their rational moorings and
started drifting. They come to us, washed
up on the shores of our craft in so many
well-intentioned books and magazines about
photography and it’s high time we stopped
following them. Art created in adherence to
rules is art about rules, not about passion or
beauty or any other thing about which humans
have made honest art over the centuries.
That’s not to say there aren’t helpful principles,
but they are only that. They’re guides to help
us make our decisions, but divorced from the
Why, separated from the reason they became
rules in the first place, they’re more a shackle
than a permission to experiment and express.
I know the usual response to this discussion is
that you have to know the rules first, then you
can break them; I think that’s baloney too. Just
knowing the rules is useless. We need to under-
stand the principles of photographic expres-
sion, the reasons these rules came into play to
begin with in the first place, then use or ignore
them in the service of our vision as we need.
Breaking rules for the sake of breaking
rules isn’t usually art; it’s just anarchy.
And following rules for the sake of follow-
ing rules is just mindless conformity.
So by all means, keep the sun over your
shoulder, your horizons level, and your centre
of interest on an imaginary line along the
thirds of your frame, but do it because those
decisions get you closer to expressing your
intent in this one photograph, not because
you read it somewhere. Do it because it leads
to an aesthetic you want in your image. Do
it because it brings a sense of balance – or
imbalance – or because it builds tension. Don’t
do it – or not do it – just because it’s a rule.
Because some of your best photographs will
be made, not in willful defiance of so-called
rules, but in understanding the principles
and choosing to use those principles to go in
a different direction. When it works, shoot
straight into the sun, skew your horizon, and
put your centre of interest anywhere you
please in the frame. There is no should in art.
[JANUARY 2, 2011]
No literature professor worth his salt would
tell you that you should always use certain
words and sentence structures in certain situ-
ations. Nor would a serious literature student
ask when she should use metaphors instead
of similes. Composition is about taste and
unique expression and no book in the world
can teach those. It comes through trial and
error. You play with the concepts, find where
they work for you and where they don’t.
Like our spoken languages, you add to your
vocabulary one word at a time, you learn to
play with the order of words, and eventually
to experiment with timing and juxtapositions
as you tell, for example, your first joke.
Some jokes work because they’re great
jokes, but even they can be destroyed in the
telling. And some people will never learn
comic timing any more than photographic
balance or the ability to predict a moment.
There are no rules in comedy that result in
perfect jokes. There are no rules in photog-
raphy that lead to “perfect” photographs, if
“perfect” photographs are even desirable.
Some of this just simply can’t be taught. It
can be learned, certainly, but even then it
comes through long days of experimentation,
frequent failures, and for some it will always be
a struggle. That’s the hard face of it. It’s what
makes us sigh a little when we see the work
of the masters – if it were within easy grasp
of it all, we’d simply replicate it and move
on. That we have masters and masterpieces
at all is a witness to the fact that for most of
us it’ll be a hard-won battle to finding our
voice. And as most of us are all too familiar
with the frustrations of that battle, that’s
good news. It puts us all in the same boat.
Floating, but without a motor and having to
figure out the damn oars all by ourselves.
Much of that stuff is going into the first bits
of the new book. As I said last month, I’m
moving on from discussing vision and taking
the next step to discussing expression. I hope
you’ll come with me, with your own healthy
disregard for the so-called rules replaced by a
curiosity about how photographs work, what
they say, and how to better express ourselves
through our photographs. We so often think
of cameras and gear as our language, but they
aren’t. They are our instruments and they’re be-
side the point. The photograph is what matters.
BETTER
PORTRAITS:
WAIT FOR
THE SOUL
[FEBRUARY 22, 2011]
BETTER
PORTRAITS:
WAIT FOR
THE SOUL [FEBRUARY 22, 2011]

With all the talk about technique it’s easy to forget, or to never learn at
all, that the most important skills in portraiture aren’t photographic at all.
You can use your fanciest 135/2.0 or 85/1.2 My last assignment, from which I’m barely now shoulder at friends, or just simply return my un-
lens, blast 3 SB900 flashes through 6-foot recovered, was primarily to create a series of flinching gaze with something more than awk-
octaboxes, or choose the best backgrounds the portraits and landscapes that reflect the lives of wardness or boredom and look past the front
world has ever seen and create portraits that the Samburu, Rendille, and Turkana in northern lens element and beyond, into the camera.
are beautiful but lifeless. Or worse, beautiful Kenya for The Boma Project. As I made portraits
but without being a reflection of the subject of day-in and day-out for 2 weeks I found myself My most valued skill has become not an abil-
that portrait. The best portraitists use a variety waiting longer and longer, becoming more ity to use natural light or pose a subject, but
of gear and technique to create their portraits. patient, and making better portraits. So often patience, and a willingness to wait for that
What they share in common is a love for, and we get uncomfortable staring through the lens moment, the one Steve McCurry talks about
curiosity about, people. They respect their at someone. They get uncomfortable and awk- as the moment when the walls come down
subjects enough to engage them, to dig a little ward, and we pack it in. What I’ve found is that and the soul comes into view. I wait longer
deeper, and to create something that’s collabo- the longer I wait, the more willing I am to push now – just waiting, no talking, no trying to
rative – one to make the photograph, the other through the moments of awkward, the more re- make the moment happen - and am more
to reveal themselves. Neither task is easy. I’m warded I am when that tension breaks, when a satisfied with the authenticity of the emotions
re-learning these lessons in deeper ways lately. genuine laugh comes, when they look over my and characters I’m seeing in my photographs.
CHOOSE
YOUR RISK
[APRIL 20, 2011]

A quick postcard from last night in Vernazza, Italy.

CHOOSE YOUR RISK
[APRIL 20, 2011]

Sometimes I flirt with crossing a line on this blog, a line that puts this blog
squarely into the motivational genre; a genre I don’t generally care for.
So you’ve been warned – this isn’t about photography, but life
(and what is photography about if not life?)
Last year I decided to make a change in my that night was magical for me. I met some the more I talked (a barely coherent mix of But too many people don’t listen to their
life. I bought a truck, sold my stuff, gave up my amazing people, including Zack, face to face spontaneous babbling and preaching) the more dreams at all. Or they listen but allow the
condo and a fixed address and set out on an for the first time. And Zack, if you don’t know it galvanized something in my own mind; a dreams themselves to get drowned out by
adventure that’s still barely two months old. him, is the kind of guy with no shortage of feeling that I’d passed a point of no return. I the desire to fill their homes with stuff or
My plan was to spend the rest of 2011 traveling opinions on things. One of those opinions that have written before that life is short, but it’s even just to play it safe, or – and this is
North America when I wasn’t photographing or evening was that I should speak to the group, becoming more than a passing feel-good idea; more likely – they listen to their fears.
teaching internationally elsewhere. And then and say “something inspiring” or something. it’s becoming the place from which I make
I started the journey itself and things began I declined. He insisted and told me that “in my biggest decisions. I am moved more than The culture we live in would rather watch great
to change. I began to like this lifestyle more one beer, you’re on!” I figured I could make ever by the awareness of the brevity of life stories on movie screens than live them. Why?
than I thought. I miss having a home less than my beer last all evening and avoid speak- and that the fulfillment of our dreams and I think it’s fear of risk. The bigger the risk the
I expected. I had more time with people than ing entirely, until he made it clear I was on longings aren’t simply things that accidentally greater the potential reward but also the greater
I imagined. I found myself settling into the when his beer was done, not mine, and I got happen to us. Life is complicated and at times the potential for “Oh God, Oh God, we’re all
rhythms of nomadism and I started to dream the feeling that wasn’t going to take long. feels more like something that happens to us going to die!” or something similar. Fear is
bigger and allow myself a few more “What Ifs” than something we make happen, I know, the loudest voice in many of our lives. Fear of
Not sure what to say, I told the story of the but people live extraordinary lives because rejection leads us to buy some crazy stuff, as
And then my buddy Zack Arias hosted a last few months and the growing awareness of they overcome those circumstances and well as keep our voice down when it should be
meet-up event at his studio in Atlanta and the brevity of life that had led me here. And choose to do the things they dream about. loudly telling others “I love you.” Fear of the
CHOOSE YOUR RISK
[APRIL 20, 2011]
unknown keeps us close to home. Fear of fear
keeps us in therapy. So we’d rather watch Brave-
heart and imagine ourselves with that kind of
courage than risk finding out for ourselves if
we have it. Makes sense. Afterall, Braveheart
gets horribly disemboweled at the end. But
while our hearts swell with resonance as Wil-
liam Wallace says “All men die but not all men
really live,” we wash it away with popcorn and
sodas and go back to sleep. That very quote, or
the sentiment it reflects, points to two things
for me, and these two things make it easier
to listen to something other than the fear.
1. All we have is now. I’ve said it before:
none of us lives forever. The time to make a
change is now. You may not be able to pack
the house and go on an adventure right now,
but you can put yourself on a path to doing
it. Don’t wait until you’re 65 and retired. You
might not be around or in good health. The
time is now. Don’t be the one breathing his
last breath wishing he’d gotten around to the
things that were most important. Live with
all the passion and energy you’ve got now.
Now is all you have. Each moment matters.
2. Risk is inevitable. We all risk, day in and
day out. You fall in love at first sight with
someone amazing and you’ve two choices,
both involving risk. You can act on it and risk
rejection, or you can sit on it, do nothing, and
risk losing what might be the best thing you
might ever experience. Sure, rejection’s painful
(but not certain), but it’s nothing compared
to the life-long regret of letting her slip away
(absolutely certain). You have a dream and the
only way to get at it is to make some changes,
live sparsely, and pull your kids out of school
for a year. You can do it, and risk failure (not
as likely as it seems) or play it safe and let the
dreams remain un-lived (absolutely certain).
Life is about risk. The best stories hinge on
it. But even those risks aren’t as big as they
seem. It’s funny how we often prefer to listen
to fears and avoid risks that are only poten-
tially painful, and in so doing sacrifice our
dreams – a loss that is most certainly painful.
It could be that the last thing you want to hear settle for merely watching them. Whatever
is another sermon. I get it. None of this stuff got stirred in you when I wrote the first blog
is easy. There were moments of nerves, and post in the Life is Short category, I hope you’re
even overwhelming fear, as I was staging to moving towards it. Because those dreams are
give up so-called normal life. It’s taken some part of what it means to live life to the fullest.
painful decisions and course-corrections over
the last few years to get to this place. It’s taken
falling down and getting back up. One day my
diabetes may prevent me from pursuing these
adventures. All the more reason to take a deep
breath and do it now. I had planned to go back
to Vancouver at the end of this year – it was the
“sensible” decision. Instead I am looking into
what it will take to come back to Europe and
live nomadically here for a year – to spend time
on the British Isles and Scandinavia before tak-
ing the boat to Iceland for the summer, then to
drive to Istanbul or Marrakech or Ulaan Bator.
All those many words to say: don’t settle. Your
dreams will be different than mine, but the
regret for not living them will be the same.
Life is short. Choose your risk intentionally,
don’t try to avoid it. Live a great story; don’t
AND
THEN
I FELL.
[APRIL 29, 2011]
I wrote the following just over a week ago, then I took
a tumble over a 20-foot wall in Pisa, Italy. Somehow
it seems even more relevant now. As for the fall, here
are the short strokes: I was trying to get a better angle
on a scouting shot, made a poor decision, lost my bal-
ance and fell. This was not the kind of risk I’ve been
talking about recently; it didn’t seem risky at all, just a
bad decision. I fell between 20 and 30 feet depending
on whom you ask, and landed on the concrete below.
6 days later I’ve been evacuated by an incredible team
from MedJet Assist and am now in Ottawa close to my
family. I’ll be here a while. I’ve got multiple fractures
in my ankles and pelvis and will require surgeries and
at least 6 weeks of hospitalization and 3 months off
my feet. I am told there’s a chance I’ll never walk the
same again, but I’m fighting those odds. I am pro-
foundly grateful to be alive; the last two people that
fell off that wall are dead. I am also profoundly grate-
ful not to be paralyzed. But right now the over-riding
emotion is gratitude for the incredible outpouring
of love from people all over the world, people I’ve
never met who are offering help and prayers and such
kindness. From the bottom of my heart, thank you
so, so much. Thoughts of your kindness and support
have brought me to tears more than once today as
I’ve finally been able to get online. Thank you!
A few photographs, then the thoughts I wrote down
last week. In light of everything, they resonate ever
deeper now.
AND THEN I FELL.
[APRIL 29, 2011]
RISK PART II:
THE POWER OF FAILURE
[APRIL 21, 2011]
After beginning the discussion on risk, my brain started churning
through some of the responses and push-back left in the comments
and I think the discussion isn’t even close to over just yet.
The first thing that needs qualification is that my point is
not that we ought to engage in risk for the sake of risk. My
point is that we’ve one short life and while we’ll all look
differently at what it means to fully live that life with no
regrets, it is often the fear of risk that stands in the way.
Overcoming that fear gets us to a place where we can more
intentionally engage life, become the people we long to be.
Just getting over fear for the sake of risking without examin-
ing the results of those risks is, to my mind, pointless.
The second thing I think that needs to be picked apart is the
“what about my stupid job?” mentality, which I think has been
so beat into us we can no longer see it for what it is. We’ve
been conditioned (in a non-paranoid, no-conspiracy-theory
kind of way) into leaving school, getting a job, working until
retirement, and being a productive bee in the hive. it doesn’t
have to be this way. People make a living in thousands of
unlikely ways and it’s truly unlikely for most of us that we’ll
end up dead on the side of the road while people pass by, shake
their heads, and mumble, sotto voce, “see, he shouldn’t have
quit his job.” Once above the survival line – and I’d argue
we need much, much, less to be happy than we think – it’s
important to remember that we work to live, we do not live
to work. When work gets in the way of you living your life –
then that work no longer serves you and it’s time to change.
Clear your debt as fast as you can. Live on less. Pull your kids
from one of their over-priced after-school activities and let them
RISK PART II: THE POWER OF FAILURE
[APRIL 21, 2011]
read a library book. Give the car back to the
dealer and get one you can actually afford.
Save some money. And don’t, whatever you
do, wait until “the time is right” before you
make the changes your soul is hard longing
for. I know, it’s not practical. Practical is safe.
Practical is boring. Practical isn’t working for
you now, not if all this talk of living life to the
fullest resonates with you, and it isn’t going to
work for you in the future. I don’t know that
Gandhi, Moses, Jesus, Einstein, Ben Franklin,
Louis Pasteur, Albert Schweitzer, or any of the
thousands of unknown adventurers, inventors,
poets, or general misfits, ever saw much use for
practicalities. They lived with the same realities
we do. It is they about whom we tell stories.
So all this was floating in my mind and I began
to think about possible first-steps for the fear-
ful ones that long for something more. I think
that first step might be failure; the very thing
we seem to fear. In the years leading up to my
bankruptcy I was terrified; i’d seen the writ-
ing on the wall and it was truly frightening.
I thought I’d lose it all. I thought I’d never
recover. I had fear after fear. And then I walked
into my trustee’s office, signed away my debt
under a heaviness of shame and guilt – and fail-
ure. And to my shock I survived. Not only did
I survive, I thrived. I learned lessons I’d never
have learned. And I learned that falling down
hurt less than I expected. It hurt, of course it
did, but not even remotely did the brief hurt
outweigh the good that came of the risk.
There’s deep strength in failure. It’s a gift to
fall down and get up. Coddle a child and
don’t let him eat a little dirt or lick the oc-
casional frog and that child never develops
the kind of immune system that keeps him
strong. It’s the same with our character.
Failure builds immunity, gives us strength,
makes us familiar with the actual possibilities
that come from risk and robs our fears of the
power that comes from the unknown. The
more you fail, and learn from those lessons,
the less frightening future failures appear.
As with risk, failure for failure’s sake isn’t the
point. It’s a waypoint, a portal through which
we pass. To return to the idea of living a good
story, think back to your favorite stories: the
good ones require the protagonist to risk. The
epic ones, the ones that really move us, require
the protagonist to risk it all. They don’t do
so for the sake of the risk itself: they do so
because the price of not doing so is too high.
Without risking it the village will certainly be
destroyed, or the love of their life will certainly
be lost. Risk is not the point. Nor is failure.
The stakes are so high. We won’t get to the
end and get a do-over. This is not a trial
run. What we do here matters. Being fully
ourselves, fully alive, and fully engaged with
the world around us requires we wake up
and shake the sleep from our eyes. I sat with
a cancer survivor recently, someone who’d
fought for her life to overcome odds and now
lives cancer-free but in a job that by her own
admission is killing her soul. it was a thrill to
see the light come on in her eyes as she real-
ized it didn’t have to be this way. My God, if
you can live through the fight of your life and
beat cancer, why would you not fight tooth-
and-nail to live the days you’d snatched from
the dragon’s jaws with every ounce of energy
and passion and make it worth the fight?
These are just the thoughts of a self-confessed
idealist. You are welcome to dismiss them and
go back to the cubicle from whence you came.
You probably have some very good reasons
to suggest that I’m full of crap, and probably
crap from unicorns and fairies. My only push-
back is that I’ve seen people living profoundly
impractical lives as missionaries and bush-
doctors and artists and adventurers and I think,
without exception, they’d agree: the risk of
doing nothing and playing it safe and never
falling on your face is a risk they could never
live with. If failure gets them there faster, then
it’s not so much to be avoided as embraced.
THE ITALIAN
INCIDENT:
UPDATE
[MAY 8, 2011]
I’m sitting upright for the first time in 2 weeks and while this
won’t be a long update I thought it was about time I updated you.

The medical evacuation came on Thursday the 28th and by

7am I was being shuttled out of the hospital in Italy and onto
My new nemesis. Nightly we are
my own Leer jet with enough meds to keep me happy and
engaged in a battle of wills. It’s not
quiet. I had spectacular nurses and they took great care of me.
a battle I am winning. But I wanted
14+ hours later I was in ER at Ottawa Civic Hospital in the care an adventure when I set out this
of family and a medical team that spoke English. Fast forward year. I wanted to learn new things
to May 04, when after swelling had gone down and there was and lean into the fear and while
my adventure has changed, it
room in the OR schedule for me, they did a marathon 12-hour
hasn’t stopped. Because man, do
surgery. I think they spent 8 hours on the right ankle alone.
I fear this damn thing. Zack Arias
I made a mess of that ankle and there are bone grafts and is currently planning a One Day
screws in the right foot and plates and screws in the left. Workshop on the light modifiers
you can make from one bedpan.
THE ITALIAN INCIDENT: UPDATE
[MAY 8, 2011]

Surgery went well, though elevated heart rate pointed them to pulmonary
embolism, which means I’ll be on blood thinners while i recover. My
cracked pelvis will heal on its own with bed-rest. My right wrist, initially
thought broken, seems only sprained. I’ve no idea how long I’ll be in the
Hospital in Ottawa. Eventually I’ll be released to recover at my family
home out in the country, and that could be 3 months.
Could be less, could be more.
In the mean time Jessie is in Atlanta waiting for My medical evacuation was covered by MedJet Assist ness. I’m truly humbled and grateful and please don’t fill the
me and one day, when I’m strong enough to drive who were absolute gods to have pulled off what they did comments on this post with more of it because honest to God I
her home, I’ll fly down and bring her back to On- for me, with such patience and professionalism, and a feel like I’m going to burst, but thank you. From the bottom of
tario which is now my home-base for a while. shocking lack of red tape or fine print. I will never travel my heart – thank you for being the community that you are.
anywhere, ever again, without coverage with them.
Coming home was amazing. The health care here is truly I’ll keep you updated, and as things settle I’ll slow down with all
remarkable and anyone who bitches about it hasn’t likely I won’t even bother telling you how much work this has this talk about bedpans and will pick up the thread on more
spent time in hospitals and clinics around the world. Even been for Corwin, who though an extraordinarily skilled interesting discussions we were having before I decided
my medical bill in Italy, which will be covered by a good manager is the best friend everyone should be so blessed to jump off that damn wall.
travel medical insurance policy, was only about $3000. to have in their corner. Dude is my hero right now.
I paid more than that for 4 hours in NYC Hospital in Again, you have my deepest thanks.
Queens and all I got was some Motrin. I’m not comment- Lastly, another attempt to express my gratitude to you all.
ing on anyone’s system but ours, I’m just grateful beyond Through this all Corwin and I have had countless emails, tweets
words that right now I can heal without though to fighting and comments expressing concern and support. I’ve honestly
over bills or losing everything because of one accident. never in all my life felt so overwhelmed by attention and kind-
ANOTHER
UPDATE.
[MAY 10, 2011]
At the risk of popping bubbles, the truth
about my condition right now has been
revealed only partly in good-humored
tweets and blog posts about the great
adventure of life, etc.,etc. I’m grateful that
people see that side of me, and I think
overall I am coping with things well. But
every comment that comes in has a sting
on the back-end because the whole story
can’t be told in tweets and sound-bites.

San Francisco through the raindrops on the window

of the Top of the Mark. Hard to believe it was a
couple months ago. To my right, eating dinner, was
Robert Duval. Today it expresses my mood.
THE ITALIAN INCIDENT: UPDATE
[MAY 10, 2011]

The fuller truth is that much of the time this does not feel like part of
a bigger story, it does not feel like an adventure. What it feels like is
constant un-abating discomfort in better moments, and excruciating
pain in others. It feels, from this tiny point in time, like a sentence
that will never end.
. I can do literally nothing on my own, includ- and wading though fear and insecurity to get is easy to sustain for 140 characters on Twitter. me, it’s the heart of this community. The
ing roll over in the bed. The great accomplish- there. It, too, is scary and lonely at times. In real life it seems to be much, much harder. day I start faking it is the day I close shop.
ments of my day include basic body functions Would I really change anything? Not at all,
and staying lucid long enough to get a blog Why am I writing this? Two reasons. First but if I’ve ever made this stuff sound easy, or As far as updates, I’m told I’m healing well
post done, or a small piece of the next book ed- to state the obvious – things might be light as though it is within reach of only a special and the team here is now talking about a
ited. The nights are the worst. They last forever around here awhile as I take some time off to breed of people, I’ve wronged you. This is hard. transfer to Perth War Memorial Hospital here
and have an unending lonely feeling about wade through this. The second is merely to be in Ontario. It’s closer to my parent’s home
them. I cry myself to sleep, when I sleep at all. more fully honest about it. This was not an I’m learning, that’s for sure. I am learning and I’ll spend about a month there. As soon
easy post to write. Aside from talking about that I am surrounded by amazing people; as I am able, and a spot frees up, I’ll be moved
It is easy to talk about living a life that leans how hard photography can be, I am generally people (so, so many of you are those people) to an inpatient rehab clinic, for who knows
into fear and risk in order to “live the dream” an upbeat and positive person. But lest anyone who think I am amazing, and what I wish how long. A couple weeks? A month?
or whatever platitude we’ve attached to what put me on a pedestal, right here and now it I could do now is turn the mirror the other
it means to live fully. It is much harder to live feels like I’d trade this pain and difficulty for way, help them understand that they are So again, my deepest thanks. Forgive me if
through the darker moments life extracts from a slightly easier story. Years later this will be the amazing ones – people whom I revere I’m quieter than usual. Some days it takes
us as payment for the stories we will one day part of the story that makes me who I become. deeply for the size of their hearts. So forgive too much energy to maintain the opti-
tell our kids, and the things we believe give These things will affect my work; they will another meandering, emotional post, but mism and as I’ve previously been told my
our lives purpose. It’s the same way with art. create a new place from which I create my art. authenticity is not a marketing strategy for angst is exhausting, I’m wary of wearing
The best of it takes work and self-examination But right now it just hurts. Bravery and humor you down with too much navel gazing.
NO SUCH
THING
AS BETTER
[MAY 14, 2011]
It’s been a while since I’ve had a good, proper,
rant. Part of that has been the adventure of
this year; I think it’s softened me and given me
more patience, made me a little more graceful.
Another part of it, probably closer to the heart
of the matter, is that I’ve been busy doing other
things, and a good rant takes time to incubate.
Well if there is one thing I have had lately it’s
time. And somewhere in all that time a rant’s
been building. Actually a couple rants have been
building, two of which may never see the light
of day because when I finally release them to the
wild it’ll be me that has to pick up the pieces. One
of those rants is about HDR. I’ve finally snapped
on that issue and if I hear one more supposed
teacher post a ludicrously over-processed HDR
image and tell the world it’s closer to what the
eye sees things I might re-consider my reluctance
to rant about it. Over-processed HDR robs us of
shadows which we require to interpret the real
world, which is why subtle use of HDR effects
can be amazing and over-use sucks. . If you teach
photography and you tell me that HDR is closer
to how the eye sees then it damn better be an
image that looks even vaguely realistic, and it sure
as hell better be a decent image to begin with.
Layering 9 weak photographs together doesn’t
make the original weak photograph better, it
makes for a bucket filled with 9 layers of suck.
Dammit, I said I wasn’t going to go there.
NO SUCH THING AS BETTER
[MAY 14, 2011]
The second rant has to do with finding a happy place in between the
two toxic poles of mediocrity and snobbery.
In the last couple years I attended a photogra-
phy conference that I ended up referring to as
a celebration of mediocrity. Presided over by
so-called leaders and teachers and Explorers of
Light, etc, I was astonished and disappointed
that the bar was set so low. So, so, low. I would
never advocate exclusivism nor snobbery.
Never. I am the first to acknowledge that we all
learn at different paces and in different ways
and that art, such as it is, is meant to be about
expression and that gives us enormous latitude.
However, it’s time we all focused more on
growing as artists and less on our egos. When
we get serious about our art we’ll start looking
for critics, not fans, and right now too many
people are Without using the strong language
I’d like to, it’s really, really, really, overdue for
us to stop the lunacy about gear. Choose your
tools, enjoy them, then make something amaz-
ing. We need to stop the feeding frenzy. We
need to stop patting people on the back for de-
rivative, repetitive, imitative work and lovingly
encourage them to move forward. We need to
lovingly tell people – and give the same people
permission to tell us – when we’re stuck, lazy,
or boring. We all do this for different reasons,
so not for a moment am I suggesting we be-
come a group of photographic vigilantes. I’m
suggesting we ourselves settle less, over the
long term, with work that is less than what it
could be. But I don’t want to rant about that.
Shoot, I did it again.
The third rant, the one I very much want to
give in to, is probably not much more than a
re-rant. But Oh Lord am I tired of the discus-
sions about going back to film because it’s bet-
ter. Finally transitioning to digital or medium
format because it’s better. Using wide angle
lenses because, “they’re better.” And when one
photographer knows his 35mm camera is bet-
ter and one knows his DLSR is better and they
get to squabbling, well, just shoot me now.
There is no better. In fact, you know what’s bet-
ter? Art. Expression. Forgive me but the rest of
it is merely a photographic wank; a substitute
for actual photography. The best camera is the
one you enjoy using. Right now I’m using my
iPhone and loving it and straining at the bit to
get the Fuji x100 that I’ve ordered to use while
I recover. I’ve got 3 DSLRs, a 35mm Pentax,
and a Hasselblad 500C/M. I love them all and
use them for different things. Is one better
than another? What does better even mean?
Might it not be time to stop worrying about
the meaningless and overly-vague questions
of which cameras, lenses, formats, comput-
ers, even photographers, are better, and
return to the ongoing attempt simply to
make photographs that are better and better
at expressing ourselves and moving other
people? That’s the only better that matters.
I know it’s all been said. But I don’t write my
blog to disseminate new information but to
hash it through for the sake of my own brain.
Where this all – and by all I mean the last
rant, not the first two, which, as I told you, I
refuse to discuss – touches me is in the need
to embrace more widely the photographic
world, to try new techniques, new formats, to
change my preferred lens or aspect ratio once
in a while in search not of better gear but a
better process that leads me to stronger work.
** Ooops. I just got back from lunch with my
father to find this had been published. Dang. I
was going to sit on it a couple days, maybe do
a re-write. Should probably learn to avoid hit-
ting that publish button. Anyways, I’ll leave
it sitting as it is. But please know these are
unedited thoughts. Might need to interact a lit-
tle more in the comments to clarify things…
MAY 18
UPDATE
[MAY 18, 2011]

“For all the unexpectedness

of this, the setbacks, the
change of plans, and the pain,
I wouldn’t do this differently.”
MAY 18 UPDATE
[MAY 18, 2011]
This is just a quick update. I’m nearing 2 weeks post-up, and
am nearing 4 weeks since the accident. The days are getting
better, my mind is less foggy now that my pain meds have been
significantly reduced, and each day contains small victories. I’m
slowing down, learning to find meaning and joy in the moments
that might otherwise feel like nothing more than a string of
boring seconds assembling themselves into boring minutes and
unending hours. The image above is my recent set of scans.
Feels like one of my surgeons finally found a place for all those
left over bits from the IKEA boxes and just dumped them in.
Corwin flew out on Monday and we’re spending the
days working and talking and catching him up to speed
on my new dreams – really old dreams that have had to
become somewhat more flexible than I imagined.
Flowers and cards, books and videos keep showing up, gifts from
people, many of whom I really don’t know and as my feet heal
I feel my heart changing too. Still overwhelmed, it’s stretching
to accommodate the surplus. For all the unexpectedness of this,
the setbacks, the change of plans, and the pain, I wouldn’t do
this differently. I’m losing weight in ways I’d rather not, my
hair is shaggy, and I’ve long stretches of boredom. I’m limited put in my strong recommendation that you make a MedJet
to cafeteria food. I still pee in a bottle and wrestle with a bedpan Assist evacuation policy a non-negotiable necessity. I always
most of the time. But I’m also truly and unexpectedly happy. imagined I’d never use it, and if I did it would be from some
near fatal gastro disease picked up in the Congo or something.
One of the most unexpected aspects of this entire thing was I never imagined I’d call them to pick my broken body up in
my evacuation from Italy. Since I started travelling I’ve held a Tuscany. MedJet Assist is one of the most positive customer-
much-valued membership with MedJet Assist. I pay something service experiences of my life and I’m deeply grateful to them.
like $200/year for my policy and it’s beautifully simple: if I am If I could buy a lifetime membership right now I would.
hospitalized over 150 miles from my home, they come get me
and fly me to any hospital in the world. No fine print. So on
the eve of day 4, when my two pilots and my nurses, Tiffany
and James, came into my room I don’t think I’ve ever been
happier to see anyone. That was at midnight. They assessed me,
medicated me, and said goodnight to me. 6 hours later I was
on my way to a Leer jet at Pisa airport. They were incredible.
Gentle, professional, extremely capable, and – for the first time
since I fell – I was in the care of people who spoke English, kept
me in the loop, managed my pain and laughed with me. They
are my new heroes, and when I last saw them they were leaving
me at the Ottawa Civic Hospital and giving my mother a hug. I
don’t know how I might otherwise have traveled home. I can’t
imagine what it might have cost me. If you travel at all, let me
I HEAR VOICES
(SO DO YOU)
[MAY 23, 2011]
I HEAR VOICES
(SO DO YOU)
[MAY 23, 2011]

Some thoughts on the voices we listen to. My disclaimer: I’m still on

meds that make writing a little tough. I feel foggy. I probably write more
from my gut right now, which is good unless you want this stuff to make
actual sense. So this one might be a little more rambling than others…
As artists and creators we listen to a lot of worth the effort. The Fan reminds us that the you merrily run in the wrong direction isn’t a voice, though there are many of those. I’m not
voices, some of them helpful and others less worst of our work doesn’t define us. The Fan helpful voice, no matter how well-meaning. referring to those voices. Critical voices can
so. I’ve written elsewhere that to grow in our is the cheerleader – often found in friends and be good, criticizing ones just squelch our crea-
art or craft it’s important to seek critics and family – that gives us hope. But while the Fan’s The Critic helps us see our blind spots and tive souls. The Critical voice can be the most
not merely fans. While some fans can also be voice is always positive it’s not always helpful asks a lot of questions. The critic is honest and helpful one as we push our art past our com-
helpful critics, it’s rare. The two voices perform and can in fact be ruinous if we listen to it – assuming you’ve chosen your critics well – fortable places and into the unknown places.
different and beautiful roles, but they aren’t alone. The Fan, for all her enthusiasm, isn’t wants only to make your work better through a That push can give us courage to do better.
to be confused. Nor, for that matter, should usually qualified to do much more than cheer- more objective view of it. The Critic pushes us,
they be listened to exclusively. There is, among lead. It may feel good to be told your work is sometimes harder than we want to be pushed. I’ve been talking through these issues with a
all the other competing voices, a third voice, the best work ever, but if that Fan doesn’t know The Critic, when he knows his stuff and – im- friend of mine and have come down to more
a more important voice, but I’ll get to that. so much as one other photographer or the portantly – knows us – can help us ask ques- questions than answers. How do you know
history of the art, that voice isn’t qualified. And tions of ourselves, make us aware when we’re when to listen to which voices? What do you
The Fan encourages us, gives us the strength in that case the voice of the fan is misleading. repeating our own work, and call us forward. do when the voices of the Fans just seems
to push on when we’re not sure the struggle is A voice enthusiastically cheering you on, while The Critic, properly chosen is not a negative like empty praise and the voice of the Critic
I HEAR VOICES
(SO DO YOU)
[MAY 23, 2011]
seems to be killing your soul? How do we
know how much weight to give these opinions
of others in the pursuit of something so per-
sonal? Does actively seeking feedback impact
creativity and originality? All good questions,
and probably ones we need to keep asking.
I think above it all we need to remember the
third voice. Or rather, the voice that should
be – must be – our own. That voice is our Gut.
No mentor, critic, fan or otherwise will ever,
ever, know what sits in our souls hoping to get
out in some form of expression. Art is solitary
and the decisions to make honest art are ours
and ours alone. Yes, we need teachers to push
us in our craft, and we need people to lay eyes
on our work, but the first and last voice is our
own. We need to trust our instincts, trust our
gut. But we need to be open to the fact that, in
the world of art, some people just have lousy
instincts. The world of Art beckons. It’s allur-
ing, a siren. Or maybe it’s just an unquenchable
longing from within to express. But remember,
you can express yourself in a million ways,
just like every human on this planet of, what,
7 billion? And you may never become the
celebrated artist you wish you could be. But
if that’s the case, your longing is not expres-
sion: it’s fame. And if that’s the case you’re
chasing the wrong thing and you don’t stand
a chance of creating something others will
respond to until you deal with that toxicity
that’s strangling your creativity. Creativity is a
fragile thing, easily killed if we chase money,
fame, praise, or anything other than the act of
creating something true instead. The reason I
even bring it up is that none of this is easy and
even our own instinct will betray us at times.
And on top of these voices, it’s to be remem-
bered that different voices will be heard differ-
ently at different times in our lives as artists. At
the beginning, as a photographer of one-year’s
practice, the voices I need to listen to will differ
from the ones I need now as a photographer
who has been wrestling with his craft for 25
years. So I still weigh those voices against what
my instinct is telling me. My gut might take
me in some unusual directions, and it’s likely
those will lead me to neither fame nor com-
mercial success, but most important is that my
instinct take me in a direction that is true.
Listen to the voices, at least the legitimate
ones. Hear them out. Weigh them against
your instinct and the reality that we all have
blind spots, we all need a push in one area of
our craft or another. Arrogance and a teach-
able spirit are mutually exclusive, but then
listening to every voice but your own is the
fastest way I can imagine to creating work
that is uninspired, homogeneous, and lacks
the most important element of art – yourself.
VOICES, PART TWO.
[MAY 25, 2011]
When it comes to the voices we listen to, I think there
is much more to discuss than my short article could
possibly cover earlier this week. Here are a couple
more thoughts, some of them jarred from my head by
comments left in response to the last piece I wrote.

One of the voices I touched on, but didn’t really address

was that of mis-aligned ego (that’s what I call it, call it
whatever you like, the name doesn’t matter). I mentioned
the toxicity of a desire for fame or praise, which reminded
me of a line from a Josh Ritter song – “I’m singing for
the love of it; have mercy on the man who sings to be
adored.” (Snow is Gone). It’s a strong voice and one many
A cable vanishes into the
of us probably wrestle to silence for much of our lives. But
clouds in a marble quarry
fail to silence that voice and the inescapable result is work high above Carrara, Italy, the
that is self-conscious and less a gift to the world than it is place Michelangelo sourced

the photographic equivalent of fishing for compliments. his marble for David. Much
of my own artistic journey
feels like this, more of what
I’m looking for is obscured
than revealed at first glance.
I spend a lot of time waiting
for the mist to clear.
VOICES, PART TWO.
[MAY 25, 2011]
I’m not saying the desire to be acknowledged is necessarily unhealthy,
but that when that voice becomes the loudest voice, art suffers.
How do you deal with that particular voice?
Most religions have tried at length to address
this same struggle, so you won’t find a simple
answer here. But practically, I think it begins
with learning simply to recognize that voice
and then finding voices that speak truer things.
This is part of what it means to struggle with the
so-called human condition and the artist’s life.
If that voice of the mis-aligned ego might be
described at times as arrogance, the flip-side of it
is no less distracting. I don’t know a single artist
that doesn’t wrestle with cycles of self-doubt,
second-guesses, and listening to the radio sta-
tion in our heads that Ann Lammot in Bird By
Bird calls K-F*CK (the * is mine). We all wrestle
with this one and it’s one of the reasons we
need both fans and critics – to give us some-
thing closer to an objectivity that’s clouded by
the collective voices of K-F*CK. Those voices
come from the past, from unkind words spoken
by people who ought to have known better.
Parents, teachers, other kids. We know as adults
that the cruel words of people from our pasts are
only that, but they hold no less power subcon-
sciously. Finding new voices to listen to begins a
long process – perhaps life-long – of hearing tru-
er, more positive things. They won’t be silenced,
but they can be replaced. Until we do that those
voices hold us back. “Ridicule,” Ralph Waldo
Emerson said, “is a terrible whitherer of the im-
agination. It binds us where we should be free.”
What I do know is that this stuff is harder to
work through than simply learning to chose
an f/stop. It’s big picture and it’s lifelong and
it probably looks like more navel-gazing than
some people want to do. But folks, Art is
hard. Art, to be art at all contains something
of the artist within it. And to do that requires “All artists hear a call to express themselves
self-disclosure, courage, and a willingness creatively, but too often, that voice fades with
to face these voices and intentionally chose time and is replaced by one that says, “You
truer ones. It won’t come through pretending can’t do that.” or “If it was such a brilliant idea
the voices aren’t there, and it’s hard to hold someone else would have thought of it first.”
a camera when your fingers are in your ears The quickest way to silence that voice is to do
to stop the voices you don’t want to hear. exactly the thing that you think you cannot.”
Vincent Versace wrote an article on Scott Kelby’s
blog yesterday, and among the nuggets was
a short discussion about the voices we listen
to. I suggest reading the entire article because
Vincent’s one of the rare voices of sanity in an
art addicted to gear and technique, and when
he’s this lucid (Vincent gets hard for me to
understand when he drifts into the academic)
it’s worth a read. Here’s one of the quotes that
caught my eye yesterday morning, and it offers
a different solution to one of those voices.
POINT &
SHOOT,
MY @$$
[MAY 26, 2011]
This March, I spent more time making photo-
graphs with my iPhone down the coast of Oregon
than I did with my D3s and Pelican cases full of
gear. Many of the images I made in those days
are among the best of my recent photographs;
unobstructed by all the gear I was more able to
play. But not once did I simply point and shoot.
Point and shoot is an attitude, an approach to pho-
tography; it is not – nor to my mind should it be –
a category of cameras. So while this post is more of
my usual hair-splitting over semantics, I believe it’s
important. It’s important because it says something
about how we think about the tools we use and –
more importantly – perpetuates the same kind of
nonsense as the trumped up importance given to
Pros. As in, Buy This Camera, Shoot Like a Pro. The
implication is that we should want to shoot like a
pro because to be a Pro is to be at the pinnacle of
this art. I call bullshit. But that’s not my point.
POINT & SHOOT, MY @$$
[MAY 26, 2011]
When the Fuji x100 was announced there
were mixed reactions, as there always are
when a new piece of gear is released. We
polarize so quickly on some of this stuff.
Many of the reactions could most eas-
ily be summed up in a comment from a
friend on Twitter this evening. The x100
is just a $1200 point and shoot camera.
It struck me as a funny thing to say. And the
more I thought about it seemed completely
irrelevant. Not the comment, so much, but
the fact that that comment should even
mean something to me. And that some-
thing is: that’s serious money for a camera
that’s not serious. Might not be what my
friend meant, but it’s what I inferred and
I’ve heard it elsewhere unambiguously.
So what makes a camera serious? Must it be a
$3200 body with a $1800 lens? Does it need
a certain sensor size? Must it be a DSLR? At
the most basic our tools are boxes with a hole
in them. Our media are time and light. We
use optics to create a quality of focus and ma-
nipulate the geometry in the frame. We need
to control the amount of light coming into
the box, knowing that doing so with aperture
and shutter allows other aesthetic effects. But
as far as I know, beautiful photography has
been created with pinhole cameras, antique
rangefinders, and iPhones, as surely as a Ltd.
Edition gold-plated Leicas and $10,000 pro-
bodies have produced an astonishing quantity
of crap. The recent enthusiasm towards plastic
lens cameras (eg. Holgas) is a great example.
I’ve seen some incredible work created by
photographers using the Holga and I’ve seen
work I think we’d all agree was junk, even
with a gracious and liberal allowance made
in order to avoid being called a “snob”.
My x100 is a beautiful camera. It does
everything my Nikon D3s does in terms of
creating a simple, compelling photograph.
It has constraints, to be sure, but I see those
constraints as an opportunity for greater
creativity, not less. I’m unlikely to serve clients
with this camera, but I’m very likely to cre-
ate work that I’m most proud of with it. And
at no point would I describe my approach
to photography, regardless of the camera I
hold in my hands, as point and shoot.
Point and Shoot. The words imply automation.
They imply a lack of intention and care. And to
me those words trivialize the efforts to create
something beautiful with these fundamentally
simple and elegant boxes. To me it’s about the
way we approach the entire art, however it is
we do that. I guess my point is this; you can
point and shoot, if you choose to, but your
camera can not. Having a serious camera is
not the point and never has been, because in
the hands of an artists, a child’s toy will create
beauty. Client needs aren’t the issue, that’s dif-
ferent. That has to do with the best tool for the
job argument. My plea here is that we alone ac-
cept responsibility for creating something great,
and we do it with the camera we most enjoy.
I suspect I’m naive and idealistic in hoping
we’ll see an end to some of this nonsense
anytime soon. It’s perpetuated by the same
engines of commerce that want to convince
every still photographer that their career is in
peril unless they learn video – a completely
different discipline and language. I’m probably
banging my head against the wall, and I’m OK
with that. Where I take it personally is when
my friends, readers, and students - people new
to the craft and so full of enthusiasm – are
convinced every 12 months to part with serious
money because they’ve been convinced the
newer, bigger cameras, are more serious. And
they go from promise to promise. Red herring
to red herring. They learn to divert what was
once an enthusiasm for making photographs
to an enthusiasm for better and better cameras.
God forbid they should be caught making
photographs with a point and shoot camera.
Get a camera you love to use. Make pho-
tographs you love. If that’s a simple, used,
$50, beat-up 35mm camera, or a $700
iPhone, or a $10,000 Mamiya, just do what
you love: make photographs. Leave the
pointing and shooting for others. Your pho-
tographs are judged on their own merits,
not the tool you used to create them.
 June 1, Coming home and crawling.

JUNE 09 UPDATE
[JUNE 9, 2011]
JUNE 9 UPDATE
[JUNE 9, 2011]

On June 1, the good folks at The Ottawa Hospital kicked my ass to the
curb, threw confetti in the air and told me to come back some time
when I couldn’t stay quite so long. I’d been there for 34 days, and left
hospital a full 40 days after the accident. It’s fantastic to be home.
It’s hard to put into words what this experience has done for Society a hundred times might have. Life happens to you, Anyways, I’m home. I won’t be walking again until August, I
me. It’s been, at times, frustrating and painful, and scary. There what you do with the hand you are dealt is up to you, and it’s think, and I’m a little nervous about that. In the meantime I
were times when I felt I’d reached the absolute bottom, most there that you find the choice to be happy, to find meaning. crawl wherever my wheelchair won’t take me. I’ve got more
of those involving humiliating efforts to move my bowels spare time than I’ve had in ages – time to write the first eBook
after the narcotics had plugged me up and I couldn’t get to a Of all the lessons I’ve learned over and over it’s that life is made I’ve written in over 6 months (look for it on the 28th), time
toilet. At one point my nurse, God bless him, gave me an en- of moments. They add up to create a life. So to wish any of them to work on a series of Ltd. Edition prints – the first of my work
ema and as he, uh, drove it home, he said. “Up yours, David.” away, to not look for something in each of those moments, is to I’ve put out in over a year, and time to answer emails, be more
Funniest thing I’d heard in days but it turns out enemas and wish away a piece of life. And if you do so in hopes of something engaged on Twitter and Facebook, and just sit with my mother
laughter aren’t a great combination. I’ve learned to rely on better coming around the corner, you could miss life entirely. on the porch with a Gin and Tonic. I’ll be back at the Ottawa
people for the simplest tasks, a challenge for someone usually I don’t want to get too Zen about all this, but man can life be Hospital in 2 weeks for x-rays and follow-ups and I’ll know more
so independent. I’ve learned that recovery doesn’t happen to beautiful. I am so, so grateful to be alive and I’m more than ever then. Hoping, perhaps a little too optimistically, that they let
you, you bring it. You make it happen. And I think the same aware of the fragility of life. More than ever aware that life is me weight-bear on the left leg so I can begin to use crutches.
applies to life. I was sharing a room towards the end with a what you make it. I watched UP last night and, aside from crying
man determined to be miserable, and his presence in my room my way through the first 11 minutes, was reminded again that Thank you all, again, for such kindness and support.
taught me more about living life than watching Dead Poets Adventure is out there! and that it’s up to us to seize it or not.
BUY
THE
TICKETS
[JUNE 18, 2011]
BUY THE TICKETS
[JUNE 18, 2011]

I ran across a great article this morning on the Adventure Journal.

Simply, the premise was: “You don’t need all the latest gear.
Oh, and by the way, the money you spent on that expensive
piece of gear could have purchased a plane ticket.”
The article also quoted Let My People Surf
Scenario #1 I Need The And then I went to StarAlliance.com and I’m on a tear lately about gear, and you pros
by Patagonia founder Yves Chouinard, Best Stuff Out There priced out a Round The World ticket. out there aren’t exempt either. Spending
a book I finished recently: “Don’t spend From San Francisco to Paris to Nairobi to money on new work and personal projects
Canon 1Ds Mk III – $6,995
money on gear. Spend it on plane tickets.” Mumbai to Bangkok to Melbourne to To- will generally benefit your bottom line much
EF 70-200/2.8L IS II – $2,449
kyo and back to San Francisco. more significantly, without the deprecia-
EF 16-35/2.8L II – $1,699
Got me to thinking, especially on the heels tion on gear, than the latest lens will.
EF 85/1.2L II – $2.079
of three podcasts interviews I did last week, Total with Taxes – $5,823
Total – $13,222
all of them giving freedom to rant about Forget the shiny stuff, it gets tarnished
gear-lust and our addiction to the toys. And Still Left Over – $2,973. Almost $3000. fast. Put your camera into the bag and
that thinking led me to the B&H Photo site. Scenario #2 I’d Rather Handy for hostels, taxis, food. book a flight instead. Go make memories
I only visit on Saturdays now, because the
Have Money Left Over to and photographs. Live. Buy the tickets.
ordering mechanism is closed for the Sab-
Photograph the WORLD And the kicker? In no time that gear will be
bath, giving my wallet a sabbatical as well. Canon 5D Mk II – $2,499.95 obsolete. Your memories and the photographs
And then I went to StarAlliance.com. Here’s EF 70-200/4.0L – $669.00 taken on 4 continents will last as long as you
my math. ( Update: I used Canon in these EF 17-40/4.oL – $839.00 do. Experiences never get stolen, or go obsolete.
example because, while I choose Nikon, I EF 85/1.8 – $419.00 And if you got a Canon 7D and settled for
am still much more familiar with Canon’s Total – $4,426 non-L-series lenses, you’d have at least another
line-up. Nikon has its equivalents.) The Difference? $8,796 couple thousand to spend on your adventure.
THE Another idealistic post this morning, I’m afraid.

RECORD IS
I blame Gary Vaynerchuk. Once in a while I
re-read his book Crush-It! or watch a podcast
and he fires me up, reminds me that even the
sermons I preach myself could be preached with

SKIPPING:
greater conviction. Two nights ago I watched this
video and since then have re-watched it at least
a half-dozen times: Watch it on YouTube HERE

DO WHAT You should watch it. It’s 15 minutes of ranting by

a very passionate and intelligent man that has the
chops and credibility to back up what he says.

YOU LOVE Last week I did a podcast with Martin Bailey, a

photographer I both like and respect. He recently
discovered he had a brain tumor. My massage

[JUNE 22, 2011] therapist just buried his mother. Others that I
know have lost and are losing loved ones.
THE RECORD IS SKIPPING:
DO WHAT YOU LOVE
Life is short. And as Gary says, we have one
chance at this. One. And if you thought
I was on a tear about how short life is
and how intentionally we need to live
it, with every word and breath and wak-
ing moment, it’s going to get worse.
Here’s some sound-bites from Gary (warning,
the language gets a little rough) Some of these
bites will apply to everyone, some are more
specific to the VisionMongers in the crowd.
But if you get nothing else from the video, ask
yourself – what am I that passionate about.
“Let’s start with passion. There is [sic] way
too many people in this room right now,
that are doing stuff they hate. PLEASE
STOP DOING THAT. There is no reason in
2008 to do shit you hate. None. Promise
me you won’t. Because you can lose just
as much money being happy as hell.”
“Let’s talk about community. Listen to your
users, absolutely. But giving a shit about your
users is WAY BETTER. People listen but they
don’t do anything. Doing something, answer-
ing those emails, giving a crap, caring about
your user base – that’s what you need to do.”
“You need to care about everything, and
it starts with yourself. Look yourself in the
mirror and ask yourself, What do I want
to do everyday for the rest of my life? DO
THAT…whatever you need to do, DO IT.”
“Stop crying and just keep hustling. Hustle is
the most important word ever. And that’s what
you need to do. You need to work so hard.”
“Legacy is greater than currency.”
“If you for a second – a half a second – don’t
believe in what you’re doing, whether
it’s your personal brand or the product
you represent, GET OUT NOW. We only
get to play this game once. One Life.”
“The only way to succeed now is to be com-
pletely transparent. Completely. Everything
is exposed. Everything you do. So your legacy
is your ultimate life. It’s all you’ve got. And
[JUNE 22, 2011]
you can build so much on that. When you
have brand equity so much can happen.”
“I don’t want to hear about this nine to five
bullshit. I don’t want to hear about this 2 job
thing, 9-5, I don’t have time. If you want this, if
you’re miserable, or if you don’t like it, or you
want to do something else, and you have a pas-
sion somewhere else. Work 9 to 5, spend a cou-
ple hours with your family. 7 to 2 in the morn-
ing is plenty of time to do damage. But that’s
it. It’s not going to happen any other way.”
“If you’re doing something else and you want
to do this thing you love, you do it after hours.
You work 9-6, you get home, you kiss the dog,
and you go to town. You start building your
equity in your brand after hours. Everybody has
time. STOP WATCHING F*CKING “LOST”!”
The reason this hit me so hard recently is I
keep putting out these thoughts, and I get
pushback – reasons people can’t do what they
want to do. But you know what most of it is?
It’s reasons they won’t even try. And if I can
push just one person over the edge to travel the
world, to build an amazing business, to pursue
a personal project, then it’s worth it. Because
you’ve got one crack at and your kids aren’t
an excuse. Don’t you dare use your children as
a reason not to pursue something you think
you were made for, or called to. Telling your
kids they can do anything then leaving them
with a legacy of safety and risk-aversion and
mediocrity is no way to love your kids. Yes,
you’ll do things differently, but do them all
the same. If it’s travel, and so many on this
blog are travelers, then sell your second car,
forget the big-screen TV. Scrimp and save and
hustle and do whatever it takes to do that
thing you lie awake at night thinking about.
Clear your debt, work your ass off, but there
is no excuse not to do what you love. Don’t
have enough time? I love that last line from
Gary. Stop watching f*cking LOST. Turn the
TV off. Sell it. Use your time for something
that will really and truly make a difference in
your life. Or at very least stop telling people
you’d conquer the world if only you had time
IMPRESSIONS
[JUNE 26, 2011]
IMPRESSIONS
One of the first things I did when the
Ottawa Hospital finally let me have a Day
Pass to go wreak havoc in Ottawa was
make a bee-line for the National Gallery
with a friend. What I most wanted to
see, and hadn’t for a few too many years,
was the work of the Group of Seven. I
could stand in front of them for hours.
I’ll let you look them up when you have
a moment, but I strongly recommend
you do. They were my first love affair
with impressionism, and if you have
time, and ever find yourself in Kleinburg,
Ontario, the McMichael Canadian Art
Collection has what I believe the largest
collection. But I’m getting off track.
There’s something about the impression-
ists, and I’ll as happily spend a day in Paris’
Musée d’Orsay which houses a lot of Euro-
pean Impressionist paintings, because they
feel like something. More than mere illus-
tration they illicit, at least in me, stronger
emotions. I never studied Art History; I
probably should have. But I know what I
[JUNE 26, 2011]
like; I know what moves me. And standing
in front of paintings of Algonquin and the
north shore of Lake Superior, I wondered
how I could put that kind of mood into
my own work, in ways beyond the obvi-
ous. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks.
And then last Friday we drove Corwin, my
manager, back to the airport and it rained
and rained. I spent the entire drive with
my iPhone pushed up to the window,
having more fun creatively than I have
had since the moments before I fell off
the wall in Italy. I don’t know that I’ve
accomplished what I wanted, but I’ve
found clues. These three photographs
feel the way I feel about the countryside
I grew up in, at least on certain days.
And to me, the ability to express those
things is increasingly important. I’ve
said often that photography is a way of
pointing, of saying “Look at that!” It’s
also a way to say, “I feel __________about
that,” in the hopes that others might
Both photographs were made with my iPhone 4, cropped to 4x5,
see it, and feel it that way too. and processed with the Magic Hour filter, all in the Camera+ App.
ORIGINALITY
IS OVERRATED
[JULY 12, 2011]
There is much talk in artsy circles about be-
ing “original”. I’m not even sure I know
what that means. (Or if it exists.)
Of all the places to put our energy, I think
this is among the more futile. It’s the
wrong answer to the right question.
Is desiring originality (insert vague personal
definition here) a good thing? Yes. Of course.
If we can agree on the meaning. But however
you define it, it’s merely a by-product.
You are already unique. If you do the work you do with
honesty, integrity, curiosity, boldness, and courage, you
will find your work as unique – and original – as you are.
If you aim for originality you may produce
work that is indeed original. It’ll be un-
like anything else, including you.
DO
THE
WORK
[JULY 15, 2011]
DO
THE
WORK
[JULY 15, 2011]
“The artist is nothing without the gift, but the gift is nothing without work.”
~Emile Zola
Lately I’ve had nothing but time. My feet are still weak
and the closest I come to walking is fearful crutch-work
across the kitchen floor as I put more and more weight
on the feet. I have visions of the screws and plates pop-
ping out. It’s scary as hell. But if there’s one thing I know
about physiotherapy, it’s this: recovery doesn’t show up
on your doorstep. You don’t say, “I’ll do the exercises after
my feet heal.” You do the work, the healing comes.
The same is true of photography, writing, or any creative
endeavor. You do the work. There is no muse; at least not one
that is beckoned by anything but work. There is no amount
of talent that compensates for lack of work. Everything I have
read about creativity echoes the same thing. And it is that we
do the work. Our work. The work that others will call art, or
for which they’ll credit us with genius (or not). But however
highly we think of it, or don’t, it remains simply work.
There are frustrations aplenty in the creative life. We work
within constraints. We have highs where not a soul could
touch us if they tried, and lows where the same is true. In
other words, it’s hard enough without on top of that worrying
about the size of our talent compared to others, or whether
the muse will show up, or if we’ve thought our last creative
thought, made our last beautiful photograph. When you get
frustrated, just begin. Pick up the camera and do the work.
Sit down at the laptop and start the edit. Do the work.
Don’t worry about getting inspired, being origi-
nal, or any of the other things that haunt the crea-
tive mind. The muse will show up, she always does.
It’s she who’s waiting. Just start. Do the work.
“Inspiration exists, but it has to find us working.” ~ Picasso
“Just as appetite comes by eating, so work brings inspiration, if
inspiration is not discernible at the beginning.” ~ Igor Stravinsky
ORIGINALITY
PART II
[JULY 17, 2011]
ORIGINALITY PART II
[JULY 17, 2011]

A week ago I left what might have been my shortest post ever: Originality
is Overrated. It generated some good discussion, and from the comments
it seemed to really resonate and get some thoughts going. My own
thinking has been stirring too, but before I tell you where those thoughts
have -for now – settled, I wanted some ghosts to have their say:
“Insist upon yourself. Be original.” “Millions of men have lived to fight, build palaces Not all of them appear to agree. But I think being prescriptive. But in general I think that
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson and boundaries, shape destinies and societies; all of them are right in one sense or another. making the pursuit of originality our primary
but the compelling force of all times has been the There are three apparently different things pursuit as creative people, results in work that
“Originality is the art of concealing force of originality and creation profoundly affect- being said by these voices. The first is that is different, but not necessarily honest. And
your sources” ~ Benjamin Franklin ing the roots of human spirit.” ~ Ansel Adams originality does exist, and is desirable. The for many it is crippling, because imitation and
second is that no true originality exists. The influence are among the first steps to learning
“Originality exists in every individual “Originality is merely an illusion” ~ M.C. Escher third implies originality is in fact possible, our craft. Originality is not the greatest good.
because each of us differs from the oth- but is not relative to what already exists, but
ers. We are all primary numbers divisible “The merit of originality is not novelty; to the artist himself. I think we’re using the I believe in originality in this sense:
only by ourselves.” ~ Jean Guitton it is sincerity.” ~ Thomas Carlyle same word to mean slightly different things.
Sense A. Creativity is about combining
“What moves those of genius, what inspires “Utter originality is, of course, out So here’s where I’m at on the issue, without existing elements into new combinations
their work is not new ideas, but their obses- of the question” ~ Ezra Pound over-thinking it any further. And if it seems and there are nearly infinity possibilities
sion with the idea that what has already been I’ve flip-flopped on the issue, I don’t think out there. Yes, all art is derivative, but that
said is still not enough.” ~ Eugene Delacroix “Originality does not consist in saying what no I have, just looking at it a little broader. doesn’t mean borrowing influence & inspi-
one has ever said before, but in saying exactly ration, from, say, Monet, Leonard Cohen,
“It is better to fail in originality than to suc- what you think yourself.” ~ James Stephens I think the search for originality burdens art- and a turnip, can’t result in something new.
ceed in imitation.” ~ Herman Melville ists. Does it exist? I think so. But I need to Something that is, in a real sense, original
qualify that, and that’s hard to do without (even though we’ve not defined the word.)
ORIGINALITY PART II
[JULY 17, 2011]

Sense B. While the basic truth of being human is that we share
profound commonalities, we are all different. That makes us, as
creators, unique, with the possibility of creating unique work.
Being true to that uniqueness and creating work that is honest
and imaginative, opens us to the possibility of originality.
We all do things for different reasons. For me the goal
is to create, express, and communicate, my reactions to
this life and this world, in a way that is faithful to who I
am. Whether it is ever seen as original doesn’t matter. I’d
rather it be faithful. I like how C.S. Lewis expressed it:

My friend Anita, a woman with an artists heart and inquisitive

mind, used a great word recently in a discussion about this. The
“Even in literature and art, no man who bothers
about originality will ever be original: whereas
word was possibility, and that’s why I’m using it so much here.
We’re trying, in debates about originality to pin things down
without defining our terms, all the while avoiding the possibility if you simply try to tell the truth (without
that originality and uniqueness exist. She said, “I think it should
be less about defining originality or debating its existence, and
caring twopence how often it has been told
more about being open to possibility, creativity, imagination.” before) you will, nine times out of ten, become
And that’s where I end up in my thinking as well. Do I believe in
original without ever having noticed it.”
the possibility of originality? For me that still depends on how
we’re using the word, but yes. I like to believe in infinite possi- – C. S. Lewis
bility. It allows room for my imagination. It implies creative free-
dom is possible. But it’s still a by-product of a search for some-
thing else and not the goal itself. Our creative minds and hearts
will flourish more, and create with greater faithfulness to who
we are, if we stop making originality the goal and allow our-
selves to be overtaken by the pursuit of honest expression, play,
and imagination. Be yourself. Do the work. The rest will follow.
CREATIVITY:
FIND YOUR
RHYTHM
[JULY 21, 2011]

Finding my own rhythm again hasn’t been easy, but it’s still there. Sometimes the waves
just seem to take longer to crest, but they do. This was the first time I really picked up a
camera since the accident. It took me two months to get there. Photo: Cynthia Haynes.
CREATIVITY: FIND YOUR RHYTHM
[JULY 21, 2011]
Every creative person I know goes through ups and downs, as though our
creative life rides on top of the water and rises and falls with the waves.
We experience brilliant highs and depress-
ing lows. When the wind kicks up and the
ocean is wild, the highs are higher, and
we feel glorious, unstoppable, and they
crash harder, the glory gone. Stopped.
What helps is not looking too closely at the
wave, but at the ocean itself. Pull back, look at
the water from a hill ten miles distant and the
water looks smooth as glass – as your creative
life does, or will, from a distance. The dips and
peaks evened out. This helps not because it
makes one bit of difference when you’re at the
bottom of a wave cycle and you feel like you’ve
made your last good, beautiful, photograph or
written your last honest word. It helps because
it allows us to understand the cycle, to use it, to
ride out the waves, even building momentum.
Our creative life, the very nature of how most
of us work internally, is rhythmic. Brilliant crea-
tivity is unsustainable day-to-day. A wave that
has a high, but is not flanked by lows, is not a
wave, it’s placid water. No lows, but no highs,
either. We have a word for it in the creative
world – mediocrity. Todd Henry, in his book
The Accidental Creative, says, “mediocrity is a
high price to pay for a lifetime of safety.” You
can’t have this creative life, ask for the highs,
and never get the lows. That doesn’t make the
lows easier, but it’s nice to feel normal, isn’t it?
Creativity happens in the space between tak-
ing in and incubating as many influences as
the world allows us, and the sudden rush of
a newborn idea who comes into the world in
a mix of hard work and joy, sweat and tears.
The birth of that idea, and the execution of
it, are often on the crest of the wave. They are
the high points for which we live. If the high
point of that wave is adoration and praise,
then you’re missing out. Singer/songwriter Josh
Ritter sings, “I’m singing for the love of it, have
mercy on the man who sings to be adored.”
Russian actor (and originator of Method act-
ing) Konstantin Stanislavsky, said, “Love the
art in yourself, not yourself in the art.” But
that’s a digression, not really my point.
My point is this (man, he’s long-winded!): it’s
in the lows of the wave where we feed inspira-
tion. If we are conscious of the shape of the
wave and the way our process works, we know
that wave will crest again. What we do at the
bottom of the wave determines how much
momentum we have at the top. We can spend
that time being depressed and feeling sorry
for ourselves, or we can feed the muse. We
can go to the museum, the gallery, the coffee
shop, the library, the theatre, wherever it is
you find your own paint stirred. Forget how
you’ve suddenly lost your brilliance. Go find
the brilliance of others and let it feed your
soul. Go be with your family, read a book, and
then, most importantly, do the work. Don’t set
your camera down simply because inspiration
hasn’t yet come. Inspiration, says French poet
Charles Baudelaire, comes from working.
Riding these waves gets more predictable the
longer you do it; you see the rhythm in it,
you begin to know your process. I will often
mumble this to myself in the lows, when I
am doing the work and my Muse (wretched,
unreliable, prodigal Muse, where the hell is
she?!) is nowhere in sight. “Trust your pro-
cess, David. It’ll come.” and I keep working,
mumbling other things, less savory and less
family-rated things, but I keep at it, and the
movement of the wave carries me forward,
pulls me upward, as it always does, and I be-
gin to get excited about what I might find at
the top, and I get more grateful for the Muse
(wonderful, reliable, always-present Muse!).
Do the work. Trust your process.
Ride the wave out.
45 DAYS.
[JULY 23, 2011]
45 DAYS.
[JULY 23, 2011]

This is a pragmatic post, and I hope it doesn’t sound too preachy. But one
of the things creatives struggle with is finding time to create. We all do.
I get emails all the time asking how I cram it all in, how I “find the time to
do everything I do.” I posted a longer, different response to that question
last August, if you want more on the subject. But if you want to get right
to it, here’s how to find 45 days.
I was reading Todd Henry’s new book, The So I did some more math. If I freed up one have 45 days left over at the end to spend on can. But fill the days with little things first
Accidental Creative, this morning. There hour a day it would give me 365 hours. Broken what you want. But you can pay yourself first. and there won’t be room for the big ones.
was a little piece of math in there that into 8-hour days, that would give me 45 days
twigged in my mind. He said he’d spend one of time. To do the thing I said I most wanted Paying yourself first is important if you want Break it into whatever pieces you want, and
minute each morning doing a futile, seem- to do, but “just didn’t have the time.” to save money. Paying yourself first with your spend it on whatever you want. But remember
ingly insignificant task, until he added up time is also important. It’s putting the big time is not money. Time is far more important
the minutes. 1 minute each day for a year I know that some people truly are stretched for rocks in first. Spend that hour a day working than money. You will never be able to borrow
adds up to 6 hours of time wasted. Gone. time. They probably need to slow down or cut on your latest project, then use whatever time back the time that’s gone. And mortgaging your
back on a few things, I don’t know. But I do you have left for Twitter. Take the 2 week trip present in hopes of time later (I’ll do it when I
Every creative person I know has at one point know this. There is never “time left over.” You first, then allow some of the less important retire…) is just plain crazy. Your kids will never
told me they didn’t have enough time for a won’t get to the end of the year and find you’ve things to remain undone at the end of the year. get any younger. Your personal project will
personal project, to re-build an aging portfolio, got 3 weeks longer than you thought left over. If it’s important and it matters to you more never complete itself. But Twitter will always be
to learn a new skill. Most of them seem to find It’s the same with money. Our expenses fill to than whatever little things fill the countless there. So will Facebook. LOST will be on DVDs
or make the time to send out tweets, pour over take up the slack, and for some people they little 5 and 10 minute blocks of time, then until Jesus comes back. You can watch it later.
Facebook, or check emails a couple dozen times overflow. But you can’t get time on credit. book it. Put it on the calendar. Pay yourself
an hour. Many of them have seen an entire So 24 hours is all you have in one day. I also first and let the little things fit in where they If you have time.
season of whatever the last big TV show was. know that you can’t save one hour a day and
DON’T
STOP
[JULY 26, 2011]
I rediscovered this sequence of photographs while
putting together Photographically Speaking. In the
book I discuss one of these images and explore the
elements and decisions that make the photograph
what it is. But looking at the 3 together I think there’s
a lesson along the lines of the stuff I’ve been talking
about lately, specifically the idea of inspiration coming
from work, and my more recent post, Do The Work.

Agra Fort. Agra, India. 2008.

DON’T STOP
[JULY 26, 2011]
It’s easy to see something, to photograph
it, and to move on. But you can photograph
even the most amazing scene – the one
where you’re sure you “got the shot” from
an almost limitless number of angles.
Add that to a variety of focal lengths,
and you’ve got your work cut out
for you. This is the photographer’s
equivalent of the writer sitting down
at her laptop to write the next chapter.
This is the process of experimentation,
muttering to yourself, then trying
something else. It’s creating 100
sketch images to get to the next one.
It’s why we need to understand the
elements of the visual language; so we
recognize them when we see them and
put them to good use. Because, frank-
ly, there is no “got the shot.” There are
thousands of potential photographs in
these scenes, not one, and how long
you’re willing to explore, how recep-
tive you are to what is in front of you,
determines how many of them you
create. I thought I had the shot when I
took the top photograph. I was giddy.
I nearly ran off to show someone how
amazing I was. My (misguided) ego
nearly ruined this series. Sure, you
could stop at one. But sometimes the
good gets in the way of the great, and
I think this series together is more
powerful than the first photograph
alone, but even on their own, these
three – and making them – brought
me more joy than I’d have had to
simply stop at one and call it a day.
The writer doesn’t stop and pat herself
on the back when she’s written a
really great sentence. She keeps writ-
ing. She does the work. Because she
knows there’s a better sentence around
the corner, and they’ll fit together
brilliantly and the combination of
the two will be even better than both
alone and no amount of patting
herself on the back will create that
next line. Just work. The work. YOUR
work. Being open, receptive, and
observant, comes with practice, not
as a stroke of luck. Keep at it. I shot
this, still struggling (I know, my angst
is exhausting) to get comfortable with
my craft, after 20 years as a photog-
rapher. I’m getting there. So are you.
“All the technique in the world
doesn’t compensate for the inabil-
ity to notice.” ~ Elliott Erwitt.
YOU’RE ON YOUR OWN.
[PREVIOUSLY UNPUBLISHED.]
This might sound odd coming from someone
who spends so much time and energy teach-
ing photography, but at the end of it all,
you’re truly on your own, and the sooner
you know it and embrace it and lean into
it, the sooner you will learn this craft.
I’m hesitant to kill the golden calf from which
I make my living, but there is only so much
you can learn about a camera and a lens. After
that you need to stop studying cameras and
gear and begin studying photographs. Cameras
won’t make you a better photographer; only
you can do that. Photoshop actions or the latest
____________(insert famous-guy name here) Ef-
fect won’t make you a better photographer. Nor
(with apologies to my sponsors) will lighter tri-
pods, faster CF cards, or bigger lenses. Photogra-
phy is not a technical art, so pursuing the tech-
nical with such reckless abandon (and spending)
will lead you to nowhere but technique.
Photography is an aesthetic art. It is expression
and communication accomplished through
technical means, but photography, as the name
implies, is about the photograph. It is not about
the camera. That’s camera-collecting. And if
you’re into that, fine, but don’t mistake - as my
friend Fernando once pointed out - collecting
guitars for being a musician. Music is not about
the guitar or the cello. It’s about the music.
Want to be a better guitar-player, practice like
a man on fire. Want to be a better musician?
Ah, that’s a different thing. It doesn’t have to
be, but mere technique won’t get you there.
So, the jagged little pill is that at some point
even the best of the myriad books and videos
and workshops, my own included, will only
take you part of the way there. For one glori-
ous summer as a teenager, I life-guarded and
taught swimming. We can teach you to hold
the dock, kick your feet, and flail your arms in
the water, but you’re not swimming until you
let go and figure out the finer points on your
own and move slowly but surely across the
water. But you’ve got to risk drowning to do it.
I recently quoted Sam Abell as saying, “a mad,
keen photographer needs to get out into the
world and work and make mistakes.” He’s right.
The best thing you can do to complement your
books and other learning is to set them aside
and go flail a while. Regularly practice your craft
- at whatever point it is - out of sight of your
teachers, mentors, and influences for a while.
Play. Experiment. Make as many mistakes as you
can, then learn from them. Only then, equipped
with new insights and questions, return to your
technical education for a season, if you must.
But more than that: learn about photographs.
Not lenses or cameras or ISOs. Photographs. And
then when you’ve plumbed those depths, learn
all you can about light, and moments. Each
step takes us away from the gear as a focus and
toward something infinitely more helpful - we
become distracted by beauty and moments
and the elegant geometry of the frame instead
of the technology which exists to be no more
than a pencil or paintbrush or word-processor
is to other artists: merely a dumb tool. It only
speaks the words we give it, and until we’ve
something to say and the voice to say it with,
the buttons and dials have no life. Only you can
find that intent, only you can find your voice.
Books will help point the way, so will men-
tors and workshops and videos. But that’s
all they can do: point the way. They can not
go with you, nor can they walk the foot-
steps for you, play in your place, or make
the mistakes that will be your best teach-
ers if you’re willing to learn from them.
 AUGUST 4
UPDATE
[AUGUST 4, 2011]
Rio Grande, New Mexico
AUGUST 4 UPDATE
[AUGUST 4, 2011]
What an amazing 3 months. It’s now almost 15 weeks since my accident,
and there have been times I didn’t think I was ever going to walk again.
I’m still nervous. But I have hope. My casts are
off, I’ve been off the sleeping pills and pain
meds for weeks and finally sleeping through
the night. Until Tuesday I’d taken a couple
dozen nervous first steps without crutches.
After wondering, at points, if I’d ever walk
again, those dozen first steps and few more
since then, were amazing. They gave me hope.
On Tuesday I was cleared for 100% weight-
bearing on both feet, which means I’m now
walking. It’s a sore, nervous, and painfully slow
walk, but it’s a walk all the same. I’m now,
as of today, 3 months post-op and should be
in full-time rehab as soon as space becomes
available. I’m using a cane part-time for small
distances, though walk with a pronounced
limp. I’ve always been a fan of Dr. House, so
now all I need is a Vicodin addiction and I’m
nearly there. A second surgery in October
to shave off some bone, and pull a plate and
some screws, should help with the limp and
make walking less painful and limp-y. It’s been
a hard three months, at times I didn’t know if
I had the strength to do it, but I’ve had more
time with family these last two months at
home than I have in 20 years put together.
I’ve had time to write, to connect with friends
and readers. I’ve taken in a few great exhibits
at the National Gallery. I’ve learned to slow
down. And I’ve learned what I’m capable of.
I wanted an adventure when I set out this
year. What an adventure it’s been! I’m still
not out of the woods, but I’m getting there
and Jessie should be waiting for me when
I am. She’s meant to be coming north on a
flat-bed trailer, thanks to a friend in Atlanta,
and will get dumped on Jeffrey Chapman’s
lawn for a week or two, and just as soon as I
can, my Dad and I will do the 4-hour drive
together and bring her home. Then we’ll
fix a couple things, get her licensed here in
Ontario, re-fit her with some better gear and
after my travels this fall, and a month in Africa
in January, we’ll be back out there. For the
first time in months it feels possible again.
I’ve learned a lot of lessons through this but
none more than the incredible capacity to
endure, and thrive, through things I never
thought I’d be able to endure. I’ve had mo-
ments of unbelievable pain, and nearly unbear-
able humiliation. There were nights I’d cry
myself to sleep because it hurt so much. There
were weeks when the only way – and forgive
me for the details – to go to the toilet was to
hang, after an enema, from a bar over my bed,
perched carefully, with a broken pelvis, on a
bed pan, and hoping to God I could make it
happen, while the other two men in the same
room suffered through the change in air qual-
ity. Sadly, I listened to Cee Lo Green on my
ipod during these experiences, and I’m not
sure I’ll ever be able to listen to him again. But
add sh*tting while hanging from a bar to my
resume. There were times I lay in bed unsure I
could do it all for one more day yet alone one
more week or 3 more months. But if we choose,
we can thrive even through the trials. Whether
we can or can’t get through struggles like this
is up to us. Whether we do it with a sense
of humour and taking joy in the moments,
whether we do more than just survive, but
thrive, that too is up to us. I’ve learned I like a
challenge and the more I’m told I can’t, I do.
The more I’m told I won’t – even when it’s my
own voice doing the telling – the more I know I
will. Because you and I, we’ve got one life, and
I’ll be damned if I’ll choose to lose one moment
of it to misery or self-pity, if choosing to be
happy and to make it through, is up to me.
But I didn’t do it – am not doing it – alone. I
know I’ve said it before, but you all never cease
to amaze me with your generosity of heart.
Thanks for being with me; you’ve all filled
my inbox, blog, Facebook and Twitter streams
with encouragement. Thank you. I’m indebted
to you for your kindness. You’ve walked a
long hard road with me and I’m grateful.
REHABILITATING ART
[AUGUST 20, 2011]
“Can you imagine the art we might make
if we were more concerned about being
ourselves and doing the work we alone
have been given, if we showed up and
just made photographs, day after day,
without regard for the brand names on
our cameras or who said what about
our photographs on Flickr or 500px?”

I saw this man in Ethiopia 4 years ago. Kneeling on one leg, missing the other, letting nothing stand in the way of
doing what he was there to do. Not the strongest photograph I’ve ever made, but man do I like this guy’s style.
REHABILITATING ART
[AUGUST 20, 2011]
I can’t begin to properly tell you how my time in physical rehab is affecting
me, but I’d like to try. Every day I am surrounded by nurses,
physiotherapists, and a crew of misfits missing limbs, learning to walk or
perform basic tasks again.
Each day I walk laps in the gym, beside others, all wrestling
with a piece of the puzzle, something standing between who
they once were and who they are becoming. Some are hav-
ing prosthetic legs fitted, some are taking dizzying first steps,
others are doing things with two prosthetic legs that I strug-
gled to do even before my accident. Everyone cheers each
other on. Everyone stops to smile or talk. Everyone faces what
they can not do with a disarming (forgive the pun) degree of
humour, knowing if they don’t laugh the only alternative is
tears, and they’re honest about those too. No one here is “all
that and a bag of chips.” No one here is a “pro” and there are
no “amateurs”. There is no fixation on gear anymore than for
the purposes of finding what works. Some use chairs, some use
crutches, some canes or $60,000 prosthetics. There are no camps.
Everyone I have met cares about one thing. They want to walk.
So we show up every day and do the work. For some that’s
calf exercises, or ankle mobilizations, for others it’s repeat-
ing one step over and over until the mechanics become
muscle memories and stick. No one here does it because they
love rehab. They do it because they just want to walk.
My PT keeps asking me if I want to walk the gym. She’s not
really asking but likes to let me pretend I have a choice. I keep
telling her I won’t learn to walk by not walking. So I walk it.
Over and over again. Last week my goal was to walk a kilometer.
I walked it, and then some. A couple times. There are guys
here that could do twice as much in half the time. Others who
would give anything to walk as well as I now do. But they don’t
compare, they do the work. And they celebrate hard when they
get there. And then they move on to the next goal. They don’t
sit on their laurels, though if anyone ever deserved to, it’s them
I find myself wishing we all, including myself, approached
photography, maybe life even, with as much grace; wishing
we could find a place where there were no comparisons, no
gear addictions. Where nothing matters but the people and
the photographs, where we cheer each other on in their vic-
tories and encourage them in their struggles. Where the gear
is nothing but a prosthetic limb we endure as much as it ac-
complishes its purpose. Where comparisons and bragging and
all the ego-drivel is irrelevant and seen for what it is – wasted
energy that might otherwise be spent on making art. Can you
imagine the art we might make if we were more concerned
about being ourselves and doing the work we alone have been
given, if we showed up and just made photographs, day after
day, without regard for the brand names on our cameras or
who said what about our photographs on Flickr or 500px?
I’m really not going anywhere with this; I just wish you
could be here in this amazing place with me. Hard? Yes.
Struggles? Absolutely. I don’t mean at all to paint rehab
with a romantic brush. It’s sweat and hurt and everyone
there came to it honestly – through pain and calamity. Some
from roadside explosives in Afghanistan, some on motor-
cycles, others through the betrayal of their own body. Life
has rubbed them hard, but you should see them shine.
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