why take photos
on the restlessness of outcomes
As I sat in the car today, driving towards the park to take photos of my friend’s family, I saw a bunch of crows drinking gutter ka pani on the road. Their reflections looked pretty and I wondered if I should stop and take a picture. Then I wondered (who would I be if I didn’t wonder), who would I be taking this picture for? Sometimes it does feel like that, like I’m just adding to the garbage can of superfluous data that exists on the Internet, and if not the internet, then my hard drive. What’s it for?
When I finished a mural project last week, I came home first feeling slightly the accomplishment of having completed a task, followed by the slow descent of my spirit. I felt a little irritable and upset and I could not figure out why.
I’ve written about this before; about a sense of agitation and sometimes anger that starts to colour my experience of doing creative work, usually when it’s painting. Perhaps that’s just what’s coming up that day. But what about the lowness that comes after?
I noticed while painting the wall that I thought I’d feel upset when the painting was over. How full it feels to be in the middle of a project and the fear of going back to the drawing board when it’s finished. And maybe that’s why I felt deflated. It wasn’t about finishing it, because I never want that point to actually come. But for some reason I work quickly and I want to get things done, and somehow I do.
With photos, it might be something similar. I’m not doing it for anyone as much as I am doing it to pay attention. It’s about then and then only. A good photo is a happy, although perhaps intended, byproduct - the intentionality I suppose which would make it just.. the product. But anyway.
Maybe this is why when someone sees something, like say you’re on a road trip and the driver says that this is a good spot for pictures and something in me resists the idea of getting out and taking a picture there. Perhaps this has something to do with my disdain for authority and being told what to do in general. But I also think it has to do with taking that picture simply not serving the purpose that I want it to. It’s that the camera in my hand is a reminder to look, listen. Not necessarily a reason to make memories or to post online or to make prints of. Just to really be there. So when I see a brace (I just learned this word) of ducks waddling on a farm and I don’t have my camera and I think hey, I wish I had my camera, it doesn’t really matter and I notice the agitation that arises from feeling like I’m missing out on something, but the fact is that I’m already there anyway. I lose that when I wish for the camera. This is also possibly the outcome of my ongoing internal debate about the storage space (now calmed down, thankfully) and so to come to the understanding of what the practice is really about is helpful; it’s a reminder. As with art. Piles and piles of paintings are of no use to me. Yes, perhaps I should get on it and start to sell them. But I don’t believe that’s why I do this work. Although I wish it was and that I was a better capitalistic participant of society. But alas.
This brings me to the question of why I am in such a hurry. If the hurry makes me upset and angry and deflated, why be in such a rush to get things done? This is a question. But the knowledge I arrived at earlier about the process is a useful nudge for when that haste starts to kick in again.
So good 🩷 you've been noticing ever since you first held a camera in your hand and started the 365 day project. You help others notice too, when you choose to share 😊 And that's so good.
Lovely post!