the Wall of Pretty…
In a line moving from the space above the piano toward the opening from the living room to the kitchen at palatial Cog Manor hang five prints, photos I’ve taken in the last year or so. They are small; each matted down to live in an eight-by-ten surround, making the prints themselves around five-by-seven size, all carefully rendered in black and white, printed on the good printer.
They are simple shots, classic in their subject matter, roses and leaves and a lone tree along an undulating fence line. They are clear in idea and execution, no doubt fine additions to the overall decor of the room, and none of them are photos I would have chosen to display.
Well, that’s not strictly true; I chose all of them. But, and this is an important but, I had very little in the way of wiggle room when the request came down to me. They must be pretty, she said, and none of those, those buildings you love to photograph. And no, no pretty buildings.
This is one of the problems with being a photographer, to go along with starvation wages and a tendency to view the world as if it has a certain aspect ratio; When you reach a level of competency at which the others around you appreciate your skill, you are more or less expected to keep repeating that one skill until the end of time, or until you toss your camera out the window and take up the sitar.
And you end up with what I have upstairs, what I call the Wall of Pretty.
My recent, um, separation from employment came with a gift of time to do some of the things I’ve been meaning to get to, like weeping uncontrollably, and refusing to emerge from my house during hours of full daylight, instead skulking about the yard around dusk with a camera plastered to my face, rabbiting back inside at the sound of a passing car to sink further into the pit of my own irrelevance. You know, fun stuff.
It also gave me time to work on a web site, and like all tragedies it started out as a good idea. I would resurrect my old site, one that has been around, in various modes, concepts and looks, for ten years or so, serving mainly as an email server and calling card for anyone who wanted to know was I a real photographer or what, mostly a splash of images and little else. I thought a sleek new design, some snappy copy, a wow graphic from a series of oh-so-architectural details I’ve been shooting, and updated galleries to re-launch myself into the glamorous world of photography, don’t cha know. Just what the doctor ordered.
By golly, I even designed and had printed all new business cards. I was rocking, timing everything to coincide with a public appearance of sorts, a visible gig shooting an event with the people I used to work for, which was not at all awkward. Right.
I was a marketing fool, yo. I might have been running for office, all the smiling and tight handshakes and winking charm I laid down.
Well, as you probably know, and as I certainly know, from years at it, that being a photographer/writer/creative whatever is, how you say? crazy. Remember the scene in American Beauty where Annette Bening closes the blinds and loses it? It’s like that, only more violent, and longer, though the ending is the same; you get hold of yourself, straighten your clothes and go on.
So the day came, I rolled it out– ta-da!– and there was a universal, collective, “meh.” It was a sound surprisingly akin to what I hear when I post something here, and I bet you didn’t think I noticed that the longer it went between posts, the higher my readership went. You people are harsh.
I’m not saying we can establish a clear line of causation, but right after I went live with that site, three photo gigs I had on the books dried up, a potential got the brush-off, and one lady asked me to take her photo out of the gallery. Emails went unanswered, phone calls unreturned, the initial rush of optimism and opportunity waned, I could hear the black dog sniffing around the back door.
And here enters the crazy part, where I think it doesn’t matter, where I think it’s just fine to push myself photographically, past the wall of pretty and into interesting, to make photos that make you stop and really look, for the subtlety, the oddness, even if I’m the only one who ends up liking them.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s kind of bright in here. I just need to close the blinds.
on August 5, 2009 at 5:16 pm
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You probably don’t need any positive feedback, and are probably even hoping that none is left, however…..
Keep at it! Do what you love, and don’t give up, even when the universe is deafeningly silent.
You know, doors closing and windows opening and all that jazz.
Anne Marie´s most recent blog ..Monday Memories: Smoker’s Field
on August 7, 2009 at 9:13 am
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I don’t mind feedback, positive or negative. It’s the indifference that grates. But what the heck. I can’t not do it.
on August 7, 2009 at 3:53 pm
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I don’t get hardly any comments at all. (Please don’t grade that sentence.) But I recently had 74 people visit my site ALL IN ONE DAY. So, people are reading, I guess I’ll keep writing.
on August 8, 2009 at 12:10 am
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74 is a good day
on August 6, 2009 at 10:03 am
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It’s a variation on a comon phenomenon: I have a “hard drive directory of pretty”.
on August 7, 2009 at 9:15 am
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yeah…
on August 6, 2009 at 10:29 am
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I think it’s a constant conundrum, whether with photography or writing or music or any other creative pursuit — are you doing it for you, or are you doing it for an audience? If you cater to the masses, well, the masses might PAY YOU. Which is always nice. But can you live with what they’re paying you to DO?
(I say this as someone who used to get paid to write, and now no longer does BY CHOICE. And I am fortunate to be able to make that choice. But I do write for an audience, paid or not, and I constantly struggle with the degree to which I should cater to that audience.)
Er, sorry, that was overly verbose and egocentric. What I meant to say was: I feel you, dawg.
Badger´s most recent blog ..In which I am reduced to writing poetry
on August 7, 2009 at 9:24 am
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You’ve been around here for a while, Badger. Obviously I’m not even capable of appealing to the masses.
Sorry you had to write poetry.
on August 7, 2009 at 4:09 pm
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I get the indiference and I think I whined about that a few posts ago. Which incidentally got the most feedback to any of my posts.
Whining=popular
Now you get why Seinfeld was such a hit.
I’d go for writing/shooting/posting to piss them off.
Sometimes its a lot more satisfying than adulation.
Not that I’d know anything about adulation.
Caustic Bunny´s most recent blog ..A Bad Diet and No Exercise Killed the Radio Star
on August 8, 2009 at 12:15 am
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Not giving up is the best revenge
on August 11, 2009 at 8:25 pm
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Please,open the windows so I can see you better.I always like what I see.