The goal of the approach that I propose–a metaphysics of decreation for the photographer–is to face (and not to turn away from) the limitations of the camera and of life itself (which are very nearly one and the same, as I’ll explain) with dignity and assurance, employing an active strategy to meet the incompletion that is our basic human condition–to strike a bargain between what is and what is not. And then to make something durable from that. -Tim Carpenter
Facing the limitations of the camera and of life itself. That part struck a chord within me in Tim Carpenter’s most recent book To Photograph Is To Learn How To Die, a book that I keep diving back into in my free time. And before I get into what I like to call Photographic Ramblings.. I’ll warn you: this post is going to be wordy and open to interpretation. But it feels like something I need to write out for my own good!
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By facing those limitations, we accept the world for what it is–and most importantly, what it is not. For me, this goes hand in hand with expectations I have when it comes to work I yearn to create. This future work I’m talking about is often created with reference to past experiences I’ve had, other artists’ work, places I read about online, etc. So many details around me inspire me in one way or another. And those ideas and formulations tend to snowball in my never-ending hamster-wheel of a brain. I can conceive this perfect photograph in my head but as soon as I am in the act of pressing down on the shutter, that pre-conceived imagery seems to vanish for the most part as I am fully engulfed in the present moment; focusing solely on what is in front of me and the camera.
As I originally wrote this down on scratch paper, an idea had dawned on me: perhaps this constant back-and-forth between what is and what is not is what keeps me sane, in a creative sense. And by sane, I mean never fully satisfied. Never quite finished. Always aware that there is another great photo to be made. But at the same time, accepting. That is what the human condition is to me..photographically speaking. It’s this constant dance with the ever-changing light around me. It’s me being drawn in by even the slightest bit of wind, tiniest critter and/or speck of dust floating through the air. And as I dance with the world around me, taking visual and literal notes, I am also swimming through the high and low tides of my emotions..hoping that what I capture with the camera changes my way of thinking for even just a minute or two. In this, I can only hope that the slightest change in composition and form (light, texture, shapes, angles, etc.) gives birth to new beginnings/thoughts and results in a photograph or two that I find beautiful. And then the hunger continues..
That’s the beauty and truth of photography to me. It keeps the photographer searching. It keeps the photographer present in their own unique world…living fully. And to top it all off, it reminds us that nothing ever truly lasts: the light will always change (falling behind the horizon or hiding behind clouds, trees, etc. for some time), your emotions will continue to fluctuate as they always have, and perspectives will begin to bloom or simply die off. The camera helps us make sense of this strange world by allowing us to react to the moments (fragments) of our own reality, even if it’s just for a few seconds. Carpenter mentions, “We sense in the photograph the very contingency of being alive” and to each and everyone of us, the definition of being alive is so vast. So different. So personal. And it’s usually not even completely nor easily defined by any of us. It’s simply–and quite confusingly–a gut feeling. An intuitive language.
But that’s what makes a photograph and photography so special; it can make us all feel so many different emotions and ways of being alive. And with human-to-human connection, it can bring people closer together when they feel alive in a similar way as one another. That’s what this book has helped me grasp as I revisit its pages from time to time: photography is my ultimate connection to the world and others around me.
Within the limitations of the camera and of life itself, they often flower with opportunities. And may those opportunities teach us how to love and remain receptive..and most importantly, feel alive.
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In so many ways I don’t understand what I photograph except that I feel compelled to show the world the (maybe flawed) beauty that I briefly saw. In the time it took you to compose your thoughts for this lovely piece how many moments of beauty passed undocumented? Everything is fleeting. I am learning to think in terms of “bodies of work” rather than individual images. Thanks for this! ✌️
I can't wait to finally read Tim's book. Lovely read, and well formulated thoughts! Stay hungry 🤍