What We Have is All We Have (and it’s enough)
Lately I have seen posts on social media bemoaning the fact that algorithms have essentially made it impossible for artists like photographers to find audiences. They spend exhaustible energy chasing trends and trying to guess the right concoction that will bring viewers to their work. They are convinced that the interaction of others will validate what they do.
I to from time to time have chased this tantalizing idea. I’ve never delved deep into the primordial pie of the “x’s” and “o’s” that maybe could bring me to a different level of success. I investigate for a while, I watch videos that promise to show me how. But quickly I surmise that those who have their views go viral or their revenues ka-ching are those who are selling us ways to cheat the systems or outsmart the systems which bring viewership (and hopefully, revenue) to our personal endeavors.
Feeling validation from others, of course, is important. But ultimately, as I have continued this journey of life and the years add up to the eventual inevitable demise, I find myself more concerned with pleasing myself than hunting ceaselessly for more ‘I Like’s.’ Do I have daydreams of some gallery or museum discovering me and mounting an exhibition of my work? Of course. Such thoughts keep me on my toes. In fact, several years ago, I even crafted my own book called The Exhibition(ist) which followed the pseudo career of none other, myself. I actually love that book, and you should check in out by clicking the title. It’s sort of my finger to the entire idea of finding fame through the eyes of others.
Is this sounding a bit Grinchy? Well, so what, right? When we are out and about capturing images do we really care if…
A) We ever look at them again?
B) We ever print them?
C) A 30x40 wall mounted signed limited edition goes for $4,500?
I think most of us are busy out in the field or sitting with images on iPads creating and the actual process is when we feel like a tiny God, and that’s enough. Once we let these images out into the world, we briefly want them to catch flight, but already our attention has turned away to the next.
It’s not awful thoughts to hope one day our passion could actually pay bills. Or gain us a home in our own version of Hollywood Hills. But for every Anne Leibowitz or Steve McCurry there are a million Vivian Meier’s, whose work during life never pays for a light bulb or a kind word in an article. And a million more who never are seen except for the encouraging words (though they are shaking their head and wondering when you will get a real job) of a sibling or parent.
We have to remember this fact. Luckily Vincent Van Gogh had some sort of universal health insurance when he cut off his ear, because the fact is he never sold a painting. All he had were the tumultuous voices in his head that made the siroccos of color on his canvases. But for the kindness of his brother he wouldn’t even have the funds to buy paint. (I wonder if for a brief moment when he saw the blood on his hands from his self inflicted wound did he think how to bottle up the pigment for later use.)
We should never give up seeking the audience we envision. Peers and critics force us to always see what others are doing. We learn by imitation, we grow confident in our own extrapolations, we do basic grooming so just in case John Szarkowski reaches out from the beyond and picks us to have the next MoMA exhibition, we don’t smell. I already know the name of my exhibition. What the Fuck, is This Porn? (Thinking, algorithm.)
This is my thoughts. All I have is all I have, and if I get lucky one day, some of what I have others will perhaps see. Most will think good thoughts, I know, even if they say nothing. Of course some will say unkind things; that seems more likely in our social media driven world where discountenance is a more likely viral viewing path. My path right now is to continue to change my life to fit comfortably within my means. To embrace the restrictions of what I can afford and free up the energy spent filling closets with clothes or empty rooms with bric-a-brac and expend that fuel the artistic expression I want to see mechanized in words and pictures.
Today walking to coffee I snapped this photo of a girl walking down the street . She was a vivd highlight surrounded by the dull of the environment, her tiny self an exclamation point amid the high-rises. I noticed her immediately and waited with my poet’s soul for her to reach a certain spot before snapping the shutter. We two danced for a brief second. We were both who we were and somehow an alchemy was created where her self expression became for me a brief little piece of art. No rules. No social media “I Likes.” A picture and a moment times a million more similar instances in a world where all of humankind fits as separate grains of sand on one wide beach in the Bahamas. She dressed this morning to please herself. I similarly write these words and share this photo for my own inner satisfaction. It’s enough. (Though an I Like would be much appreciated.)
