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If you’re digitally attached to LensCulture, Aperture or other photography foundations/organizations, you’ve no doubt seen the notices for competitions, be they “portrait,” “art,” “street”—whatever. I entered two during the last year, and paid the fee for a review by a judge, because, not being a “trained” photographer, and having little opportunity for feedback during the pandemic (aside from social media likes), I want some thoughtful insight from someone who has actual photographic knowledge and experience.
I have produced good photographs, in particular those that were to supplement a written story for publication. But, as I’ve explored photography for its own sake, I’ve never felt I “found a groove.” As in, what’s my point? What’s my narrative? I keep getting out there, snapping that shutter, hoping to find a pattern, a narrative, in the work. This is a strange sensation for me. As a professional writer, journalist and editor for 20 years, finding the narrative was my job. And as an editor, I often had to find that narrative for a writer struggling with a story. I was good at it.
Most recently, I entered an “art” photo competition (a category so amorphous that I question its effectiveness, but, to keep in good standing with this organization one needs to enter one competition per year).
It was a hasty submission, literally going in at the last hour. That is never a good way to do these things. But, I had a couple images from the Fourth of July, 2019, on the brain. I found a couple more acceptable ones from that day and put a “series” together, with a brief description:
Visiting a town within a “battleground state” that showed evidence of its split between the “political” divides. Still, even with the vitriol of the then-President himself, there was, at the time, effort by both “sides” at cordiality, a showing of residential unity. This was signified by the Fourth of July celebration, down by one of the chain of lakes in the area. Gathered together, in darkness near the lake, the ground spongy like a bog from recent heavy rains. In the darkness everyone sat in lawn chairs to watch rockets fired from nearby, over the lake.
Aside from a few street lamps bolted atop power poles, the only illumination for the photos was supplied by the fireworks—its relentless “grand finale” seemed to foreshadow the tightening noose that would be 2020 itself.
I look back on these photos and wonder if even this moment of unity within tension—given the realities that occurred as 2020 (and January 6, 2021) came to existence—is even possible in the near, or intermediate, future. America’s division is not politics, after all, but between fact and fiction, community and individual.
These shots were taken with a Hasselblad 500C, circa 1960, using Ilford 3200 film.
At the time, I shot these to test the limits of Ilford 3200, and when they were developed, I was mostly pleased. I liked that the fireworks lacked color, I thought it lent to the mood of the country at the time—even though that was not something I strove for while shooting. I posted images here and there on my social media accounts. As that year (and certainly 2020) progressed, simple nostalgia started attaching itself to them, reminding me that, even back in 2019, I still held an inkling that maybe, just maybe, the country could get through the “45” years, calm down, realize what a wrong turn that was, and get back to a basic level of decency. But, 2020 had other plans, of course. Further, there is also a bundle of rancid emotion tied to family issues that sprung up during this time of national upheaval.
These images, in short, remain charged for me.
But, that’s. just. me.
And I was told that (in essence) by an erstwhile judge in that competition, who was entirely correct. All I supplied was atmosphere, without being tethered to any weight other than what was in my own head. I needed to include faces, in addition to the atmosphere. Those faces would help the story—indeed, give the narrative weight for everyone to grasp. After delivering some unvarnished constructive criticism, the judge succinctly summarized: “What is missing is the visual diversity that will help your series to develop a narrative. You have the skills to do it. Keep up the good work and I will be happy to see more from you in the future.”
Looking at the images, it seems obvious, right? Like, how could I not see that myself? But, as I experienced as an editor, sometimes my writers needed to have the blinders they unknowingly placed on themselves removed with a direct, unflinching assessment. I thank this judge for that “editorial” role and removing my blinders.
If I were writing a story for a magazine or newspaper, as I have thousands of times, I would have done exactly what this judge told me—add sources to buttress the story. But, as “just” a photographer, I have not yet developed that instinct.
Note to self: Keep thinking like a journalist, even if the tools in the field aren’t a pen and paper.
