Hidden hate

If you've been reading this blog for very long, you know that I live in rural Indiana. Living here and wrangling photographs from what is—let's face it—not the first place you think of when you're looking for places to photograph is something I've been doing for a long time. The quest to find the extraordinary in the ordinary forms the the basis for my book, Close to Home: Finding Great Photographs in Your Own Back Yard. My philosophy has always been to open your eyes to your surroundings and look deeply into the place where you live.

Sometimes that view can be ugly. Because of the recession and the problems in the housing market, there are several homes in the area that have been foreclosed upon—and in some cases, completely abandoned by their owners. I drive by these houses on a daily basis on my commute to work and I've always been interested in learning more about them. Inspired by the launch of Rear Curtain—a new photographic storytelling web site curated by my friends Ray Ketcham, Sabrina Henry and Matt Connors—I decided this weekend to start a photography project to document these homes and perhaps tell a story of economic hardship and loss.

What I found what was a completely different story.

This house was abandoned by its owners about 18 months ago. I don't know how or why it happened. One day they were there; the next they weren't. (If it's been foreclosed, the bank apparently wasn't worried about getting their money out of it, since it's never been for sale or rent.) It sits along a lightly traveled county road, making it an easy target for vandals. All of the windows are broken, the back door hangs open, and it's been through two winters in this condition. Sad that it came to this, no?

But the vandalism has exposed something, at least to me, that many of us might think shouldn't possibly exist at the beginning of the 21st century. Something beyond just trashing an abandoned house. Something ugly.

Pure, unadulterated hate.

The words on that wall are a shocking reminder that we still have so far to go, even in an age where we can be more educated and enlightened than ever before. Darkness still exists, and it's out there. It's in my neighborhood and yours, no matter how things seem on the surface. The fact that these words are inside the house speaks volumes, and it saddens me to know that someone living somewhere near me has these words in their heart. It shows me a wholly different view of "close to home."

Believe again

When my son was born, I got all kinds of offers of advice. Some good, some not, but all well intentioned, I'm sure. My grandfather, though, told me a little joke about the three stages of a man's life:

1. You believe in Santa Claus
2. You don't believe in Santa Claus
3. You are Santa Claus

When you're a small child, you believe in the literal Santa Claus; the fat, jolly guy who somehow magically squeezes all that bulk down the chimney to leave presents on Christmas Day for you and every other child on this planet. How does he do that? You don't really care; it's magic! Then of course, either through your own conclusions or because someone else spills the beans… *cough* your sister… you come to the realization that this is all just another way for your parents to get you to bed and to buy time so they can figure how to put the damn EasyBake® oven together before the next morning. At first, you're crushed, but then you come to look at the other kids who still believe in Santa and shake your head at their naiveté.

When you become a parent yourself, though, you inherit the mantle of Santa Claus and continue the tradition with your children. Not just because you need time to figure out how to get the Nintendo Wii® set up, but because you want your kids to feel the same way you did when they run down the stairs to see what "Santa" brought for Christmas. You do it because you once again believe in Santa Claus. Not the fat guy, but Santa as the embodiment of the joy on the faces of your kids.

This, to me, is exactly what happens to photographers and this obsessive fascination we have with gear.

We all know how the story goes at first. We buy an "entry-level" DSLR and a kit lens because that's all we can afford and we're just not sure this photography thing is worth the money for the "pro" gear. A little later on, if we've stuck with it, we "upgrade" to an "enthusiast" or "prosumer" camera body. Of course, now we need equivalent lenses, so we get a couple of those, selling our old stuff on eBay to make a few bucks and make us (or a spouse) feel better about the upgrade. As this trend continues, we eventually end up wishing for the "pro" bodies and lenses. In the worst cases, it becomes an obsession and we sink deeply into the "if only" syndrome. "If only I had a Canon 5D MkII, a Nikon D3x, a 600mm f/4, I could…" and on and on. We're sure that that next piece of gear will magically make us the photographer we've always dreamed of being.

While we long for that "perfect" camera or lens, we might read about how a photographer made incredible images using only a $25 toy camera, or how another one went back to using film and now develops her own negatives and makes her own prints on paper she makes from pulped seaweed (yikes!). We begin to feel a sudden backlash against gear. We walk down the path of self-righteousness and shout from the rooftops that "gear doesn't matter!" "Real" art is made using any camera, even ones you make yourself. It gets to the point where we'll begin to ridicule those who are still obsessing over gear, telling them that they're wasting their time and money on stuff they don't really need.

One of these two stages seems to be the place where a lot of photographers are these days. They either still believe in a literal Santa Claus (gear will magically make me better) or they've dismissed him as a fantastic waste of time (gear is irrelevant). It's become "gear vs. vision," and sadly, it's become yet another way for us to divide ourselves from each other and push the discussion away from what really matters: the photographs.

We still need to believe in Santa Claus. Gear is important and it's okay to think so—not as the mystical way to photographic mastery, but the right gear for the photographs you want to make. Making the photographs you want to is a good enough reason to buy any piece of gear you need, whether it's a $25 Holga or a $10,000 600mm f/4 lens. Of course, each photographer has different means and different priorities, both for their photographs and for the gear to make them, but how much that gear costs should only influence when you're going to buy it, not if you're going to buy it. In other words, if an 85mm f/1.4 or f/1.2 lens has that perfect shallow DOF and killer bokeh you're looking for, don't "settle" for the f/1.8 version simply because it's cheaper. Wait, save your money, and get the one you want when you can. Not "if." When.

(Yes, we need to do that responsibly. Going into debt, both financial and otherwise, is almost never a good idea. If you want to be sure about a particular piece of gear, try renting it or borrowing it from a friend. You might discover you really don't need it after all because you were simply flirting with making a particular kind of photograph. But if you do… buy it.)

We should be far more interested in your photographs than we are in the camera and lens you used to make them, but make no mistake, gear is important—when it serves your vision. Use the tools you need to make the photographs you want. Do it responsibly, but do it. Don't let settling for lesser gear make you create lesser photographs. You deserve to believe in Santa Claus.

The road goes ever on and on...

About three years ago, in January of 2008, I bought myself a late Christmas present: a Nikon D40 DSLR with the 18-55mm kit lens. Oh, I'd fancied myself a photographer for many years, since buying a Yashica 35mm film camera in the late '70s, but something made me decide to get back into it. Boy, am I glad I did.

Needless to say, this has been a banner year for me in photography but, rather than looking back, I'd like to look forward to 2011 and what it might bring. Every year, the company I work for has each of us put together a list of goals for the coming year, both personal and professional and, for last couple of years, my personal ones have had much to do with photography. So I thought I'd take that idea and bring it here to my blog and share them with you. I think it will keep me honest if I have some of you following along and making sure I'm making progress, and you may find that there's something I want to do that you do too, and maybe we can work together on it—or at least share our progress with each other. Just having a "buddy" can sometimes help get you through the tough parts of a project.

First, a few guidelines. (Don't panic. It's only a few.) To be helpful, a goal needs to be achievable. Stating that one of my goals for 2011 is to photograph on the surface Mars would be pretty tough (though I am keeping that one on the bucket list). However, don't limit yourself to obviously achievable goals, either. Forcing yourself to stretch a little and to get a little bit out of your comfort zone is a great idea. For me, writing my ebook was a perfect example of that kind of goal. Okay, I was more than a little outside of my comfort zone, but it was still a good goal.

The other thing is, goals need to be measurable. Just saying, "find more time to shoot" doesn't really help you if you don't know how much "more time" is. Sometimes, of course, you can't help but be a little vague about what reaching that goal means because, frankly, being to specific can be a little bit crazy. If your goal is to become more familiar with your gear so you can react and shoot faster in certain situations, I don't think you necessarily need to time yourself as if you were field stripping a weapon. (Maybe you do?) At any rate, I have a couple of goals where I just want to think I've gotten a little better at doing those things and don't plan to create spreadsheets and databases to decide if I achieved it.

In the end, though, don't be too married to any of your goals. You might find that opportunities arise that you hadn't thought of, and just blindly sticking to your goal list instead of adding or replacing goals will cause you to miss out on something great. Be firm and don't give up easily, but be a little flexible, too.

So here we go. My top ten goals for 2011 are:

10. Find more time to shoot. Wait, what? Oh, okay. Specifically, shoot for at least two hours for one day every weekend with a specific goal in mind. That's 104 hours of focused practice. More if possible, but only two hours to meet this goal. (No. I'm not starting a 365 project. I have my reasons.)

9. Get better at using my camera. Specifically, spend 10 minutes every day learning one feature thoroughly, e.g., exposure compensation or follow focus. Be able to do the most common things without thinking about it.

8. Teach a local photography class. Already on my way here. I start teaching a 12-week intermediate photography course at the local arts center in February.

7. Lead a local photographic workshop. Similarly, I'm teaching a Saturday photography workshop at the local arts center in February, March and April, separately from the class.

6. Have a gallery showing (or two). Last year in June, I met some folks from a local gallery who expressed an interest in showing some of my photographs. We've kept in touch, but the timing hasn't been right. This year, I'm going to work with them to find that timing and have the showing.

5. Lead my local Worldwide Photowalk. This one's pretty easy. I've done this for the last two years and it's great fun. It's also a great way to meet new photographers and learn a little more about the craft we all love.

4. Collaborate. This one is pretty vague in that I don't have any firm plans at the moment, but there are ideas floating around in my head that I'd want some help with. There have been whisperings in the ether, and hopefully something will come of them.

3. Write and publish at least two more Craft & Vision ebooks. I've already started the second one and have some notes and ideas for the third. (Hopefully, Craft & Vision agrees.)

2. Write and publish a print book about photography. No, not a self-published book using Blurb, but a real, honest-to-goodness published print book, through Peachpit, New Riders or the like. This is my "reaching" goal for 2011, much like my "publish an ebook" goal for 2010 was.

… and my no. 1 goal for 2011?

1. Savor every moment of the journey. We all know that there's no destination here. As David says, it's not like you suddenly wake up one day, you find your vision, and you're done. It's an elusive thing that changes nearly every day and I wouldn't want it any other way. Over the last year, photography has allowed me to meet new friends, reconnect with some old friends, and generally expand my horizons. But most importantly, it's made me a better person. Broadening your perspective through new people and places lets you grow as a human being. It can seem like a cliché, but there really is a much bigger world out there than you can fully imagine. It's full of people and places and perspectives that you simply have to experience and experience them deeply. I'm not naive enough to think that we can all join hands and teach the world to sing, but I really do think if we all took some time to understand each other just a little bit better, many problems would disappear.

There we have it. Oh, one other thing. I'll report back to you with progress once a quarter. Goals are no good if you write them down and then stick them in a drawer until December. You have to remind yourself sometimes of what you set out to do, even if it's only to say, "I haven't done anything with that one yet."

What are your goals for 2011? Take a minute if you will, and tell me about one of them in the comments. Who knows? Maybe we can work together on something. (Or maybe I'll just steal your ideas and make them my goals. Hmmm...)

Happy New Year, everyone. I sincerely hope you achieve everything you set your mind to… and more.