I used to think that there were two types of photographers: those who make pictures, and those who find pictures. Up until about a year ago I strongly identified with the latter. I usually had a general subject or place in mind, but when I went out to shoot I looked for pictures once I got there; they were rarely pre-meditated in anything more than general idea or feeling. Or sometimes, as in many of the photos from one of my last projects, Chasing Rainbows, the images would sometimes find me.

A few years ago, while I was still in art school, my good friend (and talented painter) Mary handed me Art & Fear. It’s a book largely geared toward painters but can be applied to photographers as well. Out of all its advice, this has stuck with me the most:

What you need to know about the next pieces is contained in the last piece. The place to learn about your materials is in the last use of your materials. The place to learn about your execution is in your last execution. … The lessons you are meant to learn are in your work. (Art & Fear)

I feel, at least for me, that no matter how disparate a new project is from my last, the above still rings true. Each series evolves from the last, in ways that are perhaps only immediately obvious to me. For example: photographing in Ladakh, India (my first real trip abroad) opened my eyes to the world -> I therefore moved to New Zealand; around that time I began making much more introspective pictures as a direct product of my confusion about myself & my place in the world while starting over in a new country -> I floundered while preparing Chasing Rainbows for my solo exhibition, trying to figure out if I should continue it when I felt ready to move on; during this struggle I created a study of body language and identity (9 Portraits) -> my new work is subsequently taking on some different qualities as I begin to dig deeper and explore my spirituality and personal beliefs.

This is also true in the way my process has evolved. From the beginning, when I became interested in photography at around 17, I always went looking for pictures. A little less than a year ago, I started noticing a shift in the way I was photographing, or in the way I felt connected to photographing. I suppose it could be compared to how your sense of taste supposedly changes every 7 years. The same old ways of working just weren’t doing it for me anymore.

In the midst of the Chasing Rainbows project, my shooting sort of petered out. I was disappointed because I wanted to round out the project, but on a personal level I was moving on. For a while I floundered with it, tried to shoot a little more anyway, partly to add to the project and partly searching for my next one. Then one day I went out for a long drive, looking for pictures, and I became frustrated. I just wasn’t feeling it, and I finally admitted to myself that I hadn’t been feeling it for a while. After some time and some thought I realized that it wasn’t just an off day, and it wasn’t just that I was between projects; it was that my way of seeing was changing. Finding pictures wasn’t working for me anymore.

My next project, 9 Portraits, was an experiment in a number of ways. For starters, I’ve done some portraiture in the past, but never used models or shot in the studio with my personal work. And I didn’t fully realize it at the time, but it was also a change in process for me. The images were more thought out beforehand; they were based on a “vision”. Though each shoot was different (because each model was different) there was less left to chance. I was taking more of an active role in the end result, essentially starting to create my pictures moreso than look for them.

My new work is taking this a step further; it’s beginning to feel like I’m constructing an alternate reality. The deeper I get into this series, the more I see how different the process of really making these pictures is for me. During two recent shoots I had some very intense experiences, which is another post altogether, but I will say that this series is taking me much further down the rabbit hole than I’ve ever been before. The more I photograph, the more I work through each concept, the deeper it goes. These pictures feel more personal to me than any I’ve done before, and that’s exciting from a development perspective. I can’t say for sure whether this process will stick, or if my way of working will become dependent on subject or other factors, but I’m no longer convinced there is such a dividing line between picture makers and picture takers. There are simply ways of seeing, and as we go through life our methods of working can adapt and change.

I’ve realized this time in my life and my work is very much about figuring things out, about myself and how I work and about what I want to say as an artist. Even thinking of myself as an artist is a step I’ve made only within the last year or two. Ironically, while I was in art school I refused to call myself an artist. I think this was a product of both my approach to my work at the time as well as feeling a bit mystified by the intimidatingly prolific & desperately talented people around me. But here, at the far end of the world, thousands of miles from my old art school bubble, I’m finally discovering what makes me tick. And the artist’s need to create, or what Martha Graham referred to as “divine dissatisfaction”, is a big part of that. I’ve come back to this passage over a number of years, but only recently am I truly beginning to understand it.

There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is nor how valuable nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep yourself open and aware to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open. (Martha Graham)

Jung believed that a human being is inwardly whole, but that most of us have lost touch with important parts of our selves. Through listening to the messages of our dreams and waking imagination, we can contact and reintegrate our different parts. The goal of life is individuation, the process of coming to know, giving expression to, and harmonizing the various components of the psyche. If we realize our uniqueness, we can undertake a process of individuation and tap into our true self. Each human being has a specific nature and calling which is uniquely his or her own, and unless these are fulfilled through a union of conscious and unconscious, the person can become sick.

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It’s been a good day for my home country.