LensWork - Photography and the Creative Process Brooks Jensen

Photography can be hard work. For most of us, the work of artmaking also includes lots of fun and pleasant entertainment. Which parts of photography do you find the most fun? As a hobby, wouldn't it make sense to increase those components and to strategize ways to reduce the work? For example, I dislike framing, so I either use presentation methods that don't involve framing, or I pay someone to do my framing for me.

No one begins their photographic journey by immediately leaping into 40-inch prints. We all start small, 5x7, or 8x10. Then somehow we get gripped with the idea that bigger is better. Rather than turn our attention to making more personal, more meaningful, or insightful photographs it becomes so much easier to pursue the greater technical challenges of large prints, thereby postponing the launch of our real art life.

Wouldn't we all love to be creatively on fire every day, every moment. Unfortunately, that rarely happens. Instead, we have times when we are productive and times we are not. We think of those fallow times as "dry spells" which can be accompanied by guilt. But there's also a spell that is neither dry nor productive and can be an incredibly useful time in a creative life. I think of them as "damp spells."

Let's take just a moment to think what a miracle is photography. Before photography, think how long was required to make a picture. Drawing one l line at a time, adding one brushstroke at a time. Pictures were relatively rare and treasured. That way of relating to pictures leaked over to photography in its earliest days. Compare that to the bombardment of pictures that assault us every day! Our pictures aren't special because they are pictures, they need to connect through content to be special.

I suppose all of us have, from time to time, been mesmerized by a piece of artwork. It grabs us, it seduces our attention, it fills our consciousness. Why? What is it about a piece of artwork that gives it this power to influence us so deeply? Maybe not 100% of the time, but most frequently I find this happens when the artwork engages my imagination, when it allows me to drop my normal awareness of the world and to be transported to a world of its making.

A friend of mine is downsizing in preparation for moving to a retirement community. She can't find anyone who wants her extensive collection of sheet music. Another friend is finding it difficult to find a home for her collection of dinnerware and silver. No one wants them. It seems like the younger generation values collecting experiences far more than collecting things. I've come to regard this as the joy and burden of ownership. What are the implications for our fine art photographs?