It happens all the time…

I experience something jaw-dropping, awe-inducing… maybe even life-interrupting. An epiphany ensues. I’m challenged to reconsider all I’ve done up until now… to perhaps even go a new way with my craft and my life.

And then it happens.

I’m tempted to ask the inevitable and creativity-crippling question… How could I do that?

On the surface this seems benign. Like it’s no big deal. In fact, if anything, it seems resourceful.

What could be wrong with getting inspired and then wanting to inspire?

Like a venus flytrap luring its prey, a premature “how” is an inevitable death to creativity.

Asking “how” in response to greatness sends me down the wrong road. It short circuits innovation.

It is perhaps the least resourceful question I could ask in that moment.

I say all this to emphasize that I understand just how hard it is to not ask how. In fact, I published a post yesterday that spawned a rich conversation. After making the case for the need & opportunity to iterate, the first few comments from some friends were “how” do “I” do that.

When I read the responses I felt both care (the questions were sincere) and concern (the questions revealed a cancer in our industry ecosystem).

What is that cancer you ask? Entitlement.

One of the reasons I believe I can see it pretty clearly is I’ve had a chronic bout with entitlement myself.

For me at least, it’s flowed from having been handed a pretty amazing set of circumstances show up in my life and witnessed others who’ve had pretty amazing circumstances show up in their lives.

Over time, I’ve unconsciously been tempted to believe that “amazing circumstances” is normal… that I “should” have that kind of life handed to me… that I deserve it. In many ways this is the American dilemma. But that’s perhaps a bit out of scope for this conversation.

For our purposes, I want to talk about a more resourceful way to respond when inspired – and to punch entitlement in the mouth at the same time.

What if instead of leading with “tell me how you did it” we led with “what“… as in “what does that inspire within me?”

Could a minor shift in a pronoun choice make that much of a difference?

Perhaps so… at least if what shifts with that pronoun is also the subject. I must also adjust who I’m addressing.

But who cares what I think. You tell me…

Ask yourself the “what does that inspire in me?” question when you consider the following…

• Trey Ratcliff‘s HDR
• Joey L‘s fine art work
• Jerry Ghionis‘ wedding images

Then… with a l o n g p a u s e (and a grain of vision from within), introduce a better timed “how”.

In the process, watch a massive new resource that was previously out of reach show up.

Why? Because now the relative pronoun is asking it of the new creative… from within rather than pilfered from without… it’s asking it of you and it’s asking it of me.

It seems to be in vogue these days to suggest that the photo industry has a problem that needs fixing. It doesn’t.

“If only we could limit access…”
“If only we could slow down talent acquisition…”
“If only we could go back to the good ol’ days…”

I don’t hear many people say things this overtly, but I do hear it underneath industry complaints. What I hear even more is that, somehow, it’s the new photographers fault that things have shifted. It isn’t.

Although it might feel good to try and find a scapegoat for challenging circumstances, I don’t think it’s very constructive… or creative.

In a recent conversation, Seth Godin noted that all you used to need to succeed as a pro photographer were (a) access to tools and (b) access to talent. He believed this was so because of his belief that where there is scarcity, there is value. Since neither tools nor talent are scarce any longer, success can feel elusive.

Let’s back up for a second and get some perspective…

Not too long ago, if you aspired to be a pro photographer, you’d have to invest a chunk of money on inconvenient and heavy camera gear (tools), not to mention a lifetime of commitment to the craft to become something special (talent).

Like the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker before him, the photographer had the chance to create value because he could do things with his camera that others couldn’t. That is, what he had to offer (tools and talent) was in short supply and high demand.

Over time, a sort of ecosystem evolved around photography. You and I call that ecosystem “the photo industry” and it is part of a larger ecosystem called “commerce”.

What’s interesting about this ecosystem is how it evolves, with or without anyone’s participation. In that way, the changes we are all experiencing aren’t in any way personal. The tectonic shifts happen in every industry once in a while regardless of how any of us feel about it.

Notice how the evolutionary pattern of successful iterations is always the same:
• from film to digital
• from negatives to JPG to RAW
• from dark rooms to labs to manufacturing facilities
• from Paint to Photoshop to CS5.5
• from large format to medium format to 35mm to DSLR
• from self-taught to art school to worldwide online broadcasts offered for free

Why wouldn’t this also be true for the photographers themselves?

Ecosystems need to grow to live. Participants in that ecosystem need to iterate to survive.

Yet, so many photographers take the evolutionary process of the ecosystem personally. Like there’s a conspiracy “out there” trying to steal what “should” be ours. We think too highly of ourselves if we believe (unconscious or not) that we deserve to get paid for what we do with a camera. We don’t.

Evolutionary forces are always at work. Those who creatively adapt, win. Those who don’t, disappear.

As a business person within any trade (e.g., cake-baking, candle-making, photo-taking), I take it as my job to respond to the system resourcefully and not the other way around.

The most recent and obvious shift in the photo industry hit about a decade ago when everything went digital. The naysayers fought it for a bit but besides a small band of endangered analog enthusiasts, it has become clear that if one didn’t adapt to digital on a professional level, you ran the risk of extinction.

Where professional photographers have felt the implications of this reset the most has been with the influx of photographers. From the perspective of the ecosystem, this is of course great news: more people are being infected with the desire to take pictures!

From the perspective of the participant in the eco-system though, it could feel personal if it affects my ability to feed my kids. But, getting mad at evolution or trying to hold back the tide or hating on the new wave misses the mark. Why not try something new? Why not leverage our times and the direction of the ecosystem instead? I wonder if that might be even more resourceful.

The photo industry isn’t a problem that needs fixing. It’s an evolving resource that needs leveraging.

“There is a time in every man’s education when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide” – Emerson

I’ve been pretty quiet lately. Spending more and more time in secret places considering how I’m investing my life personally and professionally… asking if I’m satisfied with the result.

Turns out I’m not.

As someone who has been hanging out a lot around photographers and other creatives committed to making a living from our various crafts, I’ve become really concerned about some of what I’ve witnessed… in myself and the world we’re making. And yet, I’ve been hesitant to share my take.

If that is true, the obvious question is why the silence? What am I afraid of? If I’m honest, I often feel mired by friction and obstacles, most of which flow from the internal conversation I have with myself about what’s possible. It’s as though I’m working very hard yet finding mud spattered all about and little distance traveled. Beyond metaphor though, what is this friction?

What is in the way of me aligning with my more true self?

The more I reflect on this, the more apparent it is that I have spent too many hours scared and lost in comparison, wondering not what I’m up to but how what I’ve done compares to those I admire or dislike. Up against the former, I usually don’t fair too well. The latter leave me feeling superficially pleased. Fools gold.

Enter Emerson. Turns out the old guy had something to say to me and was kind enough to write it down. After spending this past weekend illuminating my life by his humble but fierce sermon on the foolishness of playing it safe, I am left indicted.

Like all good convictions though, the hope of redemption – of grace – is always left in its wake.

My level of discontent with this life of worship to the idol of pleasing others has risen to a near unbearable level. An ironic discovery on a weekend where we celebrate freedom here in America. Freedom to what?

Enough.

Today, in this moment, I have a new resolve to get to work… and it begins by coming clean on a couple things.

It turns out these months of quiet and secret have not been in vain. They have been revealing. Humbling. And, oddly enough, hopeful. I’ve been surprised to realize the now obvious truth that if indeed my private conversations, creations, opinions, judgments and takes are worth anything, why not test them in the furnace of reality… with the external world?

I have become more clear as to what I believe I need to say, regardless of my critics thoughts on the matter… my own included. It’s time to let the ideas stand. To risk looking the fool. To let my internal conversations come out to play.

I also started to imagine the impact for all of us if this were more universal than just my existential waking up. Well beyond little me, what if ideas shared (your ideas, our ideas…), served our industry, our world like those of the court jester of old?

What if we took ourselves a little less seriously?

What if in fearlessly saying and standing behind the things we believe need to be said, we release others to do the same? If even to disagree and to hear something more important in response?

Would I be willing to be the instrumental fool to help move our collaborative conversation forward?

The relief in de-signifying my own contribution in light of the whole is a new kind of freedom for me. In that light, it seems my only possible failure would be to say nothing out loud. To keep it to myself in my private, safe and tiny existence.

So, when Amber over at Domino Project double-dogg-dared me (I know, it’s tough not to click), I found the timing too providential to pass up. Of course, the timing is inconvenient. It always is. But, if I don’t interrupt my life with important inconveniences, what’s the point?

For the next 30 days, I’ll be declaring a new manifesto that has been a long time coming. Regardless of whether you join me or not, you are invited to tune in for the conversation. My intent to give personal commentary to what I think is actually going on in the photo industry (and the creative professions beyond it) and offer some suggestions to find our way to a new day.

Feel free to hate on it, love on it or disregard it entirely. It’s just one guy’s take.

The only rule I have for myself is this: conformity is banished. Since he inspired it, my aim is to make Emerson proud. But I’m not doing it for him. He’s dead and wouldn’t appreciate it anyway. I’m doing this one for an audience of one guy’s soul: my own.

Dan Pink‘s invitation for all creative professionals to have a bias toward design has been ubiquitously answered.

From typeface to homes to furniture to websites to hospital rooms to bathtubs, both form and function are being considered at every turn. It seems like we’re in the golden age of design. Interface designers like the folks at Readability is one of my current favorites – for a quick primer, check out this video (and the post script at the very bottom)…

The ability to remove distraction to yield maximum focus is brilliant. It’s the same reason why I often use Omm when I’m writing. Since anything that’s scarce has more value, and since the ability to focus is so rare (mainly because of distraction), these kinds of well designed solutions are pure gifts.

All this got me thinking about design’s implications on mediums like photography.

When I think about the function of photography for example, I’ve always believed that the purpose of great images (especially of people) is to expedite the process of telling great stories. It’s why the cliché “a picture’s worth a thousand words” has such resonance. But what else? What if the image itself was more of a starting point – like a prop or a cue – to help get to an even bigger and better story… like great wine with a meal or a score to a movie… how might photography be designed to take a moment and make it even more functional and thus more powerful?

Annie Leibovitz‘s famous and iconic 1980 Rolling Stone cover of John Lennon with Yoko Ono, photographed five hours before his tragic murder is an example of what I’m describing. Of course, the image is impressive in and of itself. What makes it a launch pad for so much more though is the story that gets told from it. It’s as though the image itself was designed with form and function in mind… and as the drama unfolded, the value of the creation increased dramatically.

In a way, my example could be dismissed as unfair because a story told in retrospect is always easier to attribute meaning to it. But, I’m no less intrigued by the possibility of taking photographs with a designer’s bias… to imagine and compose and capture a work that expands what’s possible with a photograph (function) in a form that causes the audience to pause (aesthetic).

To me, it’s a compelling argument that validates Pink’s suggestion that a core ingredient to raising the bar for all industries (including photography) is to reframe our work not just as image makers but also as designers.

- Dane

PS… If you want to see Readability in action, click the red chair on a couple of these articles – it really makes reading a treat…