On Art and Creativity

These past few days, I’ve been inspired to venture back into photography. It began when my friend asked me to do a photoshoot for her which then became two — one in December, one in January. I was inspired enough by actually creating something interesting that I went and spent a little too much money on a rare camera. I chose this camera because it is small and fun: I figured it would inspire me to take more photos by being easier to carry around, even if the quality of the images weren’t as good as my usual, professional camera. In the end, I didn’t use it. It has been three months, and it has been sitting around for the most part.

However, as I get my life in order, the urge to create is returning. I’m done moving into my new apartment, my artist collective is going strong, and all my other projects are continuing onwards. So, I spent the past days diving back into the online world of photography, reacquainting myself with everything that has been going on in the past few years of my absence. I ended up going down a rabbit hole of “for fun” cameras like the one I got: where the idea is to enjoy the act of taking pictures, thus resulting in taking more pictures.

The cameras I learned about were fascinating, but the photographers were not. I discovered many interesting people, but their work was bland, uninspired, and boring (to me). Specifically, most of these were street photographers. Their philosophy was, “There is a person there, let me take a picture.” I consider that documentary, not art. Today, I watched a video on street photography without people. The photographer showed example images which were actually quite good, but he then went on to say things like how such an image inspires him to ask questions like how the scene came to be, what action could surround the image, etc.

Stories are nice. Context is nice. Imagination is nice. But what about appreciating a photo? I saw them, and I had no questions. I wanted no further information. I simply want to enjoy art for being beautiful — it doesn’t require some grand context. I found one photographer whose work I absolutely loved and found incredibly inspiring. He never spoke on what I would call unnecessary details. If there was a story, great. If not, nothing needed to be said. A beautiful image is allowed to be simply that: beautiful. If you look at my work, I don’t think there are any stories to be found. I don’t care about the world around me. I care about the world in front of me.

Maybe everyone has a different motivation for their work, but I don’t want people to ask what’s going on in my work, I want people to see me in my work. All I want is for others to see (and I long for them to also experience) the world as I do. I can’t say I’ve had much success in that, and maybe that’s one of the reasons I lost interest in photography over the years, preferring writing instead. It’s much easier to engage people with writing.

Creating art is enjoyable. I can easily get lost in my editing for hours at a time. I edited those two portrait sessions in one sitting each, spending literally the entire day engrossed in my task. But sharing the end result is difficult. It’s easy to have my printed books and say, “This is me.” It’s difficult to show someone a photo, both in bringing that topic up, and engaging with it. I’ve written many times before about the plight of, “Pretty picture.” I can sit and read a story to someone. I can go to an event and read poetry to a crowd. But it’s not so simple to hang a picture on a wall. I’m a nobody in that scene here.

My plan is to buy a photo printer and restart my photography business, selling prints and trying to engage with that side of the art community. That also means taking more photos. I did a few days ago with the new camera, just in my apartment, and I enjoyed the process, although the camera doesn’t produce the same quality images I’m used to working with. A quick fun fact about my work is that perhaps half of all photos I’ve ever created were taken in one room in my old home in Michigan. My classmates used to joke about that because I never photographed the room itself; everyone was always dying to know what the room actually looked like.

I miss the creative environment of my photography minor in undergrad. I miss the weekly assignments and critiques, the endless discussions on creativity. I miss the passion of everyone involved. My dream would be to recreate that here in Iceland. One day, running a photography workshop sounds fun. Or an entire studio. I hope to get there soon enough. For now, I have this artist collective. The events are doing well. Our opening last week was nice, though small. The second one, next week, is garnering a lot of attention. That’s a good feeling. With luck, we’ll grow into these things I dream about. (And if you live in Iceland and want to learn photography, contact me, and I’ll teach you everything I know for free).

What do all these thoughts mean? I have no idea. It’s just frustrating when I see subpar, uninspired art being passed around and praised. Where is the artist? Where is the creator of the image? I want to see that person through the creation. I want the art to be alive, to have soul. The fact that I needed to dig through so much nonsense to find only one person that stood out is rather sad. Maybe this is due to the nature of modern photography: everyone has a camera in their pocket, therefore too many photos are produced, making it harder to stand out. Or, maybe it’s because nobody has time to dedicate to their craft with everyone being too busy trying to merely survive.

I think community is too undervalued. I think too many people stay inside, “relaxing” or “resting” because they don’t know that they lack the right people. We’re losing our human nature to a broken world that doesn’t care about our hobbies, passions, or interests. Or our human nature. It demands that we work because it demands all our money to pay rent. Then, it takes advantage of our misfortune by demanding our remaining time via psychological tricks like social media, saying, “This will fill the void.” I’m well aware that I could be an exception in saying that I prefer to spend my time with other people (I’m saying this as the most introverted person on this planet), but having the right people who share your hobbies, interests, or passions is what gives life… to life. Even having someone to talk to about what weighs on your mind makes all the difference.

Making space for creativity means engaging with your humanity. Why else do we create? Is it not to be seen, heard, or understood? Is that not why art has any weight? because it impacts us — speaks to us? And why does it speak to us? The question why is the solution to all our problems. It’s the same reason having windows with a view outside makes such a difference in a room. I would know about that, I just spent five months in a small room without windows. But the ability to see outside doesn’t truly matter. It doesn’t change the room or anything else. So why does it feel so impactful? It all comes back to our human nature. How we perceive and experience the world.

The very fact that we are capable of both creating and appreciating art must surely mean something. I would like to think it implies that we are best off embracing our humanity, the social/community aspects thereof, and the pursuit of our passions. I beg my words be given consideration after all I’ve been through, going from spending my life alone in a room to the pursuit of my passions.