You might know that I’ve been doing the 12 x 12 photo challenges for the last couple of months. I’ve completed two of them, and the third is coming to an end now and, after a bit of thought, I’ve decided not to do this one. Before I go into why, let me give you a bit of background. The third challenge goes like this:
Build something with the intention of photographing it. After you have photographed it disassemble whatever it is that you created.
— Dan Winters
Dan adds…“Create whatever type of object that you want. It could be as ambitious as a house or as simple as a house of cards. The photographs will be the evidence of your efforts.”
My mind began busying itself with the possibilities, and there were many of them. I wasn’t short of ideas. My first thought was something along the lines of Andy Goldsworthy’s work – for those of you not familiar with him, he creates wonderful structures, usually in wild places, made out of natural materials like brightly coloured flowers, icicles, leaves, mud, pinecones, snow, stone, twigs, and thorns. He photographs them, and then they’re left to decay, melt, be blown apart, or drift away. His work is transient, and very lovely.
I had plenty of other ideas as well, from building something from coloured ice cubes and watching it melt, to making a drawing with watercolour pencils and then spraying it with water to dissolve it, to building a sandcastle and watching the sea take it away.
After a while, though, I felt a definite lack of enthusiasm when it came to making any of these projects actually happen. And then I began to think about why that was. Here it is: I’m a discoverer, not a designer. I like to stumble on subjects and allow them to present themselves to me. I’m not so good with creating things from scratch, or with planning, except in a very loose sort of way.
Twyla Tharp, in her book The Creative Habit, talks about the blank page, the empty room, the white canvas, and how every artist of any kind is constantly presented with the daunting challenge of making the first mark or its equivalent. My immediate thought was that photography is possibly the one art where you don’t have to face the blankness unless you choose to. There’s always something there to make a photograph from, and it’s only a question of being open to noticing it.
For me, this has always felt easy. My brand of creativity lies in building on something that’s already there. When I cook, I like to have a recipe to give me a kick start, but the end result will be my own take on the original and is often very different. And I’ve always loved programmes about makeovers, because I delight in the idea of taking something unpromising and doing something wonderful with it.
This is one reason why contemplative photography suits me so well – it simply asks you to be open to what’s there and to see it in a new way. (I do also like to transform what’s there into something different, which is not really part of contemplative photography – but then I treat the contemplative approach like I treat a recipe: take from it whatever I find useful, and play around with the mix.)
There are numbers of photographers who take the opposite approach and go in for meticulous planning. People like Gregory Crewdson, for example, who builds the most elaborate sets and lighting to produce haunting, unnerving tableaus that require a whole film set full of people to produce. And Ori Gerscht – who would have fitted perfectly into this 12 x 12 challenge – who cryo-freezes elaborate flower arrangements, blows them up, and photographs the resulting gorgeous explosions. These photographers are designers, not discoverers, and I really like their work but I’ve got no desire to emulate how they do it.
Twyla Tharp also talks about what she calls our ‘creative DNA’ – a creative style of our own that’s intrinsic to us and comes easily to us. We can work in other ways, and it can be good for us to do that, but our work is never going to be as strong and effective as it will be if it’s aligned with our authentic creative instincts.
For me, the planning involved in coming up with an idea and building it from nothing takes away what I most enjoy about photography. The fun for me lies in discovery and serendipity – it’s like a treasure hunt, where I go out never quite knowing what I’m going to get. I lost my enjoyment of photography once before, when I was in a learning environment that was taking away the aspects of it that gave me pleasure and forcing me to work in ways that didn’t. I don’t want to go there again. Being a designer isn’t for me, and that’s why I’m not doing this month’s challenge.