To post about the work I have not been doing feels something of a sin to my original idea to this blog, that if I had nothing to say, don’t say anything, or at the very least, post a slightly shit review of a new B&W film. A side of me has always been interested in the psychology of photography away from the ‘doing’. For the last few weekends my interest in Photography hasn’t started sinking, it’s become stronger, stronger but blocked, held back by overthinking.
The goal of this shit blog is to lead my work towards art, not photography for photography’s sake. I an not sure I will ever reach that destination. So many photographs seem to lay bare their lack of artistic merit in a very stark revealing reality. It’s hard to escape its frankness. My ability to spot the sentimental and cliché has made the goal insurmountably difficult, those two dead ends are where most amateur attempts lead, stuck not realizing they need to make the 3-point turn and leave the cul-de-sac of flowery headdresses.
An unanswerable question seems to linger in front of me, perhaps to make it worse; perhaps we can all answer it, only the answer is fuck all use to anybody. What is art? Recently I’ve been sensing for lack of a more useful word, that I’m closer to it. Closer but cannot describe it. I feel many times in the past I have bumped into its periphery, but this time I’m orbiting it, scuffing its atmosphere but still not passing through or even getting a clear glimpse.
I’ve become more determined to push further experimenting into a more art driven direction. I decided now’s the time to pick a photographer in the sphere of where I would like to go and try to get into their methods and thinking. I won’t reveal the artist I chose, but soon I found snippets of old blog posts, deleted but saved, scattered on various other websites. It seemed to reveal a story of emotional struggles, vulnerability and trying to come to terms with life. Somewhere unexpected I was catapulted off on a tangent, perhaps a link from a blog. It led me to the Poet David Whyte.
I’ve thought about this a few times, mainly scuppered by an inability to find the right poet or perhaps I just don’t get poetry. I’ve always felt the most refined level of composition is elements of an image rhyming, a model’s hair to the flow of long grass in a field, It led me to think if there was a higher level of ‘Poetic’ composition above and beyond anything you’d read in a ‘how to’ photography book. Something deeper could be there, like the raw ingredients to creating artistic images presented right to us in words we can understand and intellectualize. It’s not like trying to be inspired by the abstract of music or even the polished vision of an artist’s final picture without the thoughts that went into its creation. Poetry seems something more tangible for inspiration.
I purchased David Whyte’s ‘Consolations’. I hated it, halfway through I committed to throwing it in the bin but just at that moment I found a paragraph that inspired. I decided to graffiti the book highlighting the verse. Then something curious happened, the rest of the book was all inspiring. I decided to re-read the first half, mainly to ensure I had vandalized the book thoroughly start to finish with my pen.
Consolations is not David Whyte’s Poetry, but instead he redefines certain words in our language and reattaches new meaning to them or maybe corrects them. Words strongly related to the human condition that we will all feel in our lives. It seems to of opened my mind to poetry and photography being stronger allies, one easily feeding the other. I just don’t think I’m quite ready for the poetry, Consolations was a lovely stepping stone into that realm without getting too wet.
The clear realization I’ve rediscovered is art needs an undistracted mind. When present in the moment, it’s quite a good read. I have been realizing more in my older age that art I love is quiet and easily overlooked. I can only speak for myself but my receptive state to appreciate art, music, nature, takes a while to activate and it’s getting harder to enter.
Annoyingly when doing a little more research about David Whye and his working methods it dug up that Whyte’s a big advocate of Zen. I hate Zen, I’ve even posted I don’t like it. Time and time again I keep ending up back there. I couldn’t even read his book I was so distracted but when my mind slowed down It might as well of been another book. It’s becoming undeniable the connection between states of consciousness and the higher arts. So many paths I research seem to lead straight back there. I do not think you can create serious art without serious deep thought.
Zen aside my creativity has fired back up, all it took was 3 days avoiding the doom scrolling and reading only magazines, magazines that took me on other wilder tangents. I headed out to grab a scrambled egg breakfast, the sky was grey, the rain looked grey, the trees blended in, a mess of uninspiring mulch. Which is the life of a photographer. Inside the mind might be unearthly poetic compositions, but reality is what we must work with.
