There is a difference between the desire to find a nice, enjoyable cup of coffee and the obsession with finding the "perfect" cup. Philosophers, if motivated correctly, could do a great job explaining, in reams and reams of writing, exactly why there can never be a perfect cup of coffee. Close but never perfect. Whereas the every day enjoyer of coffee might take the other side of the argument and posit that every good cup of coffee is perfect --- for them.
I woke up early this morning. I'm on my second cup of coffee. I've been making coffee in the morning for myself just for the last ten years. Before that coffee was a detour to a favorite bakery or coffee house on my way to whatever job, interview, appointment I might have had in the mornings. I find the way I make drip coffee, and the coffee beans I use at home, to be "perfect" for me. So much better than the ick I find at Starbucks these days. (They truly have become the Burger King of fast coffee. Not even the McDonalds. Only it's too slow now that five thousand Gen-Z-ers have ordered on line and kludged up the process for those of us who might just stop by --- on a whim. Imagine being the only physical customer in a coffee shop but all five people behind the counters ignore you because they are terrified to get behind on the endless app-driven orders for weird, sugary, speciality coffees that keep cascading in.....).
I find many photographers who are on the constant and exhausting search for the "perfect" photograph. They are constantly making plans on how to get there. These are the landscape people who have apps to tell them where and when the sun will rise and set. Meteorological prediction apps to tell them the relative humidity, chance of cloud cover on site and which jacket with many pockets to wear for the prevailing conditions. The same folks who spend a....lot....of time ordering mythically great lenses and endlessly comparing them to other mythically great lenses in order to minimize any deviation from perfection in the pursuit of the perfect craft. Like writers who spend hours, days even, re-writing a 500 word essay --- convinced that there are one or two rare, wonderful but elusive words that will, like AED paddles, spark effervescent life and joy into a droll essay. It must be painful to endlessly re-write or make draft after draft. I wouldn't know because I refuse to do that. Same with photography.
In a "perfect" photographic world we'd all just relax a bit and maybe aim for "interesting", "creative", "entertaining" or "visually addictive" as descriptions of our work instead of banging our collective heads against the wall in the bitter pursuit of perfection --- beyond just excellence.
I've written many times that for me photography can be as "low impact" as an adjunct for a good walk in the fresh air. Less a mission and more of a jaunt. An episode of heightened visual interest. With my desire more aligned to the act of seeing stuff with fresh eyes (curiosity?) than to the pursuit of technically perfect capture. And I think this is very, very important for one's mental health.
At one point in my career I was a slave to the idea that I could perfect an image. That I could construct a template of both intention and follow through that would allow me to get images that were as close to perfect as humanly possible. But real life came by and swatted me on the back of the head.
Real life taught me hard lessons.
My father had a cardiac procedure. He has several stents installed in his arteries to prevent a cardiac event. He came to Austin for the procedure. Experts everywhere. He stayed at my house for the recovery phase. On a Saturday morning he was resting peacefully with family and I went to swim practice. Halfway through I had a sudden and strong premonition that something was going wrong. I got out, toweled off and rushed home. My dad had defied his doctors orders and strolled up our steep drive to see my older brother off after his brief visit. Dad looked off. I took his pulse. Racing. I felt his hands. Cold to the touch. I rushed him to the emergency room of the hospital where he'd had the procedure. My wife, at home, frantically calling the cardiologist who had treated him.
While in a wheel chair in the emergency room, with me standing next to him, my dad suddenly went into cardiac arrest. I caught him as he slumped forward in the chair. Yelling to the ER staff that my dad had gone into arrest. He was rushed into a room along with a crash cart, two doctors and an army of nurses and orderlies. And a big syringe of something potent. He was resuscitated. He survived. After five days in the ICU he was de-escalated into a regular room for a few more days of care and observation. And then back to my house. He lived well after his recovery for nearly 15 more years.
But watching one's father experience cardiac arrest and near death is scarring. The sense of helplessness. The weird awareness of the validity of mid-swim premonitions. The flood of thoughts about one's own mortality. The realization of how fragile our lives are. And it left me with a new issue. The years delayed but, once started, onset of acute and debilitating anxiety. So intense that at times I was paralyzed. Trying to work for money and also trying to work out the right amount of anti-anxiety drugs that would keep me functional and still coherent was all consuming. And, of course, it was impossible to step away from family and work at the time.
I called a friend I'd known since high school. He's a well known psychiatrist in Austin. It was a Sunday evening and I was at my wit's end. He knew me too well socially and personally to treat me but recommended a colleague. And he interceded to get me an appointment for the next day. First thing in the morning. That was the start of a year and a half long battle with my own brain. My own anxiety.
Four things kept me on the path toward eventually tamping down and learning to deal with anxiety. Of course there was Ben and B. And swimming with a compassionate coach (but even there I was convinced that one day I'd swim too hard and have my own cardiac event). And my work. And my friends. Mostly in that order. The work gave me a reason to push through and the need to find a solution.
I started therapy with a psychologist almost immediately. Around the same time I started writing this blog site. At first it took my mind off the anxiety. I went to therapy every week. I worried about the cost. But I worried about the idea of losing control over my life much more. After half a year of weekly sessions I emerged with a set of tools that work for me. That was over a decade ago. About five years ago I realized that my anxiety had all but vanished entirely. No flare ups. No back sliding. The tools of abatement had become second nature.
And with this realization came the paired realization that a lot of what was driving my nervous, all consuming worry was the need to be "perfect." To always nail every job. To make every project the "best." To "bring home the bacon." Even when the jobs didn't need that level of intensity. At some point I embraced the idea of doing things in a manner that was "good enough." I read Stephen Pressfield's books. Especially "The War of Art." I got over all manner of procrastination and also....fear. I wrote five books on photography. I published a novel that had languished in a drawer for nearly a decade. I fired clients I didn't like. I swam as hard as I wanted to. And I gave myself permission to enjoy the work. To enjoy the processes of life instead of just the goals at the end.
I'm writing this because I've been reading Michael Johnston's recent blogs about his inability to re-engage with his work. None of us (professionals excluded) are really able to give advice to anyone else about conquering blocks, fears, etc. because every situation is personal and complex. But reading of his struggles reminded me of my own path and how hard it was to navigate. How many times one just wants to give up. My heart goes out to him right now. In this moment.
One thing in his favor is his large, on line group of supporters and fans. Each one a brick in a solid wall of positivity. I kept my struggles private. His are public. No right or wrong. My concern was the ongoing business and clients who were indoctrinated into the self-defeating idea of "giving 110%". His concerns may be more existential. It's a fraught time, the mid-60s. Send the guy some good energy if you are so inclined. He's such a solid part of the current photographic framework.
When it comes to my journey I'm happy just trying to savor all the good stuff life seems to have delivered to me on a silver platter. When I walked with B. this morning we talked about life and how the pursuit of perfection robs us of the joy in the moment. She remembered the first half of the sentence and I remembered the second half. Team work.
I bristle a bit when I post images that are meant to be a fluid time line of my life in the moment and someone feels compelled to tell me how I can make it a little better if I would just change this. And this. And that. Spend a few hours post processing. Eliminate that trash in the corner. And it seems to me that they never realize the photo is already finished for me. It's already done. I don't revise because while I'm revising and fixing stuff the world outside is moving on. There's more to see. More to experience. More colors to take note of and more people to meet.
Someone will read this and say, "Kirk is just suggesting that we give up!" But nothing could be further from the truth. What I'm really suggesting is that the process is where the enjoyment lies. The trophy is just a reminder of the moment. At some point we all transition from Object Fine Art to Performance Art. Be artful in your performance with the idea that you are the primary audience for all of your work, and if you're not happy then no one is. At least from your perspective.
When I am dead I will not give a crap about whether or not the horizons in my photographs are level. Or if the shadows are blocked up. Why should I care now?
Stephen Pressfield was/is right. We, each of us, self sabotages our highest aspirations. Usually out of fear. Our resistance is based in the idea that whatever we create won't be good enough. Won't be well received. Will reveal us as charlatans. Or we resist because we "know" that when we finish with whatever is at hand we'll be right back where we started, staring fearfully into the unknown.
I suggest that it's a fear of never being able to achieve "perfection" that sabotages most of our efforts. Way too much preparation in order to prevent failure which results in never actually starting. Really starting. Not scribbling an outline for a novel or creating a schedule on a spreadsheet for our landscape photography book project but actually starting. Sitting down and writing everyday. (famous quote from sports writer, Red Smith: “There’s nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.”).
It's the getting started that's the hardest part. Everything else is like showing up for swim practice and hoping to get a little bit better every day.
When I think about my own photography. The personal work. The shooting I do without needing to be paid I think of this quote from Julian Tepper: “I still feel strongly, that the one thing a writer has above all else, the reward which is bigger than anything that may come to him … is the weapon against boredom. The question of how to spend his time, what to do today, tomorrow, and during all the other pockets of time in between when some doing is required: this is not applicable to the writer. For he can always lose himself in the act of writing and make time vanish. After which, he actually has something to show for his efforts. Not bad.”
It's the process. Enjoy the process and there is always a reward at the end.
I lost my fear that people wouldn't approve of: my blog posts, my work photos, my personal art photos, my mediocre flip turn, my bad haircut, my voice, or the way I take my coffee. When the fear vanished so did the anxiety, procrastination, nervousness and even my elevated blood pressure. Now my biggest goal is....to enjoy the actual process.
Just a few thoughts. Go read some stuff at MJ's blog. It's much better written than mine.
