Do I really take my camera with me everywhere? Is that just hyperbole?

Julie needed a photograph of herself swimming breaststroke...

I think nearly every photo writer of note brags about taking their camera with them everywhere. And what they really mean is that when it is convenient, and they have ample time to attend to their camera, and they might need an expensive piece of jewelry to accent their carefully chosen artist outfit, they toss a camera over one shoulder and sashay out of the house. But as soon as the cellphone beckons or they are off to a social engagement, doctors appointment, audit, or nice dinner out, the dedicated camera gets tossed by the wayside.

Oh dear! What would their seemingly endless supply of mentors have to say about that? And why is it that the least interesting photographers have seem to have the most ample supply of mentors and inspirational role models? And could it be that mentors, teachers, workshop leaders and the usual suspects are actually a net negative for anyone trying to build a truly personal style? For someone who professes to have a unique vision? I'll ponder that in a future post but the more I read about someone's "interesting" role models the less interesting I find their finished work...

Here's my favorite quote of the day from writer, Ken Dixon: "W is for workshop. A two-day, three-dimensional version of a one-hour YouTube tutorial.”  

(more here: https://www.orartswatch.org/a-photographers-alphabet-a-to-z/ ).

I think it's funny that something as logical as camera operation requires some sort of advanced level of rigorous preparation; a long, long runway of instruction and practice. And it's funnier (more funny) to presume that a "teacher" can authentically convey to students any sort of rational framework for making something new and exciting. Just go to a faculty show at a university if you want to see how orthodox the work of most people who have survived the day in, day out routine of instructing in academia can be... It's amazing how abruptly their "real" work stopped; usually within months of landing a teaching job. And these are the folks who pretend to be able to convey anything meaningful about the aesthetics of new, artful photography? 

Anyway, everyone talks a good game about making their camera a permanent appendage. Grafted to shoulder and hip. A closer relationship than a spouse or child. But how many of them really follow through? I often wonder when I run into fellow "photographers" out in the wild who profess to have left their cameras at home because it's not a "work" day. 

I went to swim practice this morning and it was good. My friend, Julie was there, swimming in lane three with her usual crew. She reminded me as we were finishing the last set that she needed a photograph of herself swimming breaststroke for an article she wrote for a swim magazine. Did I happen to have a camera with me? Would I take some photographs?

I got out of workout five minutes early, dried off, put on some pants, a shirt and a pair of sandals and walked out to the car. I pulled a Leica SL2-S off the front passenger's seat, looked at the settings and walked back to the pool. We spent ten minutes making photographs. We got some really good, useful shots. I walked back to the locker room, tossed the camera and lens into a cubby and took a quick shower. Then I got dressed, tossed the camera over one shoulder and headed back to the car. I also took the camera along with me to get coffee this morning. Last night I took my camera to my friend's, Will and Mary's, house for a dinner party. I photographed Will carving a turkey he'd been cooking out in his hand-built smoker in the back yard. My spouse was wearing really nice, black linen dress so I photographed her engrossed in dinner table conversation to show off both her brilliant expressions and her casual but near perfect fashion sense. 

The camera went with me yesterday to the car wash, and to the grocery store. It will accompany us to our favorite hamburger joint at lunch today. The camera doesn't languish on the floorboards of the car, nor is it relegated to the back seat, unattended. It's at my place at the dining room table when I get up for swim practice and it's still dark outside. It keeps me company when the house is quiet and I'm having coffee before swim practice. It's there on the desk in my study when I check my email before bedtime. And there's always a camera sitting on the dresser across from me in the bedroom. Just in case I hear something outside during the night that might need photographing. It's there at every doctor's appointment, dentist's appointment and coffee meeting. 

Sure, there are long spells when no pictures get taken. No shutter play. No immersion into this or that. But the camera is steadfastly there...ready... bestowing a constant reminder that the potential to make an image is always there. Always a possibility. Because most of the good stuff in life and photography seems to happen spontaneously. 

Mentors tend to be as valuable as random opinions about the weather... I don't believe in them. Better to spend time making photographs and learning from your own instances of satori and inspiration.