importance of photography

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This post is a bit off the beaten path but there is a point. If you don’t want to go on reading, here is the executive summary. Photography is fun, it’s also very, very important. So do a good job. Watch the video above to get the six-minute version of why photography matters.

For those of you reading on, this may seem off-putting or morbid or even depressing. That is NOT my intention. In fact as I write this, I am in a great and happy mood. I am trying to make a point that has become very important to me as I get closer to the end of my life. My hope is that I can pass this on to those who are further away from that day than I – and that you will make the most of it.

I am much older than the average Photofocus reader. I’ve lived a generally charmed life. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve had plenty of challenges, and made plenty of mistakes. I’ve had to overcome them all. But I’ve also had tremendous joy and success. The mistakes I made in my life are past. The bad things that happened to me are also past. I learned long ago that I can’t change the past and what matters most is what I do next. That’s where I’ve found success. It’s always in that NEXT moment. It’s one of the advantages of aging (yes there are a few!) I have the wisdom to apply the knowledge I’ve gained throughout my lifetime. In my case, my wisdom is to recognize that the successes I’ve had are all tied one way or another to photography. I’ve learned the importance of helping others by using a camera. I wish I had learned this earlier. I hope you learn it sooner than I did, and that this post gets you headed in that direction.

Almost everything good that has happened to me has happened to me because of (or surrounding) my love of making photographs. Telling people’s stories, capturing special moments, sharing, and protecting them – it’s all been amazing.

But we all owe a debt. Tomorrow is promised to no one. My time will come soon enough. Actually, I have no way to know when I will die, but I suspect it is going to be sooner rather than later. So I’ve been thinking about it. And it’s been quite freeing. Especially since I’ve come to realize, it will be no big deal.

On the day of my death – nothing will really change. The daily newspaper will be delivered, the dry cleaning will still need to be picked up. If it’s a Friday, the detailer will still come out of habit and detail whatever car I have sitting in the driveway – (He’ll be surprised when he rings the doorbell and I’m not there to pay him!) People will argue online about Mac v. Windows, Android v. iPhone. Folks will do their grocery shopping, go to the movies, read a book, drink a coffee and water their lawns. The dog will get his walk and the pool man will come rake the leaves out of the pool. The sun will rise and set as always. Virtually nobody and I mean nobody will notice my passing. Life will go on – except for me – and that’s the way it should be. That is the order of things. I used to wonder about it but now I see it’s beauty and simplicity. The fact that we know we will die incites us to do great things while we are alive.

We each have (on average) 2.5 billion seconds to do what we’re here to do. I have used as many of those seconds as I can making photographs. I have no children. I have no grandchildren. On the day of my death, those photographs will be all that’s really left of me. They are my progeny. Perhaps that’s why I’ve been so intertwined with photography. It’s a way for me to leave some small sliver of myself behind for others. It’s proof of my very existence.

It might be easy to confuse the difference between an insignificant life and an insignificant death. I don’t think my life or any life is insignificant. So please read carefully. I am saying my death will be insignificant. Not my life. The reason for this discussion is simple. I am trying to share the importance of making meaningful images. They will live on past all of us. Whether you have children or not, the images you make today may outlive you AND your children.

My photography is my only chance I have to exercise control over my fate. My photographs are all that will be left of me when I go. I think about this every day. Not in a morbid way. But in a hopeful one. I don’t fear death. I actually embrace the concept. I realize that the tall old trees in the forest need to fall so that light can filter down to the smaller, younger trees. It’s an important part of life’s cycle. Because like all humans, I am self-aware. I think about the chance I have to matter even after I pass.

While the day of my death will be routine – it is my hope that for those who go on past me, their routine may be occasionally – if only for a second – impacted by a memory of one of my photographs, or my books, or my posters, or my training videos or my talks at a photo convention, etc.

What causes me to think about this so often is the fact that many of my subjects are not self-aware. The eagles, bears, mountain lions and wolves I’ve photographed don’t have the curse or the blessing (depending on how you look at it) of knowing they are mortal. They just do what they are supposed to do every day. For them, there is only the now. There is no tomorrow. I wonder what our lives would be like if we could live that way too?

When you make your next photograph, think about how important it just might be. It might be the last photo made of that subject – or YOUR last photo – period. Make sure it’s a good one. That way – whether anybody notices you’re gone or not – they will notice that you were here.

I hope you see just how important this business of memory protection really is and that you will get as much from photography as I have. We will meet at the end of the road one day. I suspect we’ll still be able to see each other’s “portfolio” in that next place. I’m looking forward to seeing what each of you accomplishes on your journey to the end of the road and I hope you make it a meaningful trip.

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Ms. Lange and her car - Photo Public Domain

I’m starting a series of sorts here at Photofocus. The goal is to get you to realize the value of studying (or at least knowing about) the work of the photographic masters. No – I’m not talking about the cool kids with lots of “fans” on Flickr or Facebook. I’m talking about people who never lived to see such things. Now instantly, some of you who are young will decide this can’t help you because after all if it isn’t new – it isn’t cool – but you should read on anyway. You might just learn something.

Let’s start with Dorothea Lange. She was born in 1895 and died in 1965. Ms. Langue studied photography at Columbia University in New York City and in 1919 moved to San Francisco where she made her living as a portrait photographer. Her early life was somewhat tragic in that her father abandoned her and she contracted polio, but she used these negative experiences to help guide her to a life with meaning. While she started as a simple portraitist, the Great Depression became the pressing social issue of the time, and she abandoned her work as a portrait photographer and became a documentary photographer.

She understood the importance of photography. She used it for good. Ms. Lange thought that photography could be used to bring about, or at least document social change. Her work had great purpose. She photographed displaced families during the Great Depression and then the Japanese internment camps started during World War II.

Her work was so on target, so compelling that the U.S. government censored it. The government was worried that her compelling images of the suffering she documented would undo the plan to keep the camps going.

If you study Ms. Lange’s work you’ll note that she focused on the subject’s mood more often than not as the theme of her imagery. She managed to make character studies that conveyed more than just the information you might want about a single subject – but about the time she was living in.

Migrant Mother by D. Lange - Photo Public Domain

Her most famous photo – “Migrant Mother” is a good example of that. If you want to think about photographic storytelling, look at that photo.

She did achieve some recognition during her lifetime. She was awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship for excellence in photography and none other than Ansel Adams invited her to accept a position on the faculty at the California School of Fine Arts – hanging out with other notables including Minor White and Imogen Cunningham.

She co-founded “Aperture” magazine and her work also appeared in “Life” magazine. After her death, she was shown at the Whitney Museum and inducted into the California Hall of Fame. A school was named after her in Nipomo, California where she made the “Migrant Mother” photograph.

When I think of photographic heroes – Ms. Lange’s name always comes to mind. She overcame incredible odds, coming from a poor, immigrant family whose father left her – polio – a world where women didn’t have equal rights, etc. Yet her eye, her compassion and her desire to use a camera to tell stories left a legacy that will last well beyond her.

Take some time to research Ms. Lange’s work. I guarantee you it will make you a better photographer, and probably a better human being too. I know it did me.

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Today is Memorial Day in the USA. It’s a day we set aside as a national holiday in memory of U.S. military service members who died while in service. Unlike Veteran’s Day – which is designed to honor veterans, living or dead, Memorial day is all about those who have gone on.

Today I remember two friends from high school – Lanny and Chip. And on days like this, I also remember the importance of photography. You see, the tragic thing is, not only are they gone, I can’t remember what Lanny or Chip look like. It was so long ago. We were literally just boys. And more tragic, I never made a portrait of either of them. I have no pictures of my two pals from school. I was just getting serious about photography back then but I really screwed up badly. I never made one single image of either of them. I was too busy photographing cars or if I were extremely lucky, pretty girls. (They both envied the pretty girls part.)

But Lanny and Chip were like family and I sometimes actually cry at the thought that I never made their photograph. I kick myself just about every day over this. It really bugs me. But like all bad things, there is some good that can come from it. I can learn from that mistake and so can you.

I am sharing this extremely personal failure with you for only one reason. I want you to know that what we do as photographers, even those who are just hobbyists, is very important. Our photographs document the world around us. Even the casual photos count. Every person who touches our lives will pass. The photographs help us to remember them. The photographs are more than something pretty to look at. They are a piece of history.

On this Memorial Day I grieve for my pals. But I also grieve for the lost opportunity to make a memory of them with my camera. Sure I can and will some day find a photo of them. There’s one in an old year book I can look up. But it’s not the same. I should have been the one to make their portraits and I didn’t. These days I don’t make that horrible mistake. I try to photograph as many people as I can – and as much of the world around me as I can. My time is coming and when it does, I want to leave behind MY memories – the memories I made with my camera. You see, not only are the photos we make important for others, but for ourselves. We leave behind a bit of ourselves in each picture.

If this story has resonated with you at all today, please take a moment to pick up your camera. Find someone who is important to you. Take a few minutes to find some sweet light. Find a clean background. Start a conversation with your subject. Get them talking about someone from their past. And start making portraits. You never know how precious they may become.

In honor and loving memory of my friends Lanny and Chip.

Copyright Scott Bourne 2009 - All Rights Reserved

If you’ve heard me do a talk at one of the photo conventions, or seen one of my slide shows, I often say something like – “It’s a privilege to speak for the animals,” or “I realize every image I make could be the very last one ever made of my subject.”

No matter what you think of the politics behind the recent BP Oil Spill off the coast of Venice, LA, there is one very real casualty of this mess – wildlife – in particular the birds that inhabit the wildlife refuges this time of year – and in particular to the birds – the brown pelicans. The brown pelicans only recently made it off the endangered species list. They nearly became extinct just 50 years ago. Unfortunately, due to the fact that Louisiana is home to so many large rookeries, I fear that these birds are again in danger of disappearing from the planet.

For the last three years, I’ve been photographing brown pelicans and other birds in the southeast of the USA. They are prevalent in Florida, Mississippi and Louisiana. They are regal, majestic and beautiful. Perhaps their large size makes them seem almost like miniature dinosaurs. Their grace and the ease with which they soar on the winds has always attracted, and even calmed me. Those who actually know me realize that calm is rarely a word you’d associate with Scott Bourne.

I was so moved by the pelicans that I wrote about this in February – “I Watched A Pelican Soar Today,” was a post about letting go. I re-read that post about once a month to remind myself of how great that day was for me. I have to admit that as I saw the images from the oil spill, and found out how heavily damaged the pelican population will be, I found myself wanting to cry for these birds and remembering that special day in February.

After seeing images from the spill area, I quickly went to my library of images from last year’s shoot. The image at the top of this post is one of my favorites. The bird’s massive seven-foot wingspan is too great to fit in the frame. I loved the intensity of the bird’s eyes as he performed a flawless landing in the bay. I watched this bird fish, and play and soar that day. I had the honor of sharing his company and making his portrait. It’s possible that he’s one of the birds that has either already been impacted or will be by the BP oil spill. Perhaps he’s already gone. If that’s the case, this image of him will live on. I’ll see to that personally. Because the images we make matter.

No matter what you’re photographing today or this week – remember. The image you make may be the very last one anyone ever sees of your subject. Whether it’s a bird or a bridge or a building or a balding old man. Your photograph could be what the rest of humanity views as the one and only lasting memory of that subject. So with that in mind, remember how important photography is to all of us. For goodness sakes put some effort into that next image. Don’t cut corners. Don’t go half-way. Spend some time thinking about what you’re doing. Learn your gear and your craft. Execute as flawlessly as you can. And remember, it’s a privilege to speak for the birds – or whoever or whatever you’re photographing.
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