Competency

I have discovered a new passion.  Or rather, I have discovered a desire to share a longtime passion in a new way.  I have always found comfort in the things that catch my eye, whether they are sweeping panoramas or intriguing little glimpses.  They have been my secret delights that kept me going through the day.  What is different now is that someone has put a camera in my hand.  A digital camera, no less!   Not only does this afford copious error and negate my parsimonious tendency to eke out film as if it were diamond dust, it also allows the immediate gratification of seeing, manipulating, and dispersing the images I catch.

It has been easy to fall into a habit of taking pictures as I walk home from work.  Then I post my daily favorites up on the web (www.flickr.com/photos/dkkinsf) and in the process get lost in the world of images other people have captured.  I am constantly inspired and humbled by this visual wealth and seductive artistry.  I am also frustrated by what seems to me to be a matter of competency.

My pictures often don't capture what I see.  I either can't get close enough, or focus sharply enough, or avoid extraneous powerlines, or have enough light to catch the picture I know is there.  I see very well in the dark, but my camera is pitiful in low light and a raging floodlight with a flash.  I could easily blame this on the camera and go out and spend a lot of money on fancy photographic equipment that I don't know how to use.  Or, I could if I were someone else.  As a beginner, I prefer to embrace my limitations and use them to teach me competence with the instrument that I have.

When I began to study dance again as an adult, after a ten year hiatus from dance lessons, I was often very judgmental with myself.  I wanted to dance as well as I could imagine, or at least as well as the best dancer in the class, and often found my skills lacking.  I didn't have a body honed by meticulous technique classes.  My timing and execution faltered, and I couldn't hold extensions or move with with the kind of articulate clarity that I admired in others.  My biggest hurdle, though, was my terrible impatience with my own mediocrity.

Of course, there are many ways to surmount this hurdle, and the most obvious one was to study widely, practice diligently, stretch daily, and breathe deeply.  I did that for years, and as the injuries mounted (especially after turning 40), it became just as obvious that there was only so much I could reasonably expect out of the body I had.   What pulled me out of the mire of my self-defeating frustrations wasn't the requirement to let go of excellence as the goal.  Letting go of excellence leaves a remarkable void, and I had to have a powerful replacement if I was even  going to attempt anything so rash.  Fortunately, thanks to Carolyn Stuart of Touch Monkey, I was persuaded that curiosity, which I had in abundance, was more interesting than excellence and that all I had to do to become competent was give myself permission to explore what my own body allows.

I am now more than competent as a dancer, and may even, in an unguarded moment, claim flashes of brilliance.  I still can't dance as well as I visualize possible.  (There is this little detail called gravity that tends to impede my best ideas.)  What I can do now, even with all my physical limitations, that I couldn't before, is stay present and attentive through the lulls, find opportunities to surprise myself, and dance for the pure, uninhibited joy of motion.  My own personal spark infuses my dancing and offers support and inspiration to a number of other dancers I have the privilege to dance with.  Also, I am still dancing, strong and beautiful at twice weekly jams, while many of the best dancers in class have disappeared from the scene.

Thus, when I turn to photography and find myself frustrated by my lack of skill, I know better than to expect different equipment to capture my visions.  I'm sure study and experience will help me improve, and certainly new, more capable cameras are easier to come by than a new, more capable body.  However, I believe what will serve me best as a beginner is to discover how it is possible, with the camera I have, to show what has my attention.  My story will unfold over time, over multiple images, and will have interest for others whose senses are attuned in ways similar  to mine.

I want to thank Bruce Grant as well, for providing the same permissions that Carolyn Stuart did.  His flickr.com profile includes the following quotes:

"Eventually I discovered for myself the utterly simple prescription for creativity; be intensely yourself. Don’t try to be outstanding; don’t try to be a success; don’t try to do pictures for others to look at — just please yourself." 
— Ralph Steiner

"I say play your own way. Don’t play what the public wants. Play what you want and let the public pick up on what you are doing, even if it takes them fifteen or twenty years." 
— Thelonious Monk

"The thing that’s important to know is that you never know. You’re always sort of feeling your way."
— Diane Arbus

"I photograph continuously, often without a good idea or strong feelings. During this time the photos are nearly all poor, but I believe they develop my seeing and help later on in other photos. I do believe strongly in photography and hope by following it intuitively that when the photographs are looked at they will touch the spirit in people." 

— Harry Callahan

(There's more on his site, plus all his vibrant photographs:  http://www.flickr.com/people/grantbw)