Words! – August 16th, 2024

Interrupting your daily frame for a few personal words:

The more I care about something, the more I want to write about it, so the fact that I haven’t written about photography would call my care into question.  Given that it’s cemented itself into my daily life over the last couple years, the truth is my care is not worth questioning, rather the emphasis and ease with which I’m willing to declare it. 

I’ve long felt caught in the relationship between labeling and legitimacy, shirking terms like writer or photographer because my work can’t seem to justify the hefty standards of quality or responsibility the titles hold for me, nor has anything I’ve written or photographed led to tangible cultural impact or monetary compensation.  I’ve held this “titles must be earned” supposed humility to heart for quite some time, yet depriving myself of any self-affirmation hasn’t built my confidence or capabilities the way I hoped.  I’d argue that punting on committing to how I spend my time and what I’d like to be better at has been detrimental to my progress, and how others understand me.  In our interconnected and smartphone-democratized times, there is no authority determining the authenticity of the things we can call ourselves.  Every day, we’re all writing, taking photos, curating, commenting, and storytelling.  In a post-singular truth world, legitimacy has never been more subjective, and is sometimes incentivized more than credentials, effort, merit or proof. I don’t believe I can fully adopt a “fake it til you make it” mentality, but there comes a point where de-legitimizing a significant passion in my life in the name of integrity is more fraudulent than the supposed ‘fakers’ I’m afraid of becoming.

Knowing me, it’s reasonable to get how I’ve gotten to this point.  Taking photos was not something I was encouraged to do, showed any interest in from a young age, received zero educational or institutional training, and only began doing it after receiving a separate fine arts degree and poking down multiple divergent career paths.  Even those who know me well have been a bit surprised by the proliferation, kindly allowing my film stock rants and event candids and trailing off from conversations mid sentence to capture something with my always-pocketed Canon point and shoot (the closest I’ll get to a concealed firearm). 

Perhaps I’ve been the most surprised how photography has crept up on me, and particularly my persistence with it.  I’ve held many desired skills and perceived passions over the years: skateboarding, soccer, tennis, golf, saxophone, harmonica, improv, creative coding, etc.  Many came and went naturally, casualties of time and culture.  With others, I made the subconscious perfectionistic decision there wasn’t enough tangible ability, growth or external gratification to see a valuable payoff taking place down the line.  I didn’t want to work for something I couldn’t see right in front of me, so I dumped and dumped until I found acting, which felt sufficiently visceral, viable, and congratulatory.  When I got my first digital camera the summer before my senior year of college, some part of me believed the photographic romance would be short-lived too.  I’d justified the camera’s purchase for its video qualities, after all.  How else was I going to film auditions and become a star?

Since then, as I’ve progressively stumbled slantways into the photographic world and come to realize how much of an uneducated acolyte and novice practitioner I am (even with building confidence and improvement), the more I love it and the badder I want it.  Photography, unlike all the wants of the past, has proven impervious to my usual evaluative torments.  When tested, it bounds back with vigor and resilience, the stray dog who keeps following me home that I have no choice but to adopt.  

That’s become my grand camera simile—a clever, scruffy mutt; by my side, at the ready, forcing me up and out into the world with reckless empathy and curiosity.  Most tellingly, it’s the only other creative act accepted by my will to write, AKA my cat; indoors, calculated, hair pullingly difficult to wrangle, yet when its trust is earned and is purring in your lap spurs a feeling unlike anything else in the world.  Together, these animalian forces create the creative balance I’m inclined to think I’ve always been seeking, and have neglected to nurture in the way each pet part of my brain deserves in order to fluorish.  

This woof-meow stuff is a bit woo-woo, yes, but it’s part of my work to wrap my head around what the work is.  As I anticipate more words + photos thoughts to bubble up, KaneFrame seems like the right place to put them, so I hope you’ll indulge their inclusion.  I’m confident in all there is to come, and I appreciate your support in making it all happen!

Now, back to the frame:

Today’s Listen

Brooklyn, New York | March 2024

Camera: Yashica 230 | Film: Kodak Ultramax 400