Personal photography
Sometimes, photography reminds me of scientific research. Both disciplines demand an intense focus on minute details, adhering to conventions that outsiders rarely understand, communicating in a formalized way, and both often seem incomprehensible to the general public.
During my last visit in Paris, I went to a Richard Avedon exhibition at the Cartier-Bresson Foundation.
In our modern world of unlimited cloud storage and high-capacity hard drives, the practice of printing photographs might seem antiquated. Yet, this traditional approach to preserving memories remains not just relevant but crucial, particularly when considering the long-term preservation of our visual heritage.
Sometimes people call me pedantic because I insist on defining things precisely. I don’t do it for pleasure. I do it because it’s important and it helps understand things.
I hate photography challenges. They just don’t work for me. But I also desperately want to take part.
Over the years, I have developed what I call my photographic style. It doesn’t mean my photos are good, just that I found what pleases me and what works for me. And that’s what I do. I don’t do this professionally, not even creatively, so I don’t feel the pressure to be different.
Admit it: you can’t always be great. Despite what “influencers” want you to believe, not everything in life is perfect, and certainly not from the get go.
I often see people looking at photographs and talking about their composition, colours, and message like they’re paintings. It seems expected that great photos have been thought through, planned, and perfectly executed, as if made in a studio. But does it make sense?
I really like Substack and the people I’ve interacted with on it so far. But I’ll be a bit controversial. Because sometimes you need to look at the less bright side of life to know where things really stand. I’m feeling frustrated with some of the trends I see on Substack: if you’re on Substack but you only have a paid subscription, you’re there to make money. Not to write. Not to share. Not for readers. For money.
To me, street photography feels like an intrusion in other people’s lives. The more I think about it and the more I try to do it, the more I feel uncomfortable about it.
This is of course ignoring the issues with truth, representation, ethics, and consequences. This is really the first step of that more general reflection: whether the activity should or can even take place and its place in reality.
