How I improved my love for photography
Photographer staring into the cosmos
A couple of years ago I lost almost all my drive to do anything photography related. I was burning out on photography but not from the exercise of taking the photo. There’s a soul-crushing invisibility that engulfs creatives who no longer feel truly seen. When the fire that forged your artistic gifts now blows as indifferent embers no matter how hard you breathe life into the coals. I know that hollowness intimately. I had to take a break and look inwards to find out why.
As a Midwest photographer, I’d always found escape through photography’s promise of unseen angles and fresh perspectives. My camera unlocked hidden beauty otherwise dulled by familiarity. Until one day, it didn’t. Some may say go out and take more pictures. But I would argue the quality of quantity. I would like to think that I no longer must go take 100 pictures of a single flower. Nor do I feel the need to post 10 pictures out of that 100. I‘ve finally reached the point where I can walk around a subject and take no more than 5 photos of a subject and have something close to what I envisioned in my head.
When I started losing my drive, I just turned it off. I felt that if I had to force myself to be creative it was not the right time to be creative. This also wasn’t the first time I felt this. Sometime back in the early 2000’s I hit this similar wall when I was DJ’ing. I was forcing myself through the motions, not playing the music I wanted to play. I lost all my energy to perform and when I did that was also reflected in the performance. The first warning signs appeared gradually. Force of habit had me framing the same subjects but suddenly the well of inspiration ran dry. No new gem shone through the viewfinder no matter how I circled these static scenes. The Midwest offered little visual respite come February. Cabin fever bred creative fatigue.
Social media had an odd and unknowing impact on me as well. I noticed when Meta decided to change up Instagram to favor reels and stories over pictures. Everyone’s Instagram accounts took a hit on traffic unless they already had a huge number of followers. When I lost 75% or more traction on my photography there it inadvertently took some of the wind from the sails. I still rarely post to Instagram. Which is sad that a business would decide to subtract rather than enhance their platform. But then again, it is Meta. I shot not from inspiration’s intrinsic spark, but for the external validation of likes, faves, and fleeting social recognition. My art became anchored in metrics, not meaning. And so my love slowly drained away.
Then the algorithm changed. Instagram deprioritized the singular shots I’d honed my life around. Shadowbanned into oblivion as they pushed Reels and Stories to the forefront. Where once my images amassed hundreds of eyes, now they were lucky to garner dozens. ghostly glimpses seen only by a handful never to resurface.
At this point, I decided to take a break and just rethink it all. I’d take a camera out occasionally when the mood vaguely struck me. I would also get some good pictures out of the excursion. The most resonant art reveals itself on its own timeline...
I also noticed YouTube has a negative impact on my photography at times. I became over-inundated by the polarized influx of talking heads blabbing about which brand was better or which lens was sharper. The noise and drama around gear became overwhelming.
The solution was simple - unsubscribe from the equipment debate channels and focus my YouTube feed on content bringing me true creative enjoyment around photography as an art form. Gear be damned, vive l'art!
These days during the long Midwest winters, I don't try to force much photography unless an inspirational adventure pops up organically. By spring, I find my creativity builds and flows more naturally again in sync with the thawing landscapes around me.
The biggest lesson has been not to force creativity - it ebbs and flows like the tides. When inspiration swells within me, I ride the wave. And when it retreats for a period, I step back and wait for its seasonal return rather than pushing through a creative drought.
