I am very much into Austin Kleon at the moment. Earlier this week I shared a link to his 100-Things post. Following the 100 Things post’s links, I found this book abouit zine-making: Watcha Mean What’s a Zine? The punky inspiration was so appealing to me that I bought it immediately. Unfortunately, the only place I could find it with affordable shipping to the Netherlands was Amazon. Unfortunately, because I try to buy more and more from local stores and websites, doing my part to support small niche businesses.
The book introduces you to the punky indy world of zines and zine-making. Very inspiring. Makes you want to start making zines right away. And participate in this worldwide community around zine-making.
It’s covered: every aspect of zine-making, from getting ideas, writing the content, creating a zine to selling and distributing it. Tools, techniques, best practices, all are covered. An extensive list of references on various related topics. Beautifully designed.
No more excuses not to go make a zine. Or make something else creative.
Five years later, I’m circling back to the same feeling.
The last couple of years, sometimes photography tires me.
That sounds dramatic, but let me explain. It started like any passion. Fifteen years ago, it was all-consuming. I’d carry my camera everywhere, shoot anything, and the excitement was in the doing. It was about the hunt: finding the perfect light, capturing a fleeting moment, making something beautiful appear on the back of the screen.
That thrill of the process was everything.
Slowly, over time, that focus shifted from the doing to the outcome. It became less about enjoying the act of shooting and more about creating a “good” photograph. Was it sharp enough? Was the composition right? Was it weird enough (yes that is a criterium of mine!)? Would it get likes? It felt like the goal was to fill a portfolio with technically perfect images that fit a specific mold. The fun started to drain away, replaced by a quiet self-imposed pressure.
It’s a strange place to be, to feel distant from something that was once a core part of your identity. A friend recently saw an old photo of mine and said, “You should shoot more like this again.” He was right. That photo wasn’t my most technically proficient work. But it had a feeling, an authenticity, that I realized had been missing from my recent, more calculated shots.
I’ve been thinking a lot about why this happens. I believe it comes down to three subtle shifts in mindset:
1. Process vs. Product: The initial joy is in the exploration, the walk, the observation, the click of the shutter. When your primary goal becomes the final image (the product), the process becomes a means to an end. It turns into work. 2. External Validation: It’s natural to want your work to be appreciated. But when “likes,” comments, or algorithmic visibility become a measure of success, you inevitably start creating for the audience, not for yourself. 3. The Burden of “Good”: Defining what makes a photograph “good” is subjective and ever-changing. Chasing this moving target is exhausting. It stifles experimentation because failure (i.e., not making a “good” photo) feels more costly.
So, where does that leave me? I’m definitely not giving up on photography. Instead, I’m trying to reset my relationship with it.
The goal isn’t to recapture some lost initial enthusiasm. That’s impossible I guess. The goal is to find a new, sustainable way to engage with the craft. For me, right now, that means stripping things back. It means shooting for no one, with no goal other than to look and to see. It means rediscovering the pleasure in the simple act of making a picture, regardless of its destination.
Perhaps you have felt something similar, not just with photography, but with any creative pursuit that has started to feel heavy. The path back isn’t about better gear or new techniques. It’s often about forgetting the rules you’ve imposed on yourself and remembering what drew you to pick up the camera in the first place.
PS: What do I consider a good photograph:
A still moment, taken out of context. Good photos leave a lot of room for interpretation. That’s why I don’t think it’s necessary to add date and location to a photo. I like images for the image, not for documentation.
Instagram leaves no time for interpretation. Next photo …
