I tried reading On Photography by Susan Sontag. The book was recommended to me as a must-read for photographers. I will not doubt it is a classic analysis photography, but my mind seems incapable of absorbing the sentences.
The book analyses why people make photographs, what it means, how it relates to other art forms, how people pursue photography. And more, like an article about Diane Arbus’ work.
I find the theoretical analysis quite problematic, being a photographer myself. While taking pictures I do not want to (nor can I) philosophize about the picture-taking itself. I don’t want to know. I want to think as little as possible about the process, but focus on the act, on the picture. Of course I have a frame of reference. But it’s somewhere back in my head, in the unconscious probably.
Susan Sontag
I put the book away about halfway through. I feel defeated.
Gisteren in het bizarre industriegebied Westhaven in Amsterdam foto’s gemaakt. Naar Zaandam gereden en geparkeerd bij Tamoil tegenover het Hembrug terrein om vanaf daar de tocht te beginnen.
Met het pondje naar de overkant. Aan beide kanten van het kanaal staan interessante snackbars. Uiteraard gesloten nu i.v.m. de lockdown.
Vanaf de pont loop ik naar rechts, het industrieterrein op. Bij de pond is een eigenwijs buurtje met een handvol woonhuizen. Het is wel een keuze om hier te willen wonen, zo omgeven door industrie. Met een magnifiek uitzicht over het Noordzeekanaal, dat wel. De tuintjes zijn meest volgeplempt met buizen, bootjes, gereedschap, dakpannen, hout en ander ondefinieerbaar bouwmateriaal.
Ik loop langs een enorm opslagterrein. Grote bergen zwart gruis. Geen idee wat het is. Kolen? Enorme kranen en andere indrukwekkende apparaten staan op het terrein om het zwarte gruis te verplaatsen en te verwerken.
Langs de industriële gebouwen aan de andere kan staat een strakke rij populieren.
Bij een rangeerterrein voor treinen breekt het beeld weer iets: enorme windmolens, treinwagons en materiaal voor rails. Een enorme transportbuis steekt de weg over.
Ik loop terug, en steek over via een weggetje dat Kajuitpad heet. Aan het eind van het pad is een afvalverwerkingsbedrijf aan. Een rij ooievaars staat op het dak opgesteld om het afval te lijf te gaan. Als ik dichterbij kom trekken ze zich terug het dak op, uit het zicht.
Bij de pont loop ik langs het grote beeld van het kussende stelletje in Delfts blauw. Leuk idee hier langs de uitgestrektheid van het kanaal.
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 …
New Year’s Day was a sunny day, finally. A managed an afternoon photo trip in the area, covering four quadrants in Heemskerk.
These picture here are from the 19W-F21 area. They best reflect it was still wet everywhere from days of rain, with low hanging clouds, shards of fog over the fields and shallow and pale light. A day that starts late at 10.00 and already begins to vanish at 14.00.
