is it good, or is it just pretty? (2023) (Patreon)

I finally got a copy of William Eggleston's Guide yesterday, as well as Simon Stalenhag's Tales From the Loop. They are both fantastic works of visual art; Tales From the Loop has the added bonus of being an incredible sci-fi story told through an unexpected narrator.. I adore both, and they already are sources of inspiration, which I'm sure will only deepen on further readings. 

It has led me to a weird introspective place, however; I know when I look at an Eggleston photo, it is deeply compelling. I can list some of the things that elevate it above other work, and some things cannot be categorized, but I know that there are processes of framing and light and thought that make it masterful. Every shot comes with an instantly-conjurable story associated with it that demolishes the line between staged and candid in a way that cannot be described. I can't do that with my own work; I'm too close to it. There is no story because I know what happened: I was there, and I saw a picture, and I took it.

And it's led me to this strange place where I shoot because I must—quitting photography might be the only thing harder for me than quitting smoking, and I've tried more times to quit photography—but I can't tell if my work is good. I can recognize the references and homages to other artists I admire, and I can tell you technically whether a shot is good, but I'm so close to my own work I can't tell if it's good until months if not years after the fact. 

Largely, most of my work from about the beginning of my photography hobby at age 13 to about the age of 25 is not very good. It's lit right or whatever but it's boring; pictures of things with no theme and backgrounds that are just backgrounds rather than part of the composition. I of course did not realize this at the time, and blissfully just kept shooting away. There are random flashes where excellent photos occur, but they are rare and I ascribe them as much to chance as I do to skill.

It has left me in an odd kind of terror about my work today. This shot, which I took in June, I think is good right now. The mountain is objectively stunning; the red truck and the lush green forest and the orange rock all appear to work in a way that looks like the world color-blocked for me. The weather worked wonders, as well. But it's also just a landscape with a truck. There's nothing exquisitely timed or deeply intimate about it; I cannot imagine it conjuring a story or inspiring someone, and so I wonder if I will eventually tire of it and think it's bad, just like the shots I took the first 12 years I held a camera. 

I don't know whether that thought should excite or frighten me.