Let me be straight up front. When it comes to photography, the shooting part, in the field, and on location, whether for personal or professional reasons, I’m a loner.
I want to be alone. I have to be alone. I must be alone.
It has always been like this for me.
There is precious little room and space, inside this closet of artistic creation and consumption, for much else.
The clicks and ticks are so creatively loud, in my head, while I’m in the moment, chasing light, color, and design, I often can’t hear the clatter and chatter around me.
I’m in the zone. My zone.
It is, right or wrong, good or bad, only in my aloneness, that I can hear myself and feel myself being creative.
To this end, unquestionably, when it comes to my beloved photography, I’m a classic introvert.
In other words, I get charged by being and shooting alone.
It’s not like I don’t enjoy the company of other creatures and photographic companions. I do. I really do.
But, in photography speak, other photographers, in the hunt for capture, often distract me from my singular and emotional focus.
I am often told that, given my seeing, social personality, and social extroversion, I should lead and teach more location workshops and retreats.
Perhaps. But it’s not my thing.
I am the most alive and the most creative when I am in a mental and visual state of unchaperoned, unassisted, unescorted, and unaccompanied rapture.
It has nothing to do with enjoying, or not enjoying, the social fellowship of others.
I love feeling the vibe and vision and verbiage of fellow humans and pilgrims. Especially photographer types.
But, when it comes to photography, the kind I like to shoot and get after, leave me alone.
I want to exist, even melt, in the comfort and quietness of solitary abandonment.
Alone but not lonely.
I so clearly remember, decades back, my first visit to Santorini, Greece, with Shannon, the still love of my life.
Upon arrival, after getting off the luxury ship we were traveling together on, and doing a commercial assignment for, I told her, instead of enjoying the day together, and because of my shot-list obligations, I would meet up with her, later in the day
She took my wanting to be alone the wrong way. She was crushed. I was a fucking idiot. What was I thinking?
Later, in the evening, back on the ship, we talked through our earlier emotions, and said our peace, over champagne and Russian caviar:) We laugh now but didn’t laughg then.
My photography is so private and personal to me, it’s hard, even at times, impossible, to let those I truly love, enjoy with me.
It’s not at all like I don’t honor and celebrate the efforts of co-collaborators and co-creatives. I do. I really do.
But, the yellow brick road, I have painstakingly paved for myself, over the years, is not only the road less traveled but the sheer remoteness and joyousness of aloneness.
I am alone, free, raw, wild, and alive.
If you are a fellow photographer, forgive my forwardness.
I love you but love my aloneness more:)
How about we meet up later for champagne and caviar?
Click.
