A photo doesn’t just show you what’s in front of the camera. It shows you something about whoever’s holding it too. What you point it at, what you wait around for, how you frame the thing, all of that gives you away eventually, whether you meant it to or not.
The selfie question
Take the selfie, probably the most modern version of self-expression going. For some people it’s genuine. For a lot of people it’s a carefully staged little performance for Instagram, hashtag lifestyle, hashtag ootd, hashtag me-myself-and-I. I’m not knocking it exactly, but it does make you wonder how much of it is really self-expression and how much is just performance.
That’s not really what I mean when I talk about photography reflecting who you are, though. Photography’s the one art form where you get to look through the exact same hole I looked through when I pressed the shutter. You’re seeing what I saw, in that instant, and depending on how I’ve edited it afterwards you might catch a bit of whatever was going on in my head at the time too.
Picture two people either side of a coin held up between them. One’s looking at the head, the other’s looking at the tail. Neither of them is wrong, they’re just seeing half the thing. A photograph works a bit like that. What you take from it depends on where you’re standing, and more than that, on everything you’re carrying with you before you even looked at it.
What a photo says about me, whether I like it or not
There’s a shot I took at one of the anti-government demonstrations in Nantes a while back. Someone looking at that could reasonably assume I’ve got strong feelings about French politics. Truth is I was about as neutral as it’s possible to be, I was there for the photograph, not the cause. But the viewer fills that gap in with their own assumptions, and there’s not much I can do about that once the shutter’s gone. I do the same thing looking at other people’s work, so I can hardly complain.
Then there’s the question of why I press the shutter at that exact split second and not a second before or after. Cartier-Bresson had a whole theory about the decisive moment. Mine’s less elegant: I try to clear the frame of anything distracting, get my subject exactly where I want them, or just wait until they walk into the right spot. Means I miss plenty of shots. That’s fine, it’s part of the deal. Has it turned me into some miserable perfectionist? No, thankfully. Do I still push for that extra bit of effort anyway? Yes. Not for me particularly, more for whoever ends up looking at the photo afterwards. Call it professional pride if you like. If you’re going to bother doing something at all, you might as well try and do it properly.
Have I actually changed, though?
I’m honestly not sure my subject matter’s moved on as much as I have. Am I still taking roughly the same photos I always did? Probably, yeah. But I’ve picked up plenty along the way, mostly off YouTube if I’m honest. Forty-odd years since I started, and I’m still learning new things every year, more in the last ten than most of the decades before that. I know more about film now, how to shoot it and develop it properly, and I’ve got a lot better at editing. Worth mentioning I trained in desktop publishing back in 2003, of all things. Twenty-odd years ago, Photoshop, Illustrator, QuarkXpress, the works. Feels like a different life.
New gear and different lenses got me properly into wide angle for a while, enough to get it out of my system, or so I thought at the time. I’ll probably go back to it again at some point, knowing me. Either way it changed how I look at a scene, and I know how to use the distortion now instead of fighting it. It gives a photo a different kind of impact, something a bit more unusual than the standard view, and it’s occasionally the thing that makes a client notice a shot.
Confidence has come the boring way, just from doing it over and over. Getting out with the camera is still the only trick that actually works. Some people might say I lean too much on gear. Maybe. But I’ve put the hours in too, and at some point that earns you a bit of trust in your own eye.
Do I take the same photos now as I did in 1987? In some ways, yes, because whatever’s essentially me still comes through in the picture. Back then I was purely obsessed with nailing the exposure, and I didn’t have a fraction of the technique or the visual references I’ve got now. I was also fifteen. I’m over fifty now. The core of it hasn’t moved much. Everything around it has, same as it would for anyone after thirty-odd years.
Thirty years in France
Something people might not know: I’ve lived in France longer than I lived in the UK. Has that got into my photography somewhere? Maybe. Probably, actually.
France gave the world Cartier-Bresson and Doisneau, and their street work still gets me every time, that deceptive simplicity that looks effortless and clearly wasn’t. I’d be lying if I said that hasn’t rubbed off on me. It’s there in how I look at Nantes, walking around with a camera, feeling like they’re somewhere just behind my shoulder. Subject matter shifts country to country too. The UK and France don’t hand you the same photos at all.
Doesn’t stop there either. I’ve picked up just as much from photographers online. Sean Tucker, Thomas Heaton, James Popsys, Mango Street, Peter McKinnon, and Jamie Windsor, that lot have all left a mark one way or another. Not a single Frenchman on that list, which says more about me than about French YouTubers. I speak French all day at work and everywhere outside my front door. By the time I’m home I want my own language back. That’s a me thing, not a them thing.
So does the camera show who I am? Some of it, probably more than I control. My photos say something about how careful I am, or I’m not, about being fair to what’s in front of me, about which places pull at me, Nantes streets, French light, and about which photographers I’ve let get under my skin. I don’t think that adds up to some tidy answer about identity. It’s more that every roll I shoot is a little bit of evidence, and I’m not always the one who gets to read it. Maybe that’s the interesting part. I’ll let you decide what mine says about me.
Also in this series: Part I — An Introduction · Part II — Why Do We Photograph? · Part III — The Emotions of Photography · Part IV — The Art of Storytelling · Part V — Identity & Self-Expression · Part VI — Connection Through Photography · Part VII — The Philosophy of Impermanence · Conclusion