Unpacking experiences perceived as failure is scary, especially when you’re not used to them.

It occurs to me that out of all the time I’ve spent experimenting with projects, this is the first time I am dealing with a complete failure. There were always moments in my project when things did not turn out as I hoped, but this was the first time I returned from a shoot with nothing but ashes. In truth, failure is common in artistry, and my lack of experience with failing comes directly from me not working on concepts as much as I wish I did. It feels scarier than it should, like a point where I need to give up entirely rather than step back and assess what went wrong.  For a better Wyldcards project later this year, I sifted through the wreckage so that what happened at this shoot at Momocon does not repeat itself. 

I think everything can be traced back to the fact that I didn’t know what I wanted to accomplish. At best, I knew that I wanted a prelude meant to accompany MIRRORS INTO WYLDCARDS later this year, but that project wasn’t fully fleshed out. I knew I was obsessed with reflection: reflecting on stories we love, reflecting on what we have created, and reflecting on life as we know it now. I was also enamored by the idea of bringing this project to a major convention: the joke of AllenCon fighting to shine at Momocon by having the two experiences meaningfully collide. These two notions formed a cocktail of ideas involving cosplayers offering a tour of the convention experience by switching bodies with the characters they were cosplaying and “reflecting” on the stories we’ve come to love. The concept was incoherent and poorly thought out, explained, and maintained. Ultimately, the ideas did not land.

Unfortunately, I noticed the concept falling apart within the first 10 minutes of shooting and reacted by dissociating from my project. While decent images came out of it, I spent much of the project emotionally and creatively bankrupt. I didn’t try to do anything remarkable, I just wanted everyone involved to have a good time. And for reasons I cannot disclose, I failed at even that.

Returning home Friday feeling heavyhearted, believing myself incapable of concept building. I denounced the photoset. From there, my feelings snowballed, and one failure made me see inadequacy in everything I ever did. I gave up on MIRRORS and the Wyldcards series entirely. Even Tethers, a whole separate project, was wrapped up in the eventual mental destruction of everything I ever accomplished with a camera. My creative drive collapsed, and rather than get advice on the situation, I dealt with these feelings by myself. 

Those who know me know that my anxieties run rampant. I had to decide to make the voyage to rational, productive thought on my own. I had to remind myself that yes, the concept was not executed well, but that does make the concept of reflection less worthy of pursuit. Rather than throwing up my hands and abjuring everything I ever loved, all I had to do was excise the rot and start over from the beginning. I have three months to figure it out, and I know I’ll come up with something worth shooting. Funnily enough, the failure of a concept based loosely on reflection led me to reflect.  I picked up the pieces of the photoset rather than write them off, and I presented them the best as I could for what they came to represent: the beginning of the process. Once I adopted that mode of thinking, everything editing-wise came into place. Eventually, I came to like the set. Now that the ball is rolling in a better direction, I look forward to rebuilding Mirrors into Wyldcards, communicating what I want, collaborating better, and giving the project the thought, love, and process it needs to blossom. Thanks to one of my many battles with myself, I now know how to proceed and what to avoid.  

None of this adequately expresses my mental journey over the past month. Anxiety makes a career out of turning stumbling blocks into impassible walls. But I take comfort in the fact that, even now, I’m still learning! I won’t plateau with my previous work because I am working on bettering myself. It’s easy to forget that when dealing with all the noise in life.

“(I am) more than what you see, (I am) not yet what I shall be.”

-Allen.

View the full photoset here.

During the first week of shooting Wyldcards, I dipped my toe into the art world for
the first time in a long time at Vinings Gallery in Roswell Ga. If you’ve been
watching the project, you may have seen me speak on my feelings on the
experience and the awakening that chased me afterwards.  

All the usual art was packed away and replaced by works from an
artist named Imam, who had his own art gallery showing for the weekend. Each
piece provoked a response I found uncommon in my reactions to works I see
commonly online and on IG…I felt compelled to take my time on each piece, and
with every second and from every angle I stood, I saw new things in each painting.
More than a few people there found this to be curious– many of whom felt
inclined to make comments to me about it, including this old couple who decided
to chat with me. They asked me what I was seeing and what I was feeling about
each painting, and I was disappointed that I couldn’t answer in a way
that I felt was intelligent or accurate of my experience. I
merely recalled what I learned in school about
multi-point perspective, 3D space, leading lines, color theory, and applied
that to a sense of admiration when it came to Imam’s command of all four. In
that moment, I remembered being fascinated by my studies, and though I don’t
fondly recall college as a whole, I was thankful for what I learned. But with that
gratitude also came a bit of frustration. 

In college I studied 2D animation. I know my principles, my
terminology, my techniques from working with a pencil or digital pen, but
I’m weak in the area of composition–something I needed most in order to
transition from 2D drawings to photography. I recalled, from my first visit to
the gallery, a painting called Solace 2008 by Fabian Perez…and
I found myself transfixed. It was portrait of a woman on black, with a
dress painted in bold red, surrounded by a chaotic red vignette. I loved it…but
it got me thinking. As poisoned as my mind is, it forces me often
to compare myself to others. It didn’t take me long to mentally sift
through every photo I’ve ever taken, only to confirm that I have never produced
a photograph that was anywhere near as striking as that painting was.

When I was speaking to that couple at the art show, I was also
speaking to myself. I told them I didn’t yet have the talent for
composition, or the eye for color, or the mind for portraiture that I wish I had.
I tell people this often, from friends, to family, to people that I work with, and
it often goes in one ear and out the other. They’ve all formed their opinion on
my work already, and they are ready to defend it on my behalf. It’s sweet. However,
this occasion was different. The couple never saw any of my work, and therefore,
had no opinion they could offer in its defense. For once I could speak
truthfully from my point of view, and hear a response based not on what I’ve
done, but what I feel is true about my work. And their response was exactly
what I needed: “Everybody starts somewhere. Even Imam started
somewhere.” It’s a common assurance, but one I needed to hear as opposed
to the praise people around me offer… because while I’m enough for them, I
have not yet satisfied myself as an artist. The couple would go on
to recommend that I research the work of Jerry Uelsmann, a photomontage artist,
and Ansel Adams, a landscape photographer. Again, these people never knew me,
nor have they seen my work, and Imam’s art on display was nothing like these
recommendations, but they were right in assuming it was photography I’d
resonate with. A lucky guess, perhaps, but anything good deserves gratitude.

When the show closed and I was stuck on the Uber ride home, I had much
to think about. Artistry is subjective and the definition of what it means
changes from person to person. The way I receive art in my eyes and in my heart
is so far removed from the images I take on a day-to-day basis…but I’m close. I want
more practice, I want to compose images better, I want to build better, more
cohesive themes, and I want a better grasp of color. I want these terms to come
together to form an image that no longer requires me to explain my intentions,
also, an image that reaches out to others and causes them to stop and ponder. I
want to be visually arresting, and I know I can get there if I keep moving in
the direction I’m going now. I am blessed that, even though I am not
yet the artist I wish I was, I am enjoying the act of creation as I build
myself into the vision of my own future. There are worse creative pits to be
trapped in.

Before I left, I was very candid about my experience in the gallery,
mingling amongst the artists, patrons and hosts of the art world, a
place I’ve never been but always saw through a screen. They replied that I
could have my own gallery show one day.

Imagine that.

One of the biggest shortcomings an aspiring artist can have involves not having another artist from which to draw inspiration, and I suffer from that every day. A friend once asked me which photographer inspired me most, and I struggled to answer. The only name that came to mind was Paolo Roversi. Other than that, I have not delved into the world of photography as I should have.

To fix this, I branched out a little since then, but not as much as I should have. I was lucky to discover Peter Lindbergh in my search. A photographer that commands drama in his work like I one day hope to do. Also, a film director, as I wish to be someday. I didn’t know much of him but on the surface, it was clear that he was everything I wished to be when it comes to imagery. 

I had only a few months to become familiar with his work before his passing yesterday, and waking up in a world without him puts quite a few clouds in the sky. It was a silly thing to hope that one day I could meet him and pick his brain, figure out what makes a photograph tell stories and radiate emotions. But it matters that I have a body of work to study from. His mark has been left. Much of what he has created survives today and influences young hopefuls like me, challenging us to be better than just kids with cameras.

I never knew him, and I didn’t know of his work for very long, but I’m very grateful to have learned his name. One thing I’ve realized over the past year is that simple seeds grow into mighty, towering trees. I’m hoping the seed he planted in me turns me into a worthwhile artist.

Thanks, Peter. Bravo.