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| Sarah Abraham, Model & Activist |
"Turn the lights out and see what happens. Sometimes it's a gift."
Gregory Heisler is iconic in the photography industry. His manner when designing photographs for 70 different LIFE Magazine covers and many an advertising campaign since the 1980s goes beyond just lighting a photograph. When he works with an individual, he seeks to create an experience that brings context and feeling together into a photograph that invites a viewer to "sink their teeth into it." Of course his advice was specific to lighting a photograph, and it's excellent advice, but it also perfectly described in words what I've been grasping to convince myself: it's time to do what's next.
I've been working with a colleague to organize group shoots for other photographers for the last 18 months. My portfolio has grown, my skills have grown, and I've learned a great deal about how to negotiate the obstacles of that world. But in doing so, for so long and with a partner at Wayfinder Photographer Collective, part of me had forgotten how to create alone. The needs of other photographers would consume all my free thoughts and was beginning to take up countless pages in my notebooks. When I filled a notebook from spring in preparation for summer, I glanced through those pages and was knocked backward by a startling discovery. All those ideas and concerns actually sourced from the same question manifesting itself over and over again:
What is it all for?
It's an existential question I've asked myself several times over the years. But this question that once provoked crippling fear has evolved into a covert, personal signal of two inevitable things: creative burnout, and a breakthrough is near.
The first time it happened was right after I got married. Adjusting to a new life with a new person can be difficult and was definitely so for me. While my new husband plunged into full time school and full time work, I felt adrift and without a purpose. I'd found the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with; now what? I needed a goal, a personal calling that always seemed just out of reach. I dabbled in photography with my trusty Canon Powershot 200. I found relief by creating a casual and fun photoshoot experience with some friends, but the reveal was what hooked me. The excitement they felt to see the photographs was contagious. But the thrill of seeing them see themselves the way I saw them--simple and beautiful--was a different level of attachment. If photographing people at my amateur level could make me and them feel so happy, how much more satisfied would I feel to really master that craft?
As my free time quickly diminished by raising children, taking time away from them to explore photography with reckless abandon quickly fell to the sidelines. What else could I do? I was terrible at crafting and scrapbooking was a nightmare. I casually gave interior design a try. The easiest change I could think of was pillowcases, which lead me to a few stores where I scoffed at prices higher than I was willing to pay. Befuddled, I flipped a pillowcase inside out to explore the seams. Two pieces of fabric sewn together. How hard could that really be? My husband gifted me a simple sewing machine that year. I'd never been so pleased with two crooked pillowcases. I made those. If sewing something so simple could make me so happy, I thought, what else could I make?
Ideas slowly waning, time slowly passing, I still hadn't found my "calling". I was just doing stuff that made me temporarily happy. It wasn't enough. I took a break from sewing, took a break from studying photography so intensely, and just...paused. It was like deploying a parachute on a race car. The world slowed down and I found more time to just think. I thought about the weather, played extra games with my kids, folded laundry a little faster, took up a casual home workout routine. One morning I decided to browse YouTube for a tutorial about how to do something around the house but was immediately distracted by a suggested video: "Find Inspiration Anywhere". That was a headline I could commit a few minutes to. An hour later, the presentation complete, my mouth agape, I reached for a notebook and wrote down lists and lists of new ideas. My photographer mind suddenly awake, I stumbled onto another life-changing resource called "The Strobist", a free online lighting course by experienced photographer David Hobby. Learning how to control light taught me in turn to better see light, and that changed everything. I learned to reverse engineer lighting seen in photographs and films. I learned how to manipulate light--any light--and how to photograph it. I suddenly started paying much closer attention to the color of lightbulbs. Too warm? Too blue? Most bulbs in my house are now calibrated to daylight just so I can pop them on to fill in some shadows for a quick picture during birthday parties or playdates. I couldn't unsee the things I learned in that class and I didn't want to.
I felt frustrated while feeling adrift after marriage. I explored photography and discovered the power it has to make both the subject and photographer happy. Breakthrough. I felt empty when there was no time for photography. I tried something new and learned how to sew. What else could I make? Breakthrough. Creative burnout from sewing and photography. Still no calling. Parachute deployed. Breakthrough.
Frustration. Exploration. Breakthrough.
Each time frustration blocked my way, only pulling that proverbial parachute--turning out the "light"--cleared the way for a breakthrough. It's a basic formula that took me years to identify and more years to hone the warning signals that a storm is coming. I'm still not great at this cycle because the first stage is the worst (obviously). Who wants to find herself stuck in a proverbial corner of her own making, banging her head against a wall because she's too stubborn to turn around and see what else is in the room? I'm still learning to embrace the burn.
It's time to do what's next.
I love styling shoots. It gives me a way to share my thoughts through a medium that speaks to me. But creating in a vacuum under controlled situations can only take me so far. There comes a time when enough is enough and one has to consider what comes next, the ultimate and higher calling. For me, planning styled shoots for other photographers is not the whole package. A major reason for participating in styled shoots, in my opinion, is to craft a portfolio that demonstrates one's ability to do that thing in the real world. I have big dreams of using photography as a way to start meaningful conversations about causes I care about. Determining "what's next" means taking a break from styled shoots and taking action--to turn out the light and see what happens.
One month into this break so far, I've filled my "extra" time by reading books by successful people. Phil Knight, cofounder of Nike. Diana Nyad, the first and only person (so far) to successfully swim from Cuba to Florida after failing 4 times. Ruben Gonzales, who wanted to be an Olympian so badly that he chose luge as his sport because it had a high dropout rate and he was unwilling to ever give up. I recently read Grit by Angela Duckworth, a compelling study of how grit determines success or failure in absolutely anything; and Blink, a collection of case studies analyzed by Malcolm Gladwell about the power that instinct has to influence our decisions. Reading has restored my sense of mental clarity and offers me a space to explore my own reactions and feelings to these books, and slowly my inner voice grows back to full volume. Until this particular rest most of my breakthroughs lead to the open-ended questions of "what if?".
This break, however, has lead me to a different kind of question I'm excited to answer:
Where do I want this breakthrough to take me?
"Turn the lights out and see what happens. Sometimes it's a gift."
-Gregory Heisler
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