Stretching

Being a Photography major is such a bittersweet experience, I get praised a lot, and I get scuffed a lot too. Today's post is on how I got ripped to shreds in class, I just need to write this down.

First the bittersweet, you can see some of my photos in this weeks newspaper here I also did the photos for the stories of boys Soccer and Condom Gal too. That made my morning, there is a real feeling of accomplishments when you see a bunch of your photos gracing the pages of a university newspaper.

My Documentary Photo class is hard, I mean really hard. It's not just taking pictures of pretty things and lining them up to tell a story. It's craftsmanship, trying to make your point, having things speak for themselves. One of the first things I've learned is a picture is not always worth a 1000 words as the old saying goes. A picture to a trained eye isn't just about content, and appearance but about color, lighting, filters, macro, editing, people, trash etc.

Here is my photo essay I turned in today:

Inside the Outside

The major complaints were that they didn't flow together, I tried to explain my idea of landscape and then the small things, like details in spiders the size of flea's and the beautiful leaf veins. At one point I had a girl getting so aggressive with me saying that I needed to make them all macro, because she didn't understand the title "Inside the Outside", that all macro would make more sense to her. I was pretty defensive because I had worked so hard on this project, I mentioned that I had spent hours and lots of hiking to get some of these photos and then the teacher reprimanded me for saying so. Then another peer said "so this project is Laura in the mountains? Because basically you're telling us you busted your butt getting these photos" Then right on cue my teacher said that I need to make things look easy and effortless even though I worked hard for it, giving me the impression that saying I worked hard isn't kosher in the art world.

My knees are skinned, my ankle is sore, my camera bag is dirty, my muscles hurt, and my spirit is fractured.

But I'm not going to let this morning ruin anything, my teacher Kent Miles is incredibly talented and very good at what he does. I'm so thankful for him, he drives from SLC every morning just to teach us, I'm thankful for what he has to offer even if it makes me cry. I'm not giving up, I don't think my peers were wrong, I just think there is a better way of critiquing without damaging a person. I hate being ripped apart but it makes me work harder and shoot stronger. The other students get picked apart as well I just feel particularly picked on more, maybe because my work is good, maybe because I'm sensitive. But I keep other peoples feelings in mind when I critique, posting your art work on a projector for 30 people to look at, all with trained eyes, every week is hard, but I'm learning so much. I can only vent, not necessarily complain.
My body will heal, as will my spirit. I will be successful someday but in order to appreciate success I have to taste failure, even if I fail week after week. Now is the time to stretch, I only hope I can remain strong, and I will always be ready to stretch my creative mind.