Ethics in Photography, in art.
Ought one ever fear a camera?
Well, I guess, if, by some cosmic anomaly, a product of the infinite nature of the cosmos, cameras were to rain down from the sky (from behind the sun, a moon of loosely-packed vintage twin-lenses, SLRs, toy film cameras appears, only then to break up in our atmosphere, sheared apart by Earth’s commanding gravity), then, yes, in that particular instance, do run for cover, do fear and be weary of improbable space cameras, and of a universe which would seem to suddenly allow for such curious inconsistencies.
More seriously (one hopes), one ought only fear a camera (if one need be weary at all), if, to the task before it, the photographer's abilities are insufficient, if the photographer's desire and intent come from a place other than curiosity, benevolence, and of a reverence for the beautiful, and for the endless manifestations thereof.
Indeed, for good art, competence, authenticity, and thus the basis for an earnest trust is essential between subject and shooter. The trust and worthiness must always be earned in the performance of the work, but, at the outset, the mind ought to be operating from a good and useful place.
Else, in the former, time and money may well be wasted, and the latter, in the place of art, there may be exploitation (this ruins the art, damages the people, and is never acceptable).
Unlike my subjects, sun-lit before me, and the form of the beautiful so seen, the reason for which I desire to take photos is not as obvious, and I believe that unseen reason speaks to a character worthy of your trust, your time, and your likeness.
Before I became a purveyor of beautiful images, this most recent iteration of my photography career (>100,000 images, and seven years ago), I spent a number of seasons in the sun, sitting near to the lamp, in winter, filling notebook after notebook with thoughts, questions, ruminations on life and the world as it appears to me.
Being not a profitable endeavor, nor one that can be so simply jotted down, and put upon the world without due consideration, the work was placed on hold.
That unfinished work, like my photography, today, is the effect of a compulsion to show to the world what good and beauty I see in it. It is a desire to do good, to be that which I want to see in the world, a world —despite our growing pains— ultimately trending toward individual and collective flourishing, toward the good, proper.
For all that I have been given, for this beautiful life of mine, this ivory tower from which I can see and read and have the privilege to ponder so much, surely, there must be a cost; and, to give back, by way of helpful argumentation, by observations, humour, or, by pleasing, moving images, art is my recompense, my offering, my everyday attempt to make the world a better place.
Though it remains unpublished, temporarily shelved, that written work occupies enough of my mind as to inform virtually all of my conscious decisions, to colour my dreams, to unwittingly direct my attention.
However small the gesture of one person, that I had set out to add something to the world, to make this place better for life, and for all posterity, and that I found not the natural conclusion (its dissemination, useful reception), but, instead, a sudden and troubling cessation of that self-imposed obligation... I found the time to follow, most uncomfortable, and my presence to not be of the good use which it could otherwise be serving, as I feel it ought.
It was in such a pause, a reprieve from the pen and paper that I found a less obscure form of giving back, to, with my sharp lenses, my experienced eye, with my being helpless but to see the world as art, to perpetually parse one continuous existence/image into so many distinct pieces of art, that I found myself to be as much a man of words, as I am of images, light, form, and beauty, and I saw the good effect this had on others.
Even if it was a photo of a flower, or a candid of a stranger engaged in some true moment and/or expression of their life, else, a friend humouring my love for portraiture, the more I shot, the more I saw people enjoying their photos, the more I saw my enjoyment of the beautiful (my life) translating to a wider enjoyment, that life, more generally, was made a little bit better.
I began to see my responsibility to the world as being not just one who writes about the form of the good, but, one who captures beautiful moments, and gives to the world that beauty.
In summation, in art, in life, in anything that concerns another (see: everything), there ought to be respect, there ought to be love; there ought to be a kindness, a charitable reading of others, a benevolence natural to the good faith in which healthy, useful relationships are formed, and in which they thrive.
In my work, as in my life, despite my own essentially fallible humanity (an inextricable element of beauty), I should like to be honest, to aim to do no harm, to be the good, to be as to be worthy of trust; to create art, works, and to render assistance according to my strengths, such that the world becomes more beautiful, not less —this is as much a business maxim as it is a life toward which one lives.
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