This morning I found myself doing what I normally do when I start a new project: Protaskinating. You know the activity of working at literally any other thing, convincing myself all the way that this ALSO needs to be done... Done in this moment solely to put off doing the actual task at hand. Stir the crock pot, swap the laundry, pick this up, put that away… endless.
Today that protaskination happened to be going through my back catalog of work sorting out images that might be acceptable for a stock photo site. As I was scrolling through images I deleted a few screenshots of old text conversations and some images that triggered shitty memories. I also laughed and enjoyed coming across some happy memories as well. What I was not coming across were many images that might be acceptable for a stock photo website.
Weird. Right? I’m a photographer, I’m always snapping away here or there. Then it hit me that I probably at some point or another went through and deleted anything that may or may not be construed as art. I’ve done this a few times in my career. (Never with client photos all though I would like to imagine some of those shoots never happened. Like the time I tripped and fell backwards over a very large rock, which is why those images suck, by the way. Or perhaps the wedding I can’t !~*LeAgaLy*~! talk about. …maybe I should scrap that one…
Notable things I have deleted include:
For you analogue folks, RAW files are basically the negatives. I do have the images that I deemed acceptable at the time to develop and submit here or there.
Those are just the files I remember deleting. Probably because I regret those the most. The other stuff, little odds and ends of living, who knows what those files included.
Last week the protaskination was, I am positive, to keep me away from going through that camera roll. Likely because I knew what I would find: nothing. nada. absolutely jack shit nothing. Even if I hadn’t scrapped most of my work. Would I find anything I thought might be acceptable to submit anywhere? Probably not. I’m not good enough. I never was good enough. Or, rather, I’ve perhaps been just barely good enough. …maybe.
Good enough for who though? Who have I always been afraid of disappointing? Parents? obviously. Professors? Well, yeah. You, dear reader? Sure, sure.
But who are you? This is merely a draft in a notebook that I may or may not put out into the world at some point or another.
Oh… is it me? Am I scared to only ever be just barely passable as maybe kinda good enough for me? So scared that I might fuck it up that it takes days, weeks, lifetimes to even start.
I can delete files, burn sketchbooks, and toss out a burned meal but I can’t erase those things from having once existed. There is evidence all around, a developed image here, worn art supplies there, and that brand new pan I’m using because the other had shit stuck so bad I just threw it away. I’ve learned something from all of those experiences. And wish I could completely erase others. We learn from those things we want to forget too.
Bad art happens. Bad situations occur. Take it for what it is and move forward. Just start.
Just start. Chances are whatever one is putting off today is going to be the thing one does next week to avoid doing something as equally awful as starting this little journal entry seemed 4 hours ago.
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