My photos are special because they are mine, every last slanted, crooked, mis-framed, out of focus, poorly lit, badly composed, and tacky shot. Some I show off, and lots I do not, but they bring me and my family joy, and that is what makes them the most special.
You made me look! I couldn't resist, I had to become a contact as I feel we might be kindred spirits!
Originally Posted by Brian Legge
Why am I special? Like Brian above, my pictures don't get much of a look in, compared to a lot of others. I, as well, have come to accept this, but only to a point.
I have to be honest, I have an ego, just like the next bloke and the bloke next to him. My ego feels good when others like or makes comment on my photos. Does this make me egotistical? Hardly, it makes me human.
But, I have come to accept that my view on life photographically is different to the next bloke. What I now need to achieve in myself is to be true to myself and stick with what I like and not shoot photos that I think the vast majority would like. Its harder then you think!
Great points and very good question.
couldn't agree more
Originally Posted by Jeff Kubach
Newbie on this forum, this seems like a good place to start..
I really enjoy what I do, and that feels special enough for me, and regarding special, aren't we all special??
I have a love affair with my city, Rome, and I don't keep it secret, I actually take pictures over pictures of her, and the more I do it, the more I know her, the more I feel I love her, and that she loves me in return.
Some of those pictures get published somewhere, most don't. Some heir will find them, one day, by the thousand, and they will be a nice portrait of the Rome of my lifetime.
I'm basically raising some kind of a "secret" monument to Rome that nobody, but myself and a happy few, will ever admire ;)
PS On a more serious tone, producing images for stock agencies keeps me focused on results and motivated. Ars gratia artis might not work in the long run. In a long journey one has to have a distant point where to look at, or the journey becomes a wandering without direction.
Love is always special -- be it for Rome, the Redwoods, or just the light itself.