My, my, me

Just wrapping up transmitting the final images from my last shoot (a really fun one for Bicycling Magazine) during a busy week down in the already sweltering Magic City, and I need to download some of the heavy thinking I've been doing all morning over the role of the Me in contemporary photography/modern media since reading (nearly got through 2 pages before I fell out of my chair while sputtering "who fucking cares?!") of the cover story in this weekend's NYT Mag. If you are scratching your heads, Rachel has a blurb about it as well.

The first two competing thoughts is that the pairing of a navel-gazing, blogger girl, writing about how revealing incredibly personal attitudes and details about her relationship might (ya think?!) not work out that well in the end, with self-centric extraordinaire art photographer Elinor Carucci is both a stroke of genius and almost, well, plain gruesome. That thought and gross aftertaste is quickly followed mentally by trying to settle myself down that ego in art (are those actually even two distinct words?) and photography is as old or older a pairing than the sun and moon, and that there is nothing inherently bad or wrong about any artist turing their medium on themselves, in fact there are all kinds of things wrong about some artists, especially photojournalists, if I can nudge it under the "A-word" banner, ignoring their own subjective contribution to any attempts at objectivity.

OK, I haven't said anything yet. So here goes... Even though I love many, many classical examples of self-examinations (van Gogh's self portraits, to just blurt out the first of a long, long list), and deeply admire any photographer who puts themselves into their work in theory or fact, I'm so fucking sick of the role of Me in contemporary photography, and by extension in all media. I'm so sick of the mental strain of hearing about someone talk about themselves as if they have lived so importantly or rarely that we need to hear about it again and again.

For the longest time I didn't get Brokaw's The Greatest Generation stuff and how he kept hammering that tune over and over, but now I really get it. The man was going to kill himself he was so crazy of all of the Me noise that is everywhere. He had to find people outside of his life to tell stories about who had something to share, who had lived! for fuck's sake.

What this cover story represents to me is continued and complete disintegration of people looking outside of their own lives, no matter how banal or arrogant, for the ideas and diving boards for their story-telling, true or fictional. We see this annoying slide all over the place, even in places that were once truly special islands of thought and concern, like the radio show This American Life, which recently seems to be nothing more than a never-ending march of mediocre writers telling mediocre tales from their typical adolescent memories in a monotone voice only slightly heightened by the producer's good taste in background music. So at this point if you have ever been slightly to severely depressed, or had parents who were, or maybe not but they got divorced, or maybe you watched too much TV, or maybe you grew up in the suburbs or were not the most popular kid, or are just a marginally good writer... then you too can broadcast your "personal reflections" on all of the not that interesting shit that has brought you to this moment in your life. How about another memoir of a 20-something year old?! Or maybe an independent film about you and your friends doing very little?! But whatever you do, do not forget the dead pan look/tone/mood, though -- that's everything, baby!

I'm sure Emily Gould is a cool person and that the story will mean something to many, even if it only serves to break out debates in coffee shops (I think that's the editor's hand seen right here, folks), and maybe even force parents to pad lock the laptops of America and force the kids outside (while they blog about how kids are spending too much time online).

But I'd like it to stand for the bigger point that even if your life is really interesting... someone else's is still infinitely more interesting. As important as any artist is in the choices of creation, they don't have to be both the medium and the message. You can have personal vision without only photographing your fucking self (in your bosses office, maybe...). Please get out of your own fucking heads, out of your doors, and go out and find something and someone that is worth describing. You are not the story.

In closing, to be fair and in full disclosure... I don't consider myself to be important in anyway to the viewing of my photography. Knowing anything about me is completely irrelevant I hope to learning about the subjects who have honored my work by allowing me access. Whatever grace I have documented or transmitted was not mine. Whatever skills I possess I hope to drain completely into the story and not my recording of it. My life and work are not the same thing. I would much rather be known as a good reporter than as a great artist. And my greatest desire is to lead an interesting life, filled with meeting many unique souls who have really lived, and share that in truth.

Follow-up: In a Q&A posted on 5/27 with some of the many, many comments (1200 at last count) that Ms. Gould's article received via NYTimes.com over the holiday weekend, Emily said she was now sorry for the choice of art that accompanied the story, and furthermore that she understands and expected all of this bashing. Sigh.

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Comments (5)

well said

Your work and your life are not the same thing...or are they?

I second the well said John. I never quite got into the photographs of people looking depressed, on Xanex or Prozac or whatever. All of that looked a bit superficial to me. "I have problems - feel my pain" - shit, get in line m*therf*ckucker! But what the hell do I know.

I don't care if people are depressed in images -- I would have to delete a good share of my own if I did. I have a problem with rampant self-indulgence. I know what you mean Sherman, but I'm tired of railing at "Yale."

Sean... huh?

This sentence stood out to me:

'My life and work are not the same thing.'

I couldn't disagree with you more. In fact, I would argue that the closer those to things within you are the better you are as a reporter, artist and a person.

Hope this clears up any confusion. Sorry I didn't see this sooner. Nice work in Japan! That fish shot is awesome.

Ciao,
Sean

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