After coming to terms with my own excuses and insecurities, I made a somewhat official return to my photographic dream last week with the launch of my own facebook page. Over the past five years, my "photoshoots" have become increasingly complex and have miraculously metamorphosed into butterflies of personal growth, evident when comparing the first unfortunate shoot in my basement to my latest shoot at home.
Started from the bottom
And now we're here!
For a long time, improvement was very linear. I put in a little bit more effort and got pictures that were a little bit better. I took my camera everywhere and took pictures of everything. I had fallen in love with photography, and spent as much time with it as possible.
But like all true romances, the honeymoon eventually ended. I reached a point where I took better photos than most people, but still felt miles away from being professional. I hovered at the border between being a hobbyist and a "real photographer," unsure how to move forward yet terrified of a perceived certainty of failure. To not try and fail by circumstance seemed to be more gentle than to fail by proven inadequacy.
At the same time, I began to feel tired. I was tired of being the token photographer. I was tired of the expectations that come along with that. I was tired of feeling constantly unappreciated for all the time I spent going editing acne off faces or simply going to events. Somewhere, photography stopped being an something I enjoyed and became an insufferable burden.
I began to ask myself what I was shooting for and why I bothered improving. Was I spending hours on photoshop tutorials and lighting guides only to take great pictures of my kid's soccer game in 20 years?
This feeling gnawed at me and eventually I stopped taking photos all together. I was so scared of what could be and what couldn't be that it became easier to give up, to shut it all out.
For lack of better words, I gave up on myself.
When I went home for Winter Break, my dad bought me a new camera. He joked it was my birthday present for the next ten years, Christmas present, Valentine's Day present, engagement present, and wedding present all in one. Candidly, he admitted he was only making good on an old promise. He'd planned on getting me a new camera for awhile, but was waiting for it to be financially doable. The box was waiting for me the minute I got home, luggage still in tow. My parents were surprised when I didn't tear the box open, and I made excuses about being tired, about waiting for Christmas Day.
But I was frightened. How could I tell the people who believed in me that I didn't believe in me?
When I got my trusty starter SLR four years earlier, I'd locked myself in my room after opening it out of sheer excitement. This time, I opened the package with dread, unprepared to face the physical manifestation of my own disappointments.
I shot and edited my family's Christmas photos later that day, and the sense of control and familiarity tugged at my heart strings. I was doing something that I once deeply cared about, but had shut away. The feeling repeated post New Years, and eventually I conceded photography was still something I very much enjoyed doing.
I decided to restart, with the personal promise that everything would be different.
After releasing an open casting call to anybody interested in modeling or styling, I began to conceptualize more Chinese inspired creative shoots, and The fusion Asian project 'Fusia' was born.
