The trip that raised more questions

My little foray into the world of West Coast photography last week has raised some interesting questions. Well, they’re interesting for me…probably not for many of you.

I paid my dues at Yosemite, which in photography terms means I shot Anselesque images and attempted to find his tripod holes. My images from Yosemite, while beautiful and things that I’m pleased to show, aren’t anything new or spectacular or exciting. They’re not original, in other words. They're the same images you can purchase for a quarter on a postcard in any of the numerous Yosemite gift shops, and many of those are much better than mine. I stood in the same spot as a bunch of different other photographers – many who have come before me, many who were there the same day, and many who will come after – and I shot the same subject matter. Sure, maybe I used a polarizer where my fellow photographers that day didn’t, or I composed my image just slightly differently, or I waited til the clouds were just so, but it’s all pretty much the same. Awe-inspiring landscapes with white, puffy clouds and giant, granite monoliths.

Am I happy I did it? Absolutely. Do I feel it advanced my own work in some way? Sure. But is it completely, totally, undeniably fulfilling in the sense that I feel like I own that work? Nope.

And therein lies one of my questions. I struggle with the idea of showing my “true” work to anyone except those closest to me. I’ve been working on a personal project for a couple years now and about three people even know about it – and only two of them have actually seen any images from it. Yet I have no problem posting my Yosemite photographs. Maybe because they’re easier to part with since they don’t really say much about me. The me me. The “this is the weird, quirky stuff that really interests me” me.

So, at what point do I come forward with my really personal work? At what point do I say, “Dammit, I don’t really care what ya’all think of me…this is what floats my boat/trips my trigger/insert your own metaphor here?”

Which brings me to another question. How do I go about finding myself a mentor – someone who will look at my “me” work and give a good, honest critiques (and - I’ll admit I need it - some encouragement)? And, does the mentor have to be a photographer in the same vein? Meaning, if I choose to shoot 3-toed platypi (platypuses?), do I need to find another 3-toed platypus shooter to review my platyportraits? Or will any photographer do?

And, once I sort this issue out, how do I find that person? Fellow platyportraitist or not? I’ll admit, it’s a lot easier in this day and age to find a mentor since one can use technology to communicate and isn’t required to meet to review prints (although there is something to be said for face-to-face contact). At the Ansel event last week, I heard several wonderful photographers talk about attending Ansel’s workshops and getting feedback from him and from each other. I wish I had that, and feel more than ever now that I (and my work) exist in some sort of little photographic vacuum.

I tried attending St. Louis Camera Club meetings for awhile a few years ago. I was the youngest person there by about a hundred years, which didn’t bother me except for the fact that there’s only so many flower and birdie photographs one can look at. I entered a few of the weekly competitions and made it decently far in a couple, only to be bounced out for yet another bird portrait. No offense to the birders, but after a few hours they all start to look alike. It’s the avian equivalent of shooting Half Dome from a multitude of angles and showing them each week for a year.

So if any of you have any ideas on how to find a mentor so I can get some help in growing myself and my work, I’d much appreciate it (ahem, Ted, ahem). And for those of you who ooh and aah over my images just because you love me, keep it up. I really do appreciate that!