Photographic Mindset

Aug

2011

Carry Your Crappy Camera

I’ve been thinking about this post for a while. Regular readers here will be aware that I’ve decided to focus on the craft of photography for a while rather than on the gear. The plan is to learn the skills, the vision, the art, the mystery, the feel of making photographs that please me and I’ve found that new or more gear doesn’t always accomplish that for me. And so, I’ve been thinking a lot about how I think about photography.

Thinking about thinking; it is a strange and wondrous exercise.

You see, I love shooting with my Nikon D300. I paid a good sum of money for it. I love the feel of it. I love how I can change settings quickly and intuitively through the myriad of buttons on the outside of the camera body. It feels good in my hands. You know, I’m just into this camera.

Lately though, I’ve taken to shooting with a used Nikon D80 I bought. At first it was just for novelty but I had bought this camera for a couple of reasons: first, I felt I needed a backup camera body; second, I needed something my wife could put on “Auto” and make a nice picture quickly; third, I needed a camera that would keep my interest while shooting on vacation that she could also use easily; fourth, I needed something I didn’t value quite as much as my D300 because I have two little boys who tend to dump sand on me, jump on me, and splash water on me (decidedly non camera-friendly occurrences.) So the D80 entered the stable.

But after a while I noticed something about how I thought about this backup D80 camera: I didn’t care about it as much. Now, normally that would make me want to shoot with it less. But I found myself shooting with it more. Strange. So I started that thinking about thinking thing again. Why?

Well, I’m more willing to take risks with the D80. I’m more willing to get it close to water and I’m more willing to get it down near sand. I’m more willing to use it in precarious situations and I’m more willing to hand it over to someone else.

The image above is an example of what I’m talking about. My extended family and I were walking in a wood in western Maryland while attending a family reunion and my 3 year old son was dragging behind (short legs and all that.) My 18 year old nephew hung back with me and at one point, looking back toward my son he said, “this would make a cool shot, Uncle Brian. The trees above and Sebastian below.” He gestured with his hand that he was visualizing something. I didn’t even look back to see what he was showing me- I just handed him my D80. “You see it; you shoot it.” I told him. And he did.

It turns out it is one of my favorite images from that reunion. And I didn’t take it. But it wouldn’t have been made had I been carrying that D300-I covet it too much and probably wouldn’t have handed it over so freely. And that got me thinking. 🙂

When we travel to foreign countries and are wanting to make portraits of people, wouldn’t it be nice to occasionally hand over the camera and let our subjects make a picture of us? Or have their family member or friend make a picture of us and our kind and generous subject together, to remember the occasion? Maybe we could even send them a copy of the picture or even print one right there with our Pogo printer so they could have a memento and stories to tell? It would be a great way to break the ice; a great way to engage with our subject; a great way to build a bond. Sure, perhaps occasionally a camera could get stolen. That’s what insurance is for. But it also wouldn’t be your D300.

Now, I’m aware that a D80 is not a “crappy” camera to most. But it is my cheaper and older camera-I bought it used, for not a lot of money, so it is more dispensable to me. What is your older camera that you might be willing to take greater risks with? How about breaking it out and carrying it with you and get those photographs you might have been passing up for fear of damaging your gear?

P.S: Stay tuned for a fun little announcement form me within the next few days as well.

Aug

2011

Upgrade The Photographer

Also known as “No New Gear For The Rest Of The Year” season.

I’m what I like to call a “retro-grouch.” I’m not really all that grouchy; I think I have an adventurers outlook and I love to try new things, explore possibilities, and learn. It’s just that often the learning, the experiencing, gets all bogged down in all the “stuff” that seemingly goes along with it. I’m reminded of George Carlin’s famous skit about needed a bigger box for all the stuff we accumulate.

Well, photography and specifically the plethora of gear that can go along with this craft is beginning to feel like it is too filled with “stuff” for me. I’m yearning for something simpler. I’m beginning to recognize that my accumulation of more stuff does not necessarily correlate to better, more satisfying images. It doesn’t even necessarily correlate directly to more adventure or more fun either.

Ugh.

I’m not in this for more stuff. I have a house full of stuff. I have cycling gear from my days as a racing cyclist. I have rock climbing gear from my time squeezing rocks for dear life. I have backpacking gear from the time when I carried everything I needed on my back, in one bag. I’ve got lots of stuff and I am recognizing that I’ve experienced this feeling of increasing complexity in the quest for simplicity in each of these previous endeavors. And each time I chose an enforced simplicity and discovered more of what I was seeking.

So, I am beginning by putting a moratorium on new gear acquisition. I need to understand light, composition, exposure, aesthetics better instead. I don’t need another lens (I really want one, but I don’t need one!) This is the time to upgrade the photographer (special thanks to Stuart Sipahigil for the idea and the term “upgrade the photographer.”) This is the time to push my skills, use what I’ve got, and focus on the image, be involved in life, tell the story of my community, fall in love with shooting images rather than the gear used to do it.

So, what is on the docket? Well, simplifying for one. Going light. When I was childless and backpacking a lot I read a book about ultralight backpacking and discovered that camping in this way entails philosophy that completely served my reasons for being in wilderness. I left comforts at home and only took necessities. And you know what? I was more comfortable on the trail and consequently in camp as well. I could move faster, see more, experience more, and still have the energy to dance a giddy jig when I experienced something magical.

I plan on applying this same philosophy to my photography; if I can be less encumbered can I then be more in the moment and better able to make a worthwhile image. Henri Cartier-Bresson did it with a Leica and a 50mm lens. Andrew S. Gibson shot stunning images in the Andes with a Canon Digital Rebel and a kit lens. Why not me?

Secondly I plan on studying. I plan on studying other’s work: Larry Towell, Cartier-Bresson, Norman Mauskopf, Trent Parke, and others. I plan on exposing myself to as many art and cultural opportunities here in New Mexico as I can.

I plan on trying to tell the story of the land where I live. Of starting and completing projects that are of interest to me, about people and cultures that interest me. And to have fun. Somewhere along the line this got all serious. No good. Time for some fun and a return to the excitement and wonder I first started shooting with.

I hope you’ll join me on my little journey. I just know there is something magical in the works.

Jun

2011

Turn Around and Photograph What Is Around You

My horse, Cometa, and I nap in the middle of a long day. Photo courtesy of my wife, Ana Aragon de Miller

I have been watching other photographers, local friends mostly, as they move through their process in photography. Readers of this blog will recognize I’m particularly attracted to the creative process and how that works out psychologically. Watching my friends, and myself, struggle with the creative process in photography is endlessly fascinating for me. One struggle I have observed many of us go through is what I call, the “loss of subject matter” phase.

The process can go something like this: 1) the person gets enamored with images and image making; 2) the person becomes enamored with and buys a “good” camera; 3) they take pictures of everything and everyone; 4) eventually they get a bit better and become more selective about what they shoot; 5) they begin to grow disenchanted with their subject matter-it isn’t as interesting as it once was-it has been done before-it is old hat; 6) eventually they can feel like there isn’t anything local that they want to photograph and they need to travel to get that feeling back.

Not everyone experiences it in this way, but it is fair to say that many of us find the distant and unknown more exotic to photograph than the local and known. Henri Cartier-Bresson, that heralded pioneering photographer, once said,

“To interest people in faraway places-to shock them, delight them-is not too difficult. But the most difficult thing is in your own country. You know too much….when it’s your own block, with such a routine, it’s quite difficult to get. When it’s places I go to all the time-I know too much and not enough and to be lucid about it is the most difficult.”¹

And yet, who better to tell the local stories than those of us who live right here? Whether it is Howard County, Maryland or Albuquerque, New Mexico, or Lubbock Texas, stuff happens there, interesting stuff happens there. I will venture that if you start looking, really looking, you will find something interesting right where you are. David duChemin recently encouraged people to pass on buying new gear and put the money toward buying plane tickets. That is great advice. After all, it’s not in the gear that you will find great images. But it is also not really in photographing more exotic places that you will become a better photographer. Becoming a better photographer happens by seeing with newer and better eyes, and using the camera at hand to depict your vision of what is presented before you. What better place to start than in your own town?

Cartier-Bresson, in the quote above, said he knew “too much and not enough” about the places with which he was familiar. I know it is the same for me. How about you? What if we were to get curious about where we live? Can we really effectively tell the stories of distant lands when we cannot see and tell the stories of our own land?

What is it you don’t know enough about in your neck of the woods? What stories are there that are just begging to be told? Explore what you know about where you live and go deeper than you’ve gone before; explore what you do not know. Challenge your assumptions about your environment (yes, you do have them!) and look deeper at the people living there, their habits, their customs, their celebrations, their losses. What draws you in? What repels you? Provided you will be safe enough, can you explore those subjects that give you a negative reaction as well as those that you are attracted to? There is a landscape, a people (or several), a history, a culture, nature, in everyone’s home town; what is the visual story of that place.

Turn around, get curious about the place you live. It is fine to long for travel and adventure but, if you’re anything like me, you’ll spend most of your days at home. And I believe that is an interesting place. You are more qualified to tell that story than I am as I just past through and skim the surface.

PS. I got totally jazzed about photographing where I live after I started thinking in this way and, wouldn’t you know it, opportunities have begun presenting themselves to me. So, I’ve got a fun one in the works that I hope turns out. Stay tuned. I don’t want to give anything away but I’m really jazzed to photograph this.

PPS. Oh, and for some additional help with making photographs “close to home” check out Stuart Sipahigil’s wonderful ebook. Aptly titled “Close to Home”, it is available for purchase through the good folks at Craft & Vision.

¹. This quote is taken from this video featuring Henri Cartier-Bresson’s work and comments on it that was up on vimeo for a while but has since been taken down. The DVD is available on www.icp.org. The direct link to the video store page is here.

Jun

2011

The Artist’s “Raison D’être”

About a week ago I wrote a blog post about how I inspired someone through my art and I’ve been wrestling with what I really want to say about meaning. I’m not fully sure I’ve arrived at my thesis for this subject but I wanted to turn you on to something written by my electronic friend, Stuart Sipahigil, upon his return home from The Artist’s Roundtable.

Pop on over here to read is post.

Apparently Stuart has found his “raison d’être”, his reason for being, his purpose while at that workshop. What a profound gift, that.

I should know. My day job is in the mental health field and I often find myself sitting with people who are suffering because they’ve lost their “raison d’être due to one reason or another. It can be a painful state.

The challenge then is to try to discover something that has meaning deep inside the person and this journey of discovery can be long an arduous. Stuart was fortunate that he was with some skilled and empathic friends who didn’t answer his questions for him, or relieve him from the hard questions. And out of the questioner came the answer. And what an answer!

How does this relate to creativity. Well, I believe that art that comes from a sense of purpose within the artist is more honest art; the artist creates their own personal work-their vision-when it has meaning, personal meaning, for them. And a good way to do that is to align their art with their personal purpose. After all, isn’t photography, as Henri Cartier-Bresson said, a way of screaming what you feel?

Jun

2011

In Defense of Mindlessness

: Shelter

I was listening to a podcast recently where Matt Brandon was interviewing David duChemin. It was a wonderful interview. I find Matt to be a skilled interviewer, weaving his own opinions gently into the conversation with the interviewee and thereby making meaningful discussions worth listening to. Matt was fully engaged in this interview as well, as was David.

David appears to be a wonderful man and I have to say I have very much enjoyed reading his books, ebooks, and blog posts as he manages to be courageous enough to discuss those aspects of the photographic world that just rile him up. This interview is no different and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

During the course of the interview, while attempting to make a point, David mentioned that part of his goal is to encourage people to photograph more mindfully. And that got me thinking…

Now, before I start my rant, allow me this one disclaimer: I love mindfulness. I’ve studied Buddhist and Hindu forms of mindfulness training; I’ve applied it to my personal, professional, and spiritual life; I have to say that mindfulness has turned my life around and is responsible for its positive direction at this time. I’m all for it. I love it. And I understand and support what David is trying to do regarding how photographers photograph. But are we in danger of tossing mindlessness in the trash bin because it is the flip side of the mindful/mindless coin?

Now, another note before I continue: I think some defining clarity is in order. When I speak of Mindlessness I am using the term in a very specific way. Mindlessness to me is not Distractedness. Distractedness, as I define it, is the state of having our attention taken away from the present to something else: smartphones, iPads, TV, daydreaming, that sort of thing. Mindlessness, to me, is different from Distractedness in that it is the state of being fully present but not actively thinking. It is a state of being observant, aware, present, engaged, receptive, responsive.

To my way of thinking this is a state of openness and receptivity that should be highly prized in creative circles. Think “being in the flow” or “being in the zone.” Mindlessness is a state of effortless ease in the moment of great effort; a time of clarity in the midst of confusion. It is, I believe, the time when we are most receptive to the whispers of the muse. It is, therefore, a state worth cultivating.

But what of mindlessness? Is it getting a bad rap? Is it getting a rap at all? Is it even on the radar? The image above is my example of Mindless photographing. My friends and I had snowshoed out to this stone house on the summit ridge of the Sandia Mountains outside of Albuquerque and I had a good time making a few images of the house. I’d thought through my exposure settings and aperture settings; I’d visualized the final outcome of the image given the cloud we were in and the contrast between the snow, trees, and stone; I’d worked out and photographed from several vantage points. In short, I’d been mindful about photographing my subject. Finished with my images I’d put my camera in my pack and started to sling that pack onto my shoulders when I noticed the cross-country skier heading up to the house.

In that moment, with my pack half slung, I had a familiar feeling. It was a feeling just like the days, years earlier, when I raced bicycles full time: after all the training and analyzing of my competition, my gearing, my heart-rate, the wind, the terrain and we were whizzing down the race course, that a voice in my head both shouted and whispered “NOW!” When I listened to the voice I always ended up in the winning breakaway. When I didn’t listen I was left to watch that winning breakaway ride away from the main field of riders, leaving me to duke out the minor placings against a much larger contingent of riders.

“NOW” that voice whisper/screamed in my ear. For a moment I hesitated…almost too long. But that feeling, and my state of Mindlessness, allowed me to be responsive to what I can only consider the Muse. As I ripped open my pack, and the camera bag stuffed inside, I followed the skier with my eyes, “seeing” the image in my mind’s eye as it was beginning to take form in front of me. As the camera came up the aperture was set matching shutter speed to ensure good depth of field while freezing the action-all without thinking about it. He wasn’t slow, this skier, so only one moment was possible and when the right pose was struck at the right spot the exposure was made.

I’m quite sure I didn’t make this photograph. That came from somewhere else. While being in my Mindless place I allowed the Muse to work through me-or at least I didn’t hinder the process with my active mind.

It is an odd thing to trust this process. It takes a measure of courage to do so. After all, we’ve spent a lot of time and energy learning this craft. We’ve put countless hours into understanding exposure, aperture, composition, white balance, ISO settings. After all that time and conscious thought and effort to learn, understand, focus, and execute mindfully how do we trust that this explicit knowledge has somehow become implicit and will flow out of ourselves from a place in ourselves beyond thought. Surrendering to the Muse might be an uncomfortable idea for some, but I am making the argument now that this is a place and experience of great beauty and out of which much of what is true and honest about art and creativity is born. I am suggesting that we might give ourselves over to another force while making images Mindlessly. It might seem odd at first but after a few tries, when you feel the flow, you will know.

For more on the subject but perhaps with different words check out the latter section of Steven Pressfield’s book, “The War of Art” and Elizabeth Gilbert’s presentation on the muse at TED.com.

Listen to Matt Brandon’s interview with David duChemin HERE

Jun

2011

Cracked: the Challenge of Too Much Creativity

I don’t know. Not many weeks ago I was wallowing in self pity as I waded through the morass of Resistance; no mojo, no drive, no direction. Motivation wasn’t even waxing and waning; it was simply waning. Today I find myself on the flip side of that coin.

And it’s not much better, really.

Oh, I know. Don’t get me wrong. If I were back in the morass I would be praying for the challenges I am facing at the moment. I might just have actually done so back then. I don’t remember. I was lost.

But today I struggle with a different “problem.” Too much motivation. Too many projects. Too many ideas. I feel pulled in too many directions photographically. I’m finishing up a project for my brother; I’m putting finishing touches on a photobook for my family (it is nearly a year overdue and I’ve another due in August!); I’ve begun a project based on my nephew’s high school baseball games; and this spurred me to start another project that I’m keeping quiet at the moment in order to experiment with working through an entire project without outside input.

So, I feel torn, pulled, distracted. Too many irons in the fire. It feels like the opposite of “too many cooks spoil the broth.” It’s more that there are too many pots going simultaneously on the stove so that I cannot concentrate effectively on getting one right.

Finally, however, I recognized my “problem” and pushed through delivering the proofs for my brother’s pictures. Now I can focus on getting that photobook done for my family. But wait, I have a really great idea….

May

2011

Working Through the Morass in the Creative Process

It has been a slow time in blog-land for me these past two weeks. A quick peek at my last post might give some idea why. Hanging out in the morass of Resistance is never an easy challenge and this bout is sure reminding me of that. But I have not sat still.

Thankfully I know that the morass of Resistance can be the fire out of which new creativity arises. The mythological symbol of the Phoenix rising from the ashes is an apt metaphor for this. So too is the Hindu Goddess Kali-the Goddess of Destruction. Before each new creation something else must give way. Psychologists, as well as others in the mental health fields, sometimes refer to this as Alchemical Transformation. While historically alchemists attempted to turn base metals into gold through purification methods and fire, this term can also metaphorically refer to the process of psychological growth; in the fire of our difficult emotions our psychological makeup can be transformed.

To me, creativity, aliveness, has some of its roots in our individual and collective psychology. So I see my own descent into the morass of Resistance, the fires of uncertainty and self doubt, as an opportunity for psychological and creative growth. A, perhaps small, rebirth.

the working cover for my new book tentativly titled "Yucatecan Color"

So, following Steven Pressfield’s direction in “Do the Work” (read this postfor a more in dept look at this big little book) I have continued to do the work I can do. Lately I’ve taken to carrying my new-to-me Pentax K1000 film camera around and have learned about the vagaries of expired film; I’ve switched to shooting black and white on my digital cameras (I shoot RAW so the file is still ultimately in color, but the preview is B&W and that is helping me “see” in B&W”); and I have been working on a photobook with images from my trips to the Yucatán Penninsula in Mexico which will soon be available through blurb.com.

The outcome of all this work still remains to be seen. But I suppose it is fundamental to have some faith in the process; to know in one’s heart that all will be fine again, that the mojo will return and the creative sparks will ignite some fires.

Speaking of that, I’ve got this idea for a project….

May

2011

The Morass of Resistance

The other day I wrote about an author, Steven Pressfield, and particularly two books of his that address a particular challenge that arises in most, if not all, creative people: Resistance. Then I smashed face-first into my own.

Pressfield describes Resistance as a naturally occurring force that comes, part and parcel, along with the urge to create; two sides of the same coin. This simple explanation has helped me tremendously. Mostly it helps with separating Resistance from who I am personally; it helps me to remove it from my egoic identification with myself. As a result it decreases the amount of shame I encounter when running into Resistance (i.e., writer’s block, loss of mojo, self doubt, self pity, procrastination, embarrassment, etc.). Since these are no longer reflective of who I am, they are no longer “my” faults, but rather they are part and parcel of creation. They are part of creation, and creativity, itself.

Part of the trick in working with Resistance and overcoming it is to identify when it happens. In his new book, Do The Work, Pressfield mentions that every project of significant effort will crash. There is a moment, perhaps short and perhaps not, that will leave you feeling like you can’t do it, it’s not good enough, it’s not worth enough, you are not worthy, good enough, smart enough, fast enough, bright enough, charming enough, deserving enough, …you get the point. Something, or everything, will conspire against you to make you give up, stop, quit, throw in the towel, fail. It might be that your hard drive crashes, the camera aperture mechanism quits, someone doesn’t like your work, YOU don’t like your work, you run out of money, you come into a large sum of money, whatever…

The key is that something will throw you off your game and it is up to you to notice it is Resistance, find the fix to the disruption, and finish the project. I had this happen to me recently.

As you might have noticed, this blog is my attempt to understand creativity through the photographic medium. It also involves writing, wondering, gnashing teeth, and wrestling with ideas. It also involves connecting with others. Well, as per usual, I did that the other day, happily proud of my observations and completely unaware that I would be bulldozed by Resistance. I wrote a comment on a contact’s blog about those hard-to-define buzzwords in photography: vision and voice. I was proud of what I wrote and wholly unprepared for what followed.

A couple of comments later was a comment from the mentor of the blog owner that I felt undercut my comment. I was crushed and felt myself buckle at the sting; and I experienced Resistance wash over me and begin to drag me down into its morass. Now, I have to point out that, upon reflection and re-reading, the comment by this person was not bad and not necessarily pointed at me. And, to be fair, probably was not even aimed at my fragile ego. The gentleman was simply making a point and taking part in the conversation. What is poignant in this experience for me was my interpretation of the commentary and what that did.

I began to doubt myself, slowly at first but then it began to gain steam: was I wrong?; did I know what I was talking about?; what right to I have to make a comment such as this?; do I even know what I am talking about?; this guy is a well respected photographer and I’m a nobody so I need to just shut up, or better yet, give up. stop. Quit while I’m ahead. Quit while I still can. With each negative thought my mind found evidence to validate it. I could feel myself begin to question my entire reason for blogging, for writing, for photographing even (after all I work a full-time plus job, I have a family to care for, a home to care for, aging parents to worry over…see, lots of validation for my questioning.) Woah, that was fast!

Thankfully I was simultaneously reading Do The Work, especially the section on your project crashing, and I was able, slowly, to notice that Resistance had me in a headlock. This knowledge can be enough to break free-and give fodder for a blog post or two about creativity. The trick is to notice that Resistance has arisen, identify any problem that is getting in the way of the work, fix it, and continue the work. For me that involved identifying and understanding my motivation for continuing this exploration of creativity through photography: to answer the “why” of the quest; to find the meaning in the journey. By knowing this I can settle back into to work despite Resistance gnashing at my ankles. And perhaps I can continue to try to define my understanding of vision and voice.

Apr

2011

Travel Heavy, travel light

I can’t decide. Sometimes I resign myself to lugging all sorts of camera gear around: umbrellas, reflectors, tripods, lenses, camera bodies…all sorts of goodies. Other times I think that life is just made so much more complicated by so many choices and “needs” and I just want to simple things down. At times like these I wish I owned a Leica M9 or, more realistically, a Nikon P7000, or Canon G11, or Fuji X100; simple, streamlined, but high quality cameras.

So I’ve taken to trying different approaches. Last fall I shot the Muertos y Marigolds Day of the Dead parade here with a bag full of gear and two cameras-one with a zoom to get in on all the action, one with a wide angle in order to capture some cool images of the low-rider cars rolling through. This weekend, while running around town with my wife and two young children, I grabbed my small Crumpler bag containing my Nikon D80 and a 50mm f1.8 lens. One simple(r) camera body and one simple, non-zoom, lens.

Boy, the feeling of freedom that came with the simple setup was grand. Did I wish for other lenses or my D300? Sure. A time or two. But without having them I was able to move through the “shucks” faze and work with what I had: some yummy light, 3 subjects I just adore, a nice backdrop. And, as a serious bonus, since I was less focused on my gear I actually got to connect more with my wife and kids. The camera didn’t stand between me and them, but rather sort of disappeared as it became part of what we were all doing. And so now the images I created are visual reminders of a day well spent, rather than the focus of the day.

I wonder, could we manage to connect better with our subjects and have a more rewarding experience with them if we just chose to travel light at times? What would it be like to travel with my D80-50mm lens setup, say to Paris? Or to Thailand? Perhaps I would be limited, but would that limitation actually force me to see differently, to look more for scenes, subjects, backgrounds, light–yummy gorgeous light?

Feb

2011

Of Love and Other Demons

Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.
~Rumi

I swiped the above quote from friend’s Facebook post on this Valentine’s Day. It seemed appropriate to think of love in a way that is out of the ordinary for how we, and by this I mean me and perhaps you, think about love. I happen to enjoy Rumi quite a bit, especially because his writing has the habit of shaking up my perception and my perspective–good things to have happen to a photographer.

This quote, and Rumi’s ability, got me thinking: if we put up barriers to that which we often are seeking (Love), what kind of barriers have we placed in the way of our creative potential?

Sometimes it is helpful to write down, to make a list, of those negative things we believe about ourselves. Be it, “I’m not good enough,” or “I’m just an average artist,” or, “I’m just an amateur photographer,” and then to write down the opposite in an attempt to eliminate the negative belief. Whatever you might discover about your negative beliefs, about your creative self, the chances are you are mistaken. Creativity spills from each of our lives much the way flowers creatively express their inevitability.

To be creative we must be much like the flower in its expression. That is to say we must do so simply because it is what we must do; we need not, indeed perhaps must not, await another’s praise in our effort or copy what others have done before. Gavin Gough, professional travel photographer, explains and encourages this beautifully in his post today entitled “Setting Sail on Your Own Course.”

So on this Valentine’s Day, day of love and friendship, as you seek to eliminate the barriers you have placed in love’s way, why not also strive to identify and eliminate the barriers you may have placed in the way of your creativity. I imagine–no, I am sure–that both love and creativity will flow more freely from you as a result.