A curiosity from photo.net: “1.
A curiosity from photo.net:
"1. The Beginner: The photographer is never again as happy and content with so little as in this stage. The beginner will use a cheap instamatic to take a picture of anything of interest, like air. The distance between the beginner and the subject will vary inversely with the size of the subject. The beginner believes that each photo is a masterpiece, oblivious to the flat light, tilted borders, and 17934 irrelevant items in the photo. This stage can also be called the happy idiot, and I envy these people beyond belief.
2. The Rank Amateur: The shift to this stage is usually the result of the acquisition of an economy 35mm camera with manual capabilities. If we were rational and sane, we'd use this camera forever, however "photographer" and "rational and sane" are mutually exclusive terms (see stage 4). The rank amateur suddenly realizes that there are a dozen equipment-oriented photo magazines out there, and occasionally peruses them on the store shelf. The quality of photos has improved slightly: the borders are a bit more straight, but the exposures are now wonky. This is the photographer's first attempt at "art". Relatives and "friends" pound the last nail in the shutterbug coffin of hell with remarks like "you're very talented" and "I love this (dark) photo of tree bark".
3. The Cliche Narcissist Amateur: At this stage, one notices that, in addition to the glorified advertisement magazines that s/he now subscribes to and drools over, there are also textbooks and monographs on photography in every bookstore and library. Ansel Adams and the Zone system become the "new" religion. The cliche narcissist can conquer the world with a spot meter and 1000 rolls of Tri-X, and can do so better than the legion of other photographers who have done so over the past 50 years. With persistent delusional encouragement, and given the absence of a National Park in the vicinity, the cliche narcissist firmly believes that his/her 17 rolls of photos of shadow patterns and buildings are better than all others ever taken by other photographers for the simple fact that s/he pressed the shutter. An "exhibit" at the local donut shop is looming.
4. The Gear-Blaming Amateur: Reality sets in. Those 17 rolls from stage 3 suck and are third-rate hack work. The donut shop exhibit becomes an embarrassment. However, the slimy coating residue from stage 3 leads the photographer to believe that his/her photos would be of professional quality "if only I had an INSERT EXPENSIVE CAMERA SYSTEM HERE". Perhaps a different film? Why don't they make black and white slide film? Buy a case of that pro film then decide mid-way through the first roll that it's not quite right. More time, money, and rationalization is spent on equipment than on food, sleep, exercise, and breathing, combined. Any non-photographic possessions worth more than a quarter of the price of a lens are sold (hopefully this stage is reached in the EBay era, but then again, the photographer will bid more than s/he will sell). Making lunches and ironing shirts becomes an attractive way to save money for photo gear. Verbose opinions on every camera the Gear-Blamer ever owned will appear on epinions.com and photo.net (see stage 7 for follow-up...). Gear changes so quickly that at least 3 cameras are used to expose each single roll of film. In one year, three-times more cameras are bought and sold than rolls of film shot.
5. The Curmudgeon: Reality sets in much deeper: it's not the equipment. "I suck- I'm a rank amateur. If only I just kept shooting with that first camera from Stage 2!" Self-esteem is at an all-time low. "National Geographic Photographer" becomes the ideal profession, but about 15 years too late. After several months of staring at Steve McCurry's photographs, the curmudgeon decides "what the hell. I'm shooting a roll of film and who gives a sh-t how it turns out. It's all BS anyway". When it comes time to shoot, no light is quite right, no angles convey exactly what is seen, and it's all been done before anyway. It takes months to shoot an entire roll, but at least the same camera is ever-present. The Curmudgeon is only happy during the 1/125th second that the film is exposed to light. This stage never truly ends.
6. The Zen Pseudoartist: If there's time to shoot, great. If one frame is decent, fine. Thankfully, income is not dependent upon "getting the shot". "I never really chose to do photography; it chose me". Whatever.
7. The Senile Advanced Amateur: The phrase "Where did I put my camera?" is often heard, but when the camera is found, the photos aren't half-bad. An occasional opinion on photo.net will completely contradict that same photographer's post from Stage 4:"Read my lips: no new Pentaxes" (I am guilty of this on at least 2 counts). Protective filters are a thing of the past. An uncoated seventy-year old Leica lens with cleaning marks is tack sharp with great color rendition, and great bokeh (say it ain't so!). All light meters are useless compared to gut instinct, even (especially) for transparencies. Lee Friedlander's photos begin to make sense. Spend time writing autobiographical, retrospective, unsolicited crap like this list.
8. En-light-enment (I hope): It's all about the light. Everything else is secondary. Less talk, more shooting.
9. ???"
What's in your wallet? Can you hear me now? Good.
"1. The Beginner: The photographer is never again as happy and content with so little as in this stage. The beginner will use a cheap instamatic to take a picture of anything of interest, like air. The distance between the beginner and the subject will vary inversely with the size of the subject. The beginner believes that each photo is a masterpiece, oblivious to the flat light, tilted borders, and 17934 irrelevant items in the photo. This stage can also be called the happy idiot, and I envy these people beyond belief.
2. The Rank Amateur: The shift to this stage is usually the result of the acquisition of an economy 35mm camera with manual capabilities. If we were rational and sane, we'd use this camera forever, however "photographer" and "rational and sane" are mutually exclusive terms (see stage 4). The rank amateur suddenly realizes that there are a dozen equipment-oriented photo magazines out there, and occasionally peruses them on the store shelf. The quality of photos has improved slightly: the borders are a bit more straight, but the exposures are now wonky. This is the photographer's first attempt at "art". Relatives and "friends" pound the last nail in the shutterbug coffin of hell with remarks like "you're very talented" and "I love this (dark) photo of tree bark".
3. The Cliche Narcissist Amateur: At this stage, one notices that, in addition to the glorified advertisement magazines that s/he now subscribes to and drools over, there are also textbooks and monographs on photography in every bookstore and library. Ansel Adams and the Zone system become the "new" religion. The cliche narcissist can conquer the world with a spot meter and 1000 rolls of Tri-X, and can do so better than the legion of other photographers who have done so over the past 50 years. With persistent delusional encouragement, and given the absence of a National Park in the vicinity, the cliche narcissist firmly believes that his/her 17 rolls of photos of shadow patterns and buildings are better than all others ever taken by other photographers for the simple fact that s/he pressed the shutter. An "exhibit" at the local donut shop is looming.
4. The Gear-Blaming Amateur: Reality sets in. Those 17 rolls from stage 3 suck and are third-rate hack work. The donut shop exhibit becomes an embarrassment. However, the slimy coating residue from stage 3 leads the photographer to believe that his/her photos would be of professional quality "if only I had an INSERT EXPENSIVE CAMERA SYSTEM HERE". Perhaps a different film? Why don't they make black and white slide film? Buy a case of that pro film then decide mid-way through the first roll that it's not quite right. More time, money, and rationalization is spent on equipment than on food, sleep, exercise, and breathing, combined. Any non-photographic possessions worth more than a quarter of the price of a lens are sold (hopefully this stage is reached in the EBay era, but then again, the photographer will bid more than s/he will sell). Making lunches and ironing shirts becomes an attractive way to save money for photo gear. Verbose opinions on every camera the Gear-Blamer ever owned will appear on epinions.com and photo.net (see stage 7 for follow-up...). Gear changes so quickly that at least 3 cameras are used to expose each single roll of film. In one year, three-times more cameras are bought and sold than rolls of film shot.
5. The Curmudgeon: Reality sets in much deeper: it's not the equipment. "I suck- I'm a rank amateur. If only I just kept shooting with that first camera from Stage 2!" Self-esteem is at an all-time low. "National Geographic Photographer" becomes the ideal profession, but about 15 years too late. After several months of staring at Steve McCurry's photographs, the curmudgeon decides "what the hell. I'm shooting a roll of film and who gives a sh-t how it turns out. It's all BS anyway". When it comes time to shoot, no light is quite right, no angles convey exactly what is seen, and it's all been done before anyway. It takes months to shoot an entire roll, but at least the same camera is ever-present. The Curmudgeon is only happy during the 1/125th second that the film is exposed to light. This stage never truly ends.
6. The Zen Pseudoartist: If there's time to shoot, great. If one frame is decent, fine. Thankfully, income is not dependent upon "getting the shot". "I never really chose to do photography; it chose me". Whatever.
7. The Senile Advanced Amateur: The phrase "Where did I put my camera?" is often heard, but when the camera is found, the photos aren't half-bad. An occasional opinion on photo.net will completely contradict that same photographer's post from Stage 4:"Read my lips: no new Pentaxes" (I am guilty of this on at least 2 counts). Protective filters are a thing of the past. An uncoated seventy-year old Leica lens with cleaning marks is tack sharp with great color rendition, and great bokeh (say it ain't so!). All light meters are useless compared to gut instinct, even (especially) for transparencies. Lee Friedlander's photos begin to make sense. Spend time writing autobiographical, retrospective, unsolicited crap like this list.
8. En-light-enment (I hope): It's all about the light. Everything else is secondary. Less talk, more shooting.
9. ???"
What's in your wallet? Can you hear me now? Good.
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