The promise of happiness

Photography, for me, is about seeing. Seeing things differently, with all the senses involved. But as was kindly pointed out to me in the comments of my last post, “seeing” as I’ve described it in the past, is not a prerequisite to making photographs. Practice on the other hand is a prerequisite; at least if you want to enjoy the results. I’ve been practising photography for a little over 40 years now. In my case practice hasn’t turned me into a master class photographer but then again I never took the craft too seriously or perhaps I should say, seriously enough. In any case the practice has helped me improve my success rate of making shots I enjoy. And that’s saying a lot since I do photography as a source of enjoyment.

I’ve heard it said that enjoyment brings happiness and so in that sense I can say that photography makes me happy. A contented kind of happy. And sometimes to get that kind of happy these days I don’t even have to make a photograph, I just need to be out seeing stuff. It wasn’t always like that though.

While clearing out some spaces in my home I came across some old slides which I had taken years ago. I enjoyed going through some of them, it was like the proverbial walk down memory lane. The slides were from holidays in far away places like Hawaii, Nepal and British Columbia in Canada — well, far away for anyone living in Australia. As well as memories of the holidays, scenic vistas, trekking and people, there were also memories of the actual making of each photograph. Looking at some slides I could recall the decision process of selecting aperture, shutter speed, f-stop and so on. I could recall whether I had used a tripod and why I’d chosen that particular composition. It was all very technical, making photographs back then.

Of course it could all be false memories — it’s near impossible to verify personal memories if they weren’t shared and even then I would still have my doubts — but false or not I found the reminiscence fascinating. I took a lot more photographs in those days, despite the fact that I was using film, and I was a lot more technically minded too. I recall a mixture of nervousness and angst just prior to pressing the shutter button. I wanted the perfect shot so badly. I wanted every shot to be perfect but just before I released the shutter, while making last minute adjustments or timing the light I would imagine the disappointment, the heart-break of another failed shot. I took it all very seriously back then though perhaps not so much for the sake of the photography but more for the sake of my fragile ego. The strange thing however, was that no sooner did I release the shutter that I would hang on to the belief that I had just made the perfect photograph. The click of the shutter became the promise of happiness. I guess today it’s all a bit different since it’s possible to preview a shot and make adjustments on the fly but there were no LCD screens to view your shot back then. It was days or weeks before I could see the result but somehow I hung onto the belief that happiness would come as soon as I got my roll of film developed. The reality of course was that I was neither heart-broken or blissfully happy when I got my slides back from the developers. My reaction was mostly technical so to speak. I would look at the photos, pass some mental judgement on what was right and what was wrong and maybe try to learn something for the next photo shoot when the whole process of angst followed by hope would be repeated. It took me years to learn the lesson which was for me the most important; letting go the angst and the expectation and just be in the moment.

I am reluctant to generalise but it seems to me that we are strange creatures us humans. We tend to suffer more in our imagination then in reality and we tend to fall for the promise of happiness rather than cherish the ever present moment.

In a world which is seemingly going mad, photography makes me stop and rest. There’s nothing to get, nothing to pursue, least of all happiness. I just look… slowly… simply… quietly. And on occasion I’ll take a shot.