One Million Like

 

One Million Likes

 

 

 

A photo should be perfect. No blemishes only dazzling magnificence combined with delicate image editing and with such drama that it’s a if you were listening to a love song. It should inspire the masses and leave them speechless.                                                                                  That’s what I thought when I started in photography. I wanted that. I wished that I could achieve this once. That I knew the trick how it works. So, that I could repeat it thousands of times to take a perfect picture of every situation. I was on the way with the view which permit everything and search from a hundredthousand perspectives fort he best. In ordert o show everyone that I can. The fact that my photos are just perfect. Great. Unequalled. Madness. That they get a million likes. What’s hidden behind my idea of photography was desire for recognition. Yes, we all love you and you’re the best. The fear of rejection that my picture isn’t perfect. I wanted this all outdo and to enjoy all. Photography was only a means to purpose. But this wishful thinking oft he perfect image, produced in me especially that: Immense perssure and a huge creative blockage.                                                                Moment, I must briefly digress here. Creative, that sounds annoyingly esoteric. When I say creative, I mean to be in the road and just have fun with the camera. Pleasure to go out and take photographs for two hours, to capture the light, to throw myself into the chaos of the city or have fun with the model. This is creative for me.                                                                         But the stupid illusion to make the one perfect photo disturbed a creative becoe the whole time. I felt cramped inside. I put myself under pressure and was very, very strict with myself. Enjoy photograhy ? Hardly, I increasingly lost interest in it. Although I forced yself again and again to go out and thought that I wouldn’t be disciplined enough. At one tie I would make it the great, rough, awsome photo. If I was good enough. If I had my technique honed down tot he hundredthousandths. Then. Somehow. Somewhere. Sometime.                                  Then the people would applaud me. I would be famous. Famous as a photographer. 1‘000‘000 like it.                                                                                                                                        But how I said, it didn’t work. I got a « headache » when I thought about next photo tour. Everything felt so weird. My role models were all those who were famous on Facebook and Flickr. Those, they had hundredthousand views on their photos and everyone seemed great. That’s what I wanted. That spurred me on. That was so perfect.                                               The perfectionism has broken my photography. Or what I imagined under perfectly. This hunger for recognition and fear about negative reviews or getting nasty comments.            Yes, all of that paralyzed my creativity.                                                                                                  

 

It felt as if I lost everything. So much hope that I put in photography. But it seemed that I couldn’t have succeed a reasonably good photo. Sure, if the scale is perfect.                             Than slowly I became angry. Angry about everthing that I thought about « perfect » photography and I fool wrote my thesis about « perfection in photography ». At all great photo rock stars, super professionals and discipline preracher. Angry at camera nerds, photo-bloggers and magazines. ABove all, I was angry at myself. I wouldn’t and couldn’t admit that I belived all that crap.                                                                                                           But exactly at this point I had to come. Because at this point I began to question this desire of perfection and recognition. To regard the fear of rejection and to consider. What would be so bad if my pictures weren’t all liked? No person like this? Yes and…?                                     I was wondering if all this was worth it. Delibrate it everything would be different. The dream oft he perfect photographer was a pipe dream in which I locked myself. Anda t some point, I don’t  remember exactly when it literally clicked. I looked back at the last few months and decided to deliberatly go against photography as I knew it then. And invented my own version of it.                                                                                                                                Than suddenly I had the desire to take photos. I wanted to go out and take new photos. And that all without foring myself to do anything. Without discipline. Who would have thought that. I found my access tot he non-perfect, tot he complex, unfinished.                                     All this is now a part of my photography. I don’t force myself to go out. The opposite is the case. I have now extremly desire to take new photos and I have to brake myself, that the rest of work doesn’t remain.                                                                                                                          No, I’m not healed. Again and again, I’ll be envious of other photographers who have a hundredthousands fans on Facebook. But I’ve changed. My photos have also changed. I Have found my style. And I know that my photos are not perfect. But I have fun with photography and this is the most importend.

 

 

 

 

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