Losing Connection to Photography (or Any Other Creative Act)
Avoiding perfectionism and getting back to a process mindset
"The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt." - Sylvia Plath
Over the last few months, I’ve encountered several online accounts of photographers temporarily losing their sense of connection to the practice. Even as a relative newcomer I identify with these sentiments, which I suspect resonate beyond the realm of photography, affecting creatives of all kinds — anyone who makes the creative act an integral part of their daily routine.
Despite photography quickly becoming a revelatory, if compulsive, aspect of my life, there have been times when my attitude towards the practice has suddenly gone cold, my connection suddenly usurped by a stubborn indifference to the lure of the shutter.
This disconnect is particularly troubling as it extends beyond the actual taking of pictures, affecting the way in which I see the world around me. To lose interest in photography is to withdraw from my day-to-day environment, from the incessant curiosity that drives my photographic excursions and lingers long after them. The streets that once begged me to explore them appear washed-out and frustrating, devoid of anything worth documenting. The whole universe loses its sheen.
A Matter of Malfunctioning Neurotransmitters
Part of this is depression, pure and simple. In my case, there is a clinical dimension, but depression doesn’t have to be experienced at pathological levels to negatively impact the life of the sufferer. Almost all humans experience dips in mood, periods when our brain chemistry is off-balance and essential neurotransmitters such as dopamine and serotonin do not function as effectively as they should.
Dopamine, in particular, is crucial to creativity. While it’s often called the pleasure chemical, it is actually more attached to motivation and enthusiasm, to the processes by which we’re driven to explore, create and innovate. Dopamine makes us want to do things, particularly new things. It drives us.
Without it, our species would not be in its present ascendant position, would not have risen to the heights and stooped to the lows that characterize human civilization. Not enough dopamine, and we become sluggish and poorly motivated. Too much of it and we are unable to commit to any one thing, to finish what we start. With too much dopamine we tend to manically leap from one experience to another without savoring or learning from them.
Dopamine is the mother of innovation, certainly, but also of compulsion, increasing the likelihood of our participating in risk-taking behaviors, such as drug use, sexual recklessness, or overspending. It demands more, more, and more…
Thankfully, there are things we can do to restore balance to our brain — from antidepressants (in severe cases), to simple lifestyle changes in less pathological states.
Be the Best or Don’t Bother at All
"Have no fear of perfection - you'll never reach it."- Salvador Dali
With astonishing grandiosity, perfectionism tells me that creating anything less than the best that has ever been is a waste of time, is not worth the considerable energy it requires. This inevitably leads to unfavorable self-appraisal, condemning my own work to a constant cycle of rejection as I measure it against impossible standards.
At the same time, the perfectionist in me is never satisfied, never content with a job well done. It never simply celebrates good work, but is fixated on even the most minute shortcomings, the things they could have done better. It demands constant effort, constant approval, but offers no approval of its own.
This is a state of shoulds, in which an insidious voice in my head incessantly tells me that I should be doing this rather than that. According to this voice, I’m never working on what I’m supposed to be working on, always fixated on the wrong project at the wrong time. Why don’t you set up a conceptual shoot, or find a model, or get proactive about gaining access to an interesting organization or community? Why are you just aimlessly wandering the streets? I’ll bet it’s because you’re scared, because you don’t have it in you. What a waste of time.
The voice is unnervingly persistent and convincing. Being rooted in my own personality, it knows just what to say to exploit my vulnerabilities. It is privy to my hopes and fears, to the aspects of myself that inspire the most doubt.
Goaded in this way, I become bitter and jealous, frustrated by others' success, not because I begrudge them their renown or recognition, but because they’ve seemingly been able to follow through on their creative desire. Every photographer I read about, instead of instructing and inspiring me, becomes a private admonishment, a commentary on my own failure to motivate and follow-through conclusively.
Ultimately, this attitude is a rejection of the inherent value of process, of the act of photography as being sufficient unto itself; the pleasure of hearing the shutter fire; the joy of being out in the world, seeing new things, capturing whatever catches my eye; the “making” of the image in post-production, watching it come together. Perfectionist tendencies suggest that the simple pleasure of making a picture is a waste of time. Some vague, ultimately unattainable end result is all matters.
Many aspects of modern society — in America, at least — nurture this perspective, placing undue emphasis on measurable outcomes — money, for one, but also awards and accolades. How many units sold. Profit margins. The length of the list of accolades attached to one’s name. How many followers, subscribers. These fleeting, flimsy metrics, rather than our experience of the creative act itself, can claim peak importance when defining our motives and establishing our goals.
If we happen to succeed in one or more of these areas, great. We enjoy it for an all-too-brief moment before climbing back onto the treadmill to chase the next goal. There’s no end to the hustle.
A Process-Based Solution
Over time, I’ve come to realize that happiness in any field relies on an appreciation of process, on the joy of doing, regardless of the outcome.
While there’s nothing inherently wrong with measurable success, much of it depends on an unlikely alignment of circumstances beyond our control. By definition, this kind of success must remain essentially limited, reserved for an elite minority whose status is assured by the unrecognized masses against which they measure themselves. With some frustrating exceptions, traditionally accomplished individuals usually possess genuine talent and demonstrate commendable assertiveness. Yet these qualities alone do not guarantee the desired outcome.
A far healthier attitude reframes success and purpose as proceeding naturally from loving what you do. The defining metric here is positive experience, the fact of the creative act itself, which, when practiced with sufficient passion, becomes almost a way of life. Then you simply make a go of it, waiting receptively to take the opportunities that come your way.
And if you fail? That’s the best part—you can’t fail; the process is the point. Simply by enjoying the process you have accomplished your goal.
Over the years, I’ve developed various techniques to help shift my thinking towards this process-based approach. This is easier said than done, of course, but it is very much possible.
Some Brief Solutions
A detailed description of these techniques deserves its own article. But for now, I’ll confine my discussion to a few tools I think other photographers and artists will find useful.
Among these, writing and journaling have proven inexpressibly valuable, enabling me to check in with myself regularly. They provide an opportunity to identify and dispel working delusions while simultaneously clarifying my position relative to healthier ways of thinking and being.
I keep three or four notebooks, which I jump between loosely based on the area of life I want to examine. Whether considering day-to-day events, or the particulars of a given project, I often notice on paper things that I was blind to when they were left unspoken in my mind. Even when insights are not immediately forthcoming, the simple fact of putting pen to paper tends to have a grounding effect on me.
These journals also provide the impetus for the articles I write on Medium and elsewhere, enabling me to give something back, if only in a small way. This demands that I further clarify my thoughts, gaining new insight as I strive to explain them in a way accessible to others.
The same principle applies to other forms of communication. By talking to or engaging with photographers within a shared community, for example, I find the invaluable perspective of those outside the immediate echo chamber of my own limited experience. I do not find this easy, by the way, being a resolute introvert and independent to a fault. I’m not suggesting inordinate amounts of socializing here, just some connection to a reality beyond our own.
Even something as simple as silently repeating statements in my brain — a kind of personal mantra — often proves decisive in reconnecting me to healthy ways of thinking. Admittedly, I found this stupid at first, but over time, I have developed it as a way of talking back to irritating voices of self-doubt and perfectionism. I’ll silently think: It’s about the process, it’s about the process, it’s about the process…
This phenomenon actually has its basis in the scientific concept of neuroplasticity, the idea that we can rewire, through practice and repetition, crucial neural pathways in our brain, reasserting positive thought patterns where damaging ones once dominated or threatened to take control. Persistent negative self-talk wires the brain in one way, and positive self-talk in another.
In other words, tell yourself something for long enough, and crucial parts of your brain will start to believe it.
Finally, I find that trying something new often jumpstarts my motivation, and reinvigorates my creative spirit. Dopamine doesn’t just encourage us to try new things, but new things also create dopamine — a sense of excitement and potential, which, when functioning as it is supposed to, proves a powerful motivating factor for creative expression.
Recently, I started learning darkroom printing and home development. The slow, meticulous processes that demand patience and experimentation. In addition to the energizing effects of novelty, there’s an almost meditative quality to this kind of work. Meditation almost always helps my thinking become more lucid.
Know Your Enemy
Ultimately, identifying the problem is the first stage in solving it, distilling it into a simple equation: self-doubt = perfectionism = paralysis and disconnect. Then, you can get to work untangling the skewed logic behind each aspect.
When the feelings are especially stubborn, as they often are, I simply remind myself that emotional states are rarely permanent, that if I wait it out, the problem will either fade on its own, or some solution will present itself. In those cases, taking small steps and basic actions can speed the process up — forcing myself out to take at least a few shots daily, regardless of how I feel, for example. What starts as a chore can quickly bloom into enthusiastic practice.
Of course, each individual will have their own experience of creative disconnection and their own unique combination of problems associated with it. Improving oneself mentally is seldom a one-size-fits-all proposition, despite what so many self-help books and lifestyle gurus tell you. Whatever solution you find will need to gel with your unique way of being. Yet, in all cases I can think of, the problem begins and ends in the individual’s mind. Observing your own thought processes is a great way to start.
If nothing else, remember that even the Greatest Artists suffered overwhelming periods of self-doubt and creative disconnection. Photographer Diane Arbus took her own life for precisely this reason: Her work had sustained and driven her for years, enabling her to sidestep several other psychological issues.
When photography suddenly stopped interesting her, and her passion for it disappeared, she fell into a deep and tragic depression, ultimately taking her own life. (The whole story is more complicated, of course, but the disconnect was definitely a significant factor in her eventual death).
Yet I don’t want to end on such a sorrowful note. Nobody has to become a tragic figure. Humans can push through almost anything, enduring astonishing amounts of suffering without breaking, especially when backed by kindred souls who understand their plight and are ready to empathize. I hope you find some such empathy in these words.
Keep creating, my friends.
Camera and Pen is published by writer and photographer Will Ryan. Consider signing up for original work, helpful resources and further thoughts about writing, photography, art, ideas and the creative process.
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