One man’s journey to the snapshot aesthetic
When I was nine years old, I broke my wrist and missed basketball camp, so I had to find a new summer activity. Photography class wasn’t the only option, but it was the one I chose. In that class, alongside big kids from junior high, I took pictures with my mom’s Instamatic and developed the 126 film in a real-life darkroom. Magic!
A year later, my dad let me commandeer his SLR, and my pictures improved. I was serious enough about this new hobby that Dad built a makeshift darkroom in our laundry closet. A plywood board across the washing machine held developing trays, and a shelf by the water heater held a little Bogen enlarger. I was 10, maybe 11.
Lest we get bogged down in the minutiae of my photographic journey, suffice it to say that photography has been central to my life for as long as I can remember. I’ve been a student of the medium — and a grad student, teacher, and working professional — forever. It’s all I’ve ever known. This peculiar medium is so intertwined with my identity that I genuinely don’t know who I’d be without it.
That long preamble was necessary so that when I tell you I’m tired of equipment and technique, you’ll know I’m not simply too lazy to learn. I’ve studied so much about photography that I find myself back where I started, when the most fun I could think of was pointing and shooting with mom’s Instamatic. After a lifetime studying equipment and technique, I would like to try a different approach to making good photographs. I think I’ve been going about it all wrong.
The photoblogosphere (like the world of print publishing it replaced) revolves around gear. YouTubers and bloggers and online publications — the places that garner the eyeballs advertisers love — talk about pixel pitch and bit depth and the shape of aperture blades. And sure, those things are important. But I think we may be collectively missing the forest for the trees; I am, at least. It’s easy to get so caught up in the tools that I forget about the work. If my goal is to make something interesting rather than something sharp, I don’t think I can keep focusing on tools and techniques.
If image quality were the primary determinant for great photographs, the list of “greatest photographs ever” would be filled with pictures from this year. In fact, the most exceptional photographs in the history of photography were largely made with equipment and techniques considered rudimentary today. Steichen’s Flatiron building, Capa’s D-Day invasion, and, as I wrote recently on my own Substack, Dorothea Lange’s Migrant Mother. It’s surely in the discussion among the greatest photographs ever, and it’s out of focus.
Bill Sawalich • Photographer + Writer 