Today, I’m going to share a short story about one of my annual photography rituals, which is so important to every artist’s growth.
It was a strange start to the new year. In general, I love New Year’s Day. No matter what crazy thing happened last year, for some reason I find the simple midnight change of the clock from December 31st to January 1st seems to hold a sort of some magical power, like a life reset button. suddenly fills me with energy and makes me feel brand new again. I usually rush out of the gate to start the new year, full of ideas and endless energy, trying to complete all my New Year’s goals and objectives by January 2nd. But this year was different.
There are a few practical reasons for that. First, it was one of those rare years where both New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day were on weekends. I’m a guy 24/7 365 days a year. So I’m used to working on weekends. But there’s something about the idea of January 1 falling on a Sunday that seems to knock some momentum out of it. Worse yet, next Monday will be an official holiday, meaning clients won’t be in the office and outreach will have to be postponed to another day, giving me every reason to make the most of it. enjoy more time on the couch.
Then the rains came. If you lived anywhere else in the world, chances are you would find the next sentence hilarious. However, if you live in Los Angeles, where it rarely rains enough to force musicians to write a song about it, you know that a little rain tends to make things worse around here. than. Life goes on, but in a somewhat silent state, as Angeleno waits for our chronic sunshine to return. Usually, it rains here for a day or two. But, for some reason, the gods seemed fit to end our drought in one abrupt by letting it rain non-stop for the past two weeks.
Sitting in my office, watching the rain fall in the window, is where I found myself yesterday performing one of my annual January rituals. As artists, our skills develop over time. At least, they should be if one is constantly pushing themselves to be better. And, if one isn’t constantly trying to get better, what is the real purpose of a career in the arts? Inevitably, as your skills improve and your artistic voice sharpens, aspects of your previous business/creative work may be the pinnacle of your abilities. you will eventually start not grasping the present moment.
One thing I did while waiting for the rain to stop was finally getting my furniture sorted. Something that has been desperately needed since the pandemic. As any home renovator knows, your couch always looks perfect until you get a new table. Now, suddenly, something that was working perfectly for you before suddenly feels out of step with the rest of the room.
The same thing happens as our photography evolves. The images that were once the focal point of our portfolio now seem like relic of a bygone era. It is not that they suddenly become a bad image overnight. It’s just that when placed next to all the new work you’ve produced in the last year, those previous home run images start to look more like basic hits. Less because of the lack of display skills. More because you have grown as an artist and as a person. And, appropriately, so is your voice. You are a different person than when you took the previous pictures. So it’s no wonder that some of those older images may not grow with you.
That’s why every January, I go through the process of taking an absolute ax to my portfolio. Okay, “ax” can be a strong term. But you get the picture. Over the course of the next 12 months, I hope to have the opportunity to create even more pieces that I personally find exemplary enough to include in my portfolio. And there’s always more work in the repository that threatens to come back. But to start the new year, in this first revision, my focus is on cutting. Like a gourmet chef slicing off the fat at the edge of a fine steak, I went through each portfolio and subcategory on my website and other marketing materials and asked a simple question. simple. Does this image still represent me as an artist?
Obviously, you still have the ability to create the work that you did in your old images. It’s not like you’ve forgotten how it’s done. But, does that old image still represent the kind of artist you want to be and the kind of work you want to attract? It’s not even an old picture. This year, I cut out the entire project from the marketing materials I had just worked on a few months earlier. The project is also good (in my own opinion). But, of course, when it comes to giving your best, that’s just what it means. Put your best foot forward. And only your best feet. So the project, while a very good reflection of my current aesthetic, had to be sacrificed for the overall presentation I was hoping to achieve.
The longer you create, the more difficult the process becomes. The images you’ll be cutting out will likely be among your all-time favorites. Many of them may have held key positions in your portfolio for several years, and their absence from client meetings is ridiculous. But, being an artist is about constant growth. And, like many other creatures on Earth, evolution often entails moments when we have to shed our old skin to live with our new selves. The old skin binds us. You have to leave it behind to grow.
So, before the rain stops and your year begins to turn, take a moment to reflect on the face you’re showing to the world. Is there any aspect of your portfolio that has been raced? Does every picture in your book accurately reflect who you are and the kind of work you want to do (and not just the kind of work you’re doing)? If not, take a moment to trim the fat. It’s time to move forward.
