I’m sure that’s not the first time you’ve heard this statement. It’s an old trope, but in a lot of ways, it’s true. In the strictest definition, no one really does care about your photography/art. And you should be okay with that. Here’s why.
A few days ago, I posted a video on my Chemical Pictures board about why no one needs to see your photography and why believing that they do is making you unhappy. The video addresses Vivian Maier and her complete anonymity (in her lifetime) and never showing her work. It also addressed social media, and the influence it has on photographers and artmakers. If you have time, you should watch it. He makes some good points about the environment we live in today.
This is a tough pill to swallow for some. I try to be cognizant that no one really cares if I ever make another photograph or not. I’ve said that publically many times. And yes, some would say that they like my work and that I should continue to do it, but that’s more of a passing comment, there’s no real “meat” behind it. In other words, they really don’t care.
I’m okay with that. In fact, I’ve often thought of stopping what I do as far as sharing my work online. The educator in me always wants to help, so I’m somewhat compelled on that level to share. If I did stop, no one will be distraught or upset and it won’t change anyone’s life if I never made another post. The question is why would I stop? I’ve been thinking a lot about that question.
When you examine your life as an artist, that is, someone who creates meaning and communicates ideas visually, you must consider why you are doing it. I’ve always had a desire, or need, to pursue certain narratives. Mostly centered around marginalized communities. And specifically marginalized groups in history. My interest lies in telling stories, through images, that address questions about genocide and injustice.
There’s also expression. I want to express these ideas in my own way. From the materials I choose to work with as well as the way I present and write about the work. Those are very important elements for me. It’s the way I find closure to a story - meaning through materials, ideas, and questions. My work is never about answering questions, only proposing questions and ideas.
Having said that, I’m not sure I need an audience for my work, at least when I’m alive. I say that with some trepidation. On the surface, we all feel like art is created to be seen, specifically to be seen by other people. I’ve been reconsidering that position for a while about my work. Primarily, my work is made for me. It satisfies something deep inside of me (keep reading for the answer). It helps me process ideas, questions, and concerns that I’m addressing. It’s like talking about the proverbial “elephant in the room” for me. It is, in fact, cathartic for me in a lot of ways. I’m always hoping my work will help me change as a human being. I’m hoping it will help me address my shortcomings and help me be a better human to other humans and all living creatures (that sounds intense!).
After reading Dr. Ernest Becker’s book, “The Denial of Death”, I now realize my need to make art is to quell my death anxiety. The knowledge that I’m going to die drives my need to make art. Dr. Sheldon Solomon was on one of my YouTube shows talking about Terror Management Theory (TMT). He’s a great guy and happens to be one of the authors of, “The Worm at the Core: On the Role of Death in Life”. We talk about TMT and death anxiety for artists on that episode. These theories are very important for artists to understand. They put things in perspective. They disavow the superficial reasons for making art and really explain the reasons we make art. Hint: it’s not to sell pictures to wealthy people or to get “likes” on social media. I encourage you to dive into these theories and learn about the driving force behind what you do. You might come to the conclusion that nobody cares about your photography but that it plays a big role in your life and death.
