Pilgrimage

pilgrimage n 1. a journey to a shrine or other sacred place 2. a journey or long search made for exalted or sentimental reasons – vb (intr) to make a pilgrimage (Webster’s Dictionary)

Pilgrimage is an interesting word, the same spelling used as both a noun and a verb. It is the second definition that intrigues me, a journey or long search made for exalted or sentimental reasons. I would also add for unknown reasons. It is the connotation of a pilgrimage as a search that I find the most interesting.

Walking into a bookstore looking for Christmas gifts I spied a new book by Annie Leibovitz. I think she is one of the great portrait photographers of our time, a personality superstar, who has had a tough few years. I was, however, looking at a book of images that were the antithesis of what I expected from her. Landscapes, still life, portraits of locations and places but not people. The blurb on the inside cover talked about her journey, her pilgrimage. She followed her whim and instincts, beginning at Emily Dickinson’s house and Niagara Falls, paid homage to Julia Margaret Cameron on the Isle of Wight, chased Abraham Lincoln thorough the artists who photographed and sculpted statues of him, visited the haunts of the writers of Concord, MA and even sought out Elvis, Annie Oakley and Eleanor Roosevelt. This was clearly a personal journey, not just to shrines but seemingly in search of herself.

Ms. Leibovitz was clearly on the second sort of pilgrimage, a search. This was an incredibly brave and courageous act on her part. She is a successful photographer, with an iconic style and reputation. Why go on a pilgrimage at all? For what was she searching? Why the need for change?  I don’t know “why” but I am glad she did. She may have had an inkling of a plan when she visited Niagara Falls but she ended up on quest she could not have predicted, one in which she says “I found my vision again.”  Isn’t that why we photograph – to find and share our vision?

What does the above have to do with this Musing? I recently recognized my own need to continue my pilgrimage, to keep searching for my own vision. Even though I teach workshops making my own work is still vitally important to me. I have to feed this need and not fall back on old habits, ideas and expectations. This is something a pilgrimage provides, whether by taking us out of our normal environment or simply by helping us to create a shift in our perceptions.

I stopped and looked at Annie’s book because I enjoy her portrait work but I walked away changed. I was reminded of all the portraits I shot when working for the newspaper. When I left that job I didn’t want to carry lights and all the other paraphernalia that I thought was necessary for portraits. Instead I concentrated on portraits of places, inferring the presence of people through the location. I’ve been rethinking my self-imposed rules for portraits for awhile now, making a few while working in various workshop locations. They were okay but I didn’t push on. I am not interested in flattering representational images but want to make portraits with a sense of truth, where the photographer and subject share a conversation and the viewer later gets to sit in on a part of that conversation. In a way the image is more about the moment than the person. As an introvert this whole process is very challenging for me.

However, my New Year’s Resolution is to go on a Pilgrimage of Portraits this year. If the great Annie Leibovitz is willing to take a pilgrimage that ties together widely disparate locations and people, trusting her instinct and talent to find the images that will enlighten her and allow her to find a new vision, why can’t I do the same? She took a huge risk to her reputation and sought her vision. I hope her journey proved healing as well as revealing.

I hope you will consider making your own pilgrimage this year, seeking new ways of seeing, trying out new ideas for your photography, and taking your own visual quest, wherever that may lead you.

All the best,

Tillman

 The Thin Envelope

 We have all gotten them, the long awaited reply that comes in the thin envelope. Replies from committees that arrive in thin envelopes are not, usually, the news we are hoping to hear. The rejection letters are always in thin envelopes, probably because it doesn’t take much space to say “Thanks but no thanks.” Good news comes in thick envelopes, envelopes filled with further instructions and forms needing to be filled with information. A thin envelope means you have been rejected. You’re done. The dream, for the moment, is gone and your efforts deemed unworthy. And boy, does that hurt.

This year I applied for both an artist grant and an artist-in-residency program.  The thin envelope for the grant came just the other day. I hope to hear about the residency in a few weeks.

The real question is: How do we deal with the thin envelope? It immediately has us listening to our internal demons, giving in to our doubts, asking ourselves why we continue to do this work we call art when no one seems to care. It is easy to quit if the only things we get for our effort are the thin envelopes of rejection.

We can get angry and spend our time railing against the injustices of a world that fails to recognize our genius or efforts. We can dismiss the work of those who got  “our “ grants. We can mock the committee’s choice, we can tell our friends how unjust it is. In total, we can waste our time being angry and hurt.

My graduate school mentor, John Weiss, has a great way of looking at the thin envelopes. He says that all competitions are a matter of selection and NOT rejection. The judge, jury, panel or whomever, is looking at the work for something specific.  They are selecting for their needs and desires, not rejecting everyone else. The secret is to keep applying until you find a group of jurors who agree with you.

So, my work didn’t happen to fit what the group of selectors desired for the artist grant this year. Intellectually, I talk to myself about selection rather than rejection, but the sting of rejection still hurts – for the moment. It makes it a little harder to keep making applications for other grants, fellowships, and residencies – for the moment. But only for a moment. The truth is I make my photographs because I have to. It is who I am and what I do. When the thin envelope comes, I will, for the moment, be angry at not being selected. I’ll be hurt for a short time that my work wasn’t what the jurors were looking for. But I won’t quit making my work because one day it will be exactly what a group of jurors is looking for.

Don’t quit. Keep on working.

Tillman