Equilibrium

Giving Myself Permission

This Substack was supposed to be something I returned to, ideally weekly, but at least monthly. I had high hopes. There were stories I wanted to tell, and if I’m entirely honest I envisaged this giving me a reason to write regularly. Alas, life overtook me once again.

Passing Storm at Sunset over the Applecross Peninsula, Westeross, Scotland

I never intended to become a professional photographer. It happened almost by accident. I’ve always been good at falling into things. As an undergrad I needed a job to top up my paltry student loan and ended up as an AV tech, roaming campus prior to morning lectures fixing slide projectors and OHPs (yes, I’m that old). During my Masters I applied for a job at Birmingham’s now defunct central library and ended up in the local history department working as a genealogist (which involved a lot of scrolling through microfiche of dead people in darkened rooms and often left me with a desperate need to get outside into the sunlight). I ended up running an independent cinema in my early twenties, doing everything from programming the films to projecting them (coincidentally marrying someone who was also once a film projectionist, which makes me wonder about the statistical probability of such an event). None of these jobs were intended career paths and upon reflection appear as though I’ve just been meandering through life with no clear direction, somehow landing on my feet. Perhaps that’s the truth of it. Photography was just something I enjoyed and it seemed that others found resonance in my work, and it went from there.

There’s only one consistent thing I wanted to do when I grew up (please tell me I’ve still got time), and that was become a writer.

For the longest time I had ‘aspiring writer’ in my Twitter bio, fearing that allowing the word ‘writer’ to stand on it’s own would somehow leave me open to accusations of fraud or phoniness. How does one quantify such a role? I’d never written a book, but when asked to contribute a monthly column to the now sadly defunct Practical Photography magazine (hopefully I didn’t contribute too much to it’s demise), I did feel a little more legitimised. It’s taken me a long time to understand that I don’t need permission, collectively or otherwise, to be a writer nor a photographer. The act of placing these words on a digital page is enough. Writing is in my bones, more so than photography, although it brings with it the same cliques and condescensions.

The kind of photography that brings me joy doesn’t necessarily turn the head of arts institutions. They probably consider it basic on some level, not delving into the social fabric or capturing the zeitgeist. I’m merely chasing light, because light is what sustains me. It’s easy to feel isolated and looked down upon. I recall when, some years ago, I was unfollowed on social media by the most prominent arts and photography organisation in Birmingham. It left me feeling hollow and seemed to be confirmation that my work was not taken seriously. Too bright, too garish, too… optimistic? In all honesty it was likely just a disgruntled intern who took a dislike to me, or even an error, but it seemed indicative of a wider disdain for landscape photography.

Birmingham at Dusk

Perhaps my writing is much the same. I’m certainly prone to navel gazing and, as one of my University lecturers suggested, ‘flowery prose’. I hope that despite the sentimentality my voice cuts through, even if it’s a little earnest. I guess what I’m saying is that in the last six months I’ve stopped seeking permission, stopped searching for approval. I imagine some of you reading may well scoff at this juncture and mutter something about life being too short for such things. You’re right. I know. But confidence is a tricky beast, sometimes akin to grasping smoke. My fire has been growing.

I’ve always been anxious about paying the bills and last year I took on more commercial work than ever before. I left my secure lecturing job in late 2019 because I felt like I deserved to give freelance life a go. It had taken a huge amount of careful planning and working through my own fears with my wonderful therapist. I finally felt ready and prepared, certain that I’d covered all the angles and 2020 would be a fascinating year with opportunities abundant. Of course, none of my worst case scenarios had remotely accounted for a once-in-a-generation pandemic coupled with the loss of a parent happening simultaneously. It has taken until 2023 for work to return to levels I’d anticipated in early 2020 and it swallowed up all my time.

Oddly, parental death aside, the lockdown had a calming effect on me. I didn’t have to compete. I found, for the first time in many years, that my anxiety quietened down and I was more content. I had time to go on long walks (my poor dog lost 3kg between late 2019 and early 2021), take stock of the seasons changing, and really fall in love with the ordinary. It was a strange lesson and probably shouldn’t have taken a world-wide catastrophe to teach me, but as soon as I thought that change was imbedded, it was just as soon unlearned.

The whole idea of going freelance was to allow myself time to be. Time to grow creatively. Time to chase light. In the last year all my time became other people’s time. I’m, of course, grateful that organisations pay me to take photos. That is the dream, after all. However, I come from a working class background where there was never enough money and I had not got used to the feast/famine nature of freelance work so felt compelled to say ‘yes’ to everything. My bank balance was happy, but I was not.

Snow covers the gap between Millstone Edge and Carl Wark in the Peak District

Winter is generally a time where commercial work slows down and I’m granted time to explore, conceptually or otherwise. Last year I spent winter in knots because I wasn’t consistently working and felt like a failure. Little did I know that the second half of the year would more than cover the first half. This year is different. I’m granting myself the grace to just stop, but more importantly to experiment. For years I’ve wanted to start a photography YouTube channel. Thankfully with the encouragement of a few good friends who have successful YT channels of their own, I’ve finally shot my first one and it’s in the editing stage. Perhaps no one will watch it but I don’t care. I created something new, I stepped out of my comfort zone and into a different realm. I have 20 odd ideas for videos and a unshakeable commitment to remaining authentic.

Similarly I find myself back at this Substack. I no longer need permission. Something has turned and it’s time for a rebalancing. I’m recovering my equilibrium and I’m holding on to the future loosely, bravely going where I’ve never been before, hoping that I’m cracking open doors that I’m yet to even see.