Confessions of a Novice Photographer

When I launched my career as a photographer more than 10 years ago, I lacked confidence. I might have even feared that I was a façade. I worked for a photographer in high school, albeit not in the same capacity as my older sister. She was his sidekick at weddings, managing his equipment and even shooting candids. To her, he was a mentor of sorts. I only assembled the photographer’s photo albums that would showcase the resulting proofs. Building these photo albums required long pins to secure the bindings and hold the pages together. Quite sharp, the pins wreaked havoc on my fingertips, leaving them red and raw — a minor trade-off, though, for the chance to study the prints that inspired my creative streak.

Even though I took two photography classes in college, I still felt like an impostor, trusting only my artistic eye. I had shown natural artistic talent growing up, using several media, but I was a “jack of all trades, master of none,” as the adage goes. So imposter syndrome hovered over me like a thunderstorm cloud until my name became locally known in the industry. I still stumbled several times as a beginner in what would become my professional craft, which evolved from a passion-driven hobby and perhaps blind ambition.

I recall feeling intimidated by a wealthy family of five who hired me to take their family portrait, thinking they could certainly afford a more seasoned photographer than I. Being of humble means somehow made me feel small in their presence.

We decided to do the portrait in their expansive living room, anchored by a large, rustic fireplace reminiscent of one in a mountain lodge. We decided to do the portrait right on the hearth of this fireplace, which stretched across the entire back wall. Its size left room for all five family members. I recalled the countless times I found myself snapping pictures of families eager for a backdrop of bold, colorful flames, only to realize their pint-sized fireplaces left them cramped and the fire obscured. 

“Can you squeeze together a little tighter?” I would ask. “Even tighter …” I would then say, testing the limits of personal space. “Tighter… Okay, a bit tighter…” And on and on, until they were in a veritable group hug. I would have to deliver the unwelcome news that the fireplace backdrop they envisioned was not to be. I hadn’t yet developed the agency to say as much from the get-go.

My confidence inched upward as I carefully posed each family member, leaving enough space for a robust fire crackling in the background. Through my viewfinder, I watched them sitting together happily, even showing affection for each other unprompted. Since I was still using film as my medium, I didn’t have the luxury of viewing the images on an LCD panel, but I was certain that every time I pressed the shutter button, a fragment of my artistic vision had materialized.

To ensure I captured this image with everyone’s eyes open, I pressed the shutter button furiously. I snapped away as if I were photographing a moving target rather than subjects sitting as still as inanimate objects. Two or three clicks would have sufficed, so I undermined any poise and self-assurance I hoped to display. The family ultimately began stretching their arms and legs, signaling they were ready to move on to another pose. My face became flushed as I watched them twist and turn after being frozen in a pose for too long on a stone surface. They contorted as if trying to burst out of their own skin.

When I looked at my camera, perched atop my sturdy tripod, I a cold realization hit me. I had neglected to load film into the camera! Panic shot from my toes and spread through my entire body, while my turtleneck sweater tightened around my neck aggressively. I tugged at it desperately as I schemed my next move.

I decided to spin what I considered an innocent fib, telling them we had finished a roll of film. I then opened the back of my camera and, channeling my inner mime, pretended to pluck out a roll of film with my right index finger and thumb. Then, I swiftly cupped my right hand with my left to give the illusion that a roll of film was enveloped inside them. As I crouched down to place… well… nothing…into my camera bag, I resembled a child holding a slippery toad as though it was going to make a break for it.

Once I had completed my mime performance, complete with exaggerated motions and wide-eyed concentration, I asked the family to return to their original pose for one more minute, telling them I wanted to be certain I captured it — not having done so was highly unlikely given my snap-happy finger. My heart rate slowed, and the suffocating grip of my sweater released its hold. In the end, it was a successful photo shoot.

Now, as a more experienced photographer, I still make an occasional mistake, like when I rear-ended a bride and groom in their limo. However, I’ve come to value honesty over an “innocent fib”; it’s far less stressful to take a deep breath, acknowledge my oversight, and correct it. Of course, this more natural strategy also applied when I rear-ended the bride and groom. It was more of an inconsequential bump, anyway. But I have humbly learned the importance of diligent preparation and meticulous attention to detail, which has given me more room for creativity. But if you are on the other side of my camera, feel free to remind me to check for crucial components like my battery or SD card.