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Learning How To Learn
My great friend often sends me C.D.'s with fineart nude photographs that he's collected. I browse through these pictures and find inspiration for my own photography. I see poses that I'd like to try, and lighting situations and neat camera angles that I can incorporate into my own photo shooting. It's fun to view a slideshow of these pictures, and learn about art. These photographs get me excited all over again about photography. Learning is fun - but there was a time when I didn't find it fun at all. I had some sort of mental block that got in the way.
When I first began writing seriously, ten or eleven years ago, I wrote a few poems, and thought they were great. I typed them out (I didn't have a computer back then), put them in a folder and considered them complete. I submitted them to literary journals, and waited for glowing reviews. I got rejections instead. I've had hundreds of rejections since then, and a handful of acceptances. I've discovered that I have a lot to learn about writing. It took me a long time to understand this simple truth. For too long, I felt that any critique was a finger pointing at me and telling me I was a failure. I felt indignant when anyone suggested ways in which I could improve my poetry. I had to learn how to learn.
It's been the same in photography. I have a great teacher in this friend who sends me C.D.'s. I've had to learn how to accept honest critiques, but now that I've learned that lesson, I find a whole new world opened to me. No matter how hard I work at learning photography, I will always be in need of learning more. It reminds me of my math studying, when I kept failing the test. I insisted I was giving it 100%, but when I sat down and really thought it out, I understood that I was only giving it ... maybe 95%. Once I admitted this, I was able to push myself the further 5%, and I passed the test.
It takes a certain amount of humility to accept that we know nothing. We prefer to believe that we're doing an excellent job, that we're veterans of our craft, just because we've been working at it for a long time. We produce a few beautiful pieces, and think we can relax a little bit. This is a dangerous attitude, and one that I fight constantly. After two years as a photographer, I truthfully haven't moved very far from my beginnings. This isn't a statement made in insecurity, it's actually very freeing to admit this. I'm being honest.
It's not easy to keep a learning attitude in all things. At work, I've learned a lot in the three weeks that I've been employed. I'm been told by several people that I'm coming along nicely. I'm striving to keep in mind that this must not be used as an excuse to relax. I have a lot more to learn - if I let myself settle into the attitude that I'm doing 'well enough', and don't have to keep on my toes quite as much as at the beginning, I will fail. When my co workers take me aside and tell me I need to learn to do a certain thing just a little bit more smoothly, I must not take offence. If I want to do well at this job, I need to take this advise seriously.
Learning is hard work. A learning person is one who is able to say boldly, that they haven't reached the top yet. There are still more steps to take. I've sometimes compared my writing, or my photography to (in my opinion) lesser artists, and come away with a great feeling of accomplishment. There's nothing wrong in this I don't think. Nothing wrong in giving ourselves a little boost every once in a while - a little reward for all our efforts. The danger is when we use these examples of what we consider lesser talents, as an excuse to relax in our striving to perfect our craft.
My friend told me something tonight, that I plan to remember always. He said everytime he takes pictures, he learns something new. I'm sure he's told me this before, but it didn't strike me the way it did tonight. There have been days that I spent with my camera, filling my memory card with pictures that I was very pleased with. I had a smile on my face because the pictures turned out well, but I hadn't learned anything new. I had practiced what I already knew, which is great, but I'd consciously decided against learning. When the thought struck me, that I might read my manual to check the settings I needed to select in order to change the exposure, for example, I decided not to do it. I wanted to have a relaxing day just shooting, not pushing myself or stretching. I just wanted to drift along in the knowledge that I had already aquired, and be satisfied with that. There's nothing wrong in this, I suppose, if a person doesn't necessarily want to be the greatest they can be, but I don't want to fall into this rut again. I want to be my best. I want to be like my friend, and learn every day. I want to succeed more than I have up to this point.
Tomorrow I plan to spend hours posing for my camera. I know what I want to learn (lighting lighting lighting!). I plan to be better by the end of the day, than I was at the beginning. Even if the thing we learn is relatively small, it's still vital because it is a little growth spurt. It's another layer added to our knowledge, that wasn't there before. By this time tomorrow, I will be a smarter artist than I am now as I write this. That's my promise to myself.
When I first began writing seriously, ten or eleven years ago, I wrote a few poems, and thought they were great. I typed them out (I didn't have a computer back then), put them in a folder and considered them complete. I submitted them to literary journals, and waited for glowing reviews. I got rejections instead. I've had hundreds of rejections since then, and a handful of acceptances. I've discovered that I have a lot to learn about writing. It took me a long time to understand this simple truth. For too long, I felt that any critique was a finger pointing at me and telling me I was a failure. I felt indignant when anyone suggested ways in which I could improve my poetry. I had to learn how to learn.
It's been the same in photography. I have a great teacher in this friend who sends me C.D.'s. I've had to learn how to accept honest critiques, but now that I've learned that lesson, I find a whole new world opened to me. No matter how hard I work at learning photography, I will always be in need of learning more. It reminds me of my math studying, when I kept failing the test. I insisted I was giving it 100%, but when I sat down and really thought it out, I understood that I was only giving it ... maybe 95%. Once I admitted this, I was able to push myself the further 5%, and I passed the test.
It takes a certain amount of humility to accept that we know nothing. We prefer to believe that we're doing an excellent job, that we're veterans of our craft, just because we've been working at it for a long time. We produce a few beautiful pieces, and think we can relax a little bit. This is a dangerous attitude, and one that I fight constantly. After two years as a photographer, I truthfully haven't moved very far from my beginnings. This isn't a statement made in insecurity, it's actually very freeing to admit this. I'm being honest.
It's not easy to keep a learning attitude in all things. At work, I've learned a lot in the three weeks that I've been employed. I'm been told by several people that I'm coming along nicely. I'm striving to keep in mind that this must not be used as an excuse to relax. I have a lot more to learn - if I let myself settle into the attitude that I'm doing 'well enough', and don't have to keep on my toes quite as much as at the beginning, I will fail. When my co workers take me aside and tell me I need to learn to do a certain thing just a little bit more smoothly, I must not take offence. If I want to do well at this job, I need to take this advise seriously.
Learning is hard work. A learning person is one who is able to say boldly, that they haven't reached the top yet. There are still more steps to take. I've sometimes compared my writing, or my photography to (in my opinion) lesser artists, and come away with a great feeling of accomplishment. There's nothing wrong in this I don't think. Nothing wrong in giving ourselves a little boost every once in a while - a little reward for all our efforts. The danger is when we use these examples of what we consider lesser talents, as an excuse to relax in our striving to perfect our craft.
My friend told me something tonight, that I plan to remember always. He said everytime he takes pictures, he learns something new. I'm sure he's told me this before, but it didn't strike me the way it did tonight. There have been days that I spent with my camera, filling my memory card with pictures that I was very pleased with. I had a smile on my face because the pictures turned out well, but I hadn't learned anything new. I had practiced what I already knew, which is great, but I'd consciously decided against learning. When the thought struck me, that I might read my manual to check the settings I needed to select in order to change the exposure, for example, I decided not to do it. I wanted to have a relaxing day just shooting, not pushing myself or stretching. I just wanted to drift along in the knowledge that I had already aquired, and be satisfied with that. There's nothing wrong in this, I suppose, if a person doesn't necessarily want to be the greatest they can be, but I don't want to fall into this rut again. I want to be my best. I want to be like my friend, and learn every day. I want to succeed more than I have up to this point.
Tomorrow I plan to spend hours posing for my camera. I know what I want to learn (lighting lighting lighting!). I plan to be better by the end of the day, than I was at the beginning. Even if the thing we learn is relatively small, it's still vital because it is a little growth spurt. It's another layer added to our knowledge, that wasn't there before. By this time tomorrow, I will be a smarter artist than I am now as I write this. That's my promise to myself.
posted by Marian (Jolene) | 1:26 a.m.
1 Comments:
Great lesson. I am a teacher by profession and I have often said I believe I have something to learn from everyone that comes into my classes. That learning makes me a better teacher.
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