Reading · SF Before Sunset

I’ve been listening to Bob Dylan’s music for as long as I can remember. There was always something about it that moved me. So when I saw that he was going to perform in Berkeley, I didn’t think twice, I bought tickets.

Without knowing much more, I was quite surprised by the concert itself. Bob Dylan didn’t speak to the audience at all. He simply walked onto the stage, played and sang, and after an hour and a half he bowed and left.

We walked out feeling somewhat confused, not entirely sure if we had really seen him. Throughout the whole concert he stayed at the back of the stage, wearing a hoodie with the hood over his head.

When I got home, I started looking into whether this was how he always behaved on stage and why. That led me down a rabbit hole. I listened to every interview I could find with him (there aren’t that many because he rarely gives them), watched the biographical film No Direction Home available on Youtube, and slowly I began to understand.

Bob Dylan never seemed interested in pleasing an audience.

He didn’t care much about what other people thought he should do. His first songs, the ones that became huge hits and still send chills down your spine today, were written when he was only twenty-one years old.

They contain a depth and understanding of the world that you would expect from someone with decades of experience, someone who had read thousands of books and attended the best universities.

Yet the way Dylan used imagery and metaphor to describe the world in his songs feels timeless, almost as if he stepped inside all of our minds and somehow transformed what we think and feel into lyrics with a universal message.

Where did that come from?

Why did he have such a strange relationship with fame?

Why does it seem like it never really interested him?

And do we see this same quality in other great artists?

Then I remembered an interview with the godfather of street photography, Henri Cartier-Bresson (interview on Youtube). His answers were so short and understated that it almost sounded as if he himself didn’t know how he had made those photographs.

The same thing happened with Bob Dylan.

When asked about his songs, their meaning, or how he wrote them, he often answered that he didn’t really know. He couldn’t explain where they came from. Later in life, he admitted that he wouldn’t be able to write like that anymore. And while everyone around him wanted answers, he simply said he didn’t know what to say.

Isn’t that fascinating?

Similarly, when Cartier-Bresson was asked how he took photographs, he pointed with his finger and said that he simply pressed the shutter button.

Isn’t that a brilliant answer?

What connects these two great artists?

Why are they behaving like that?

Is the answer:

Humility?

If you create any kind of art, you eventually realize that making things for fame, recognition, or money becomes a weight around your neck.

Sooner or later it can lead to creative paralysis.

If we begin to believe that everything comes from us alone, if we place ourselves above others, if we become attached to fame, I think burnout and a sense of meaninglessness slowly begin to appear.

Because if our talent and creativity become focused solely on gaining likes, collaborations, and money, somewhere deep down we know that we’re doing it for the wrong reasons.

And in the end, very little of what is truly ours remains.

Apparently, Dylan would sometimes even record deliberately bad songs just to avoid meeting other people’s expectations.

He did what he wanted musically.

He ignored advice and never became a commercial showman really.

You may not know this, but in 2016 Bob Dylan received the Nobel Prize in Literature for his song lyrics. He was the first songwriter and musician in history to receive the award. The best part? He didn’t attend the ceremony. Instead, a representative accepted the prize and read his speech. Dylan explained his absence by citing “pre-existing commitments.”

One of the requirements of receiving the Nobel Prize is giving a lecture within six months of the ceremony. Dylan fulfilled the requirement by recording a video and sending it to the organization.

Why didn’t he go in person?

Did he simply want to stay outside all the noise?

Did he avoid events like that?

I don’t know.

How can we apply the approach of Bob Dylan and Henri Cartier-Bresson to photography?

I won’t hide the fact that their attitudes have fascinated me.

I’ve always felt that the goal should never be fame, it should simply be creating.

I receive quite a lot of messages asking for advice on how to improve in photography. The truth is that it’s difficult for me to answer. Beyond technical matters, the only honest response is that it has to come from you.

You need to understand why you want to do it.

For me, it isn’t a question of whether I’d rather watch a TV series, go out to dinner, or take photographs. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, photography will almost always come first in those small everyday decisions. The question isn’t whether I feel like doing it. The question is whether my legs will carry me there again today, or whether I physically have the strength for it.

I once met a girl and our conversation went something like this:

Her: “Oh, it’s you. You take photos. How did you get so many followers?”

Me: “Umm... yes. I don’t know. I just take good photos.”

Her: “Oh.”

And that was it.

Have you ever met someone and immediately felt jealousy, resentment, or a sense of ill will coming from them? That's what I felt, and it completely put me off. It was strange.

Later I noticed that she had written to me before, asking about my camera gear and how to improve her photography. I had replied with all the details, but she never responded.

It was about 4 years ago. She has a fairly large Instagram account by now, but it seems to be mostly a copy of other people’s work. The kinds of things that sell well.

If your goal is simply to become famous on Instagram, or anywhere else, and you’re not truly working on your craft or wondering how to improve, you may end up being nothing more than popular. If that’s your goal, that’s perfectly fine.

But if you want to become a better photographer, if you’re genuinely curious about how to do it better for yourself, then start by becoming a philosopher.

Be inspired by music.

By films.

Take a journey back to your childhood.

Discover who you are and where you came from.

Think about what truly interests you.

Everything you do against yourself and for someone else’s approval creates another problem you’ll have to solve every day. Every day you’ll have to wonder how to satisfy other people.

I believe and I’m still working on this myself, because I certainly don’t consider myself perfect, that we need to free ourselves from the temptation of being good for the sake of recognition.

I want to focus only on photography as a form of expression, yet I still feel like I’m wandering. Sometimes I feel as though I’m getting close, but then a new uncertainty appears and I continue searching.

It is a constant search.

And as with everything in life, it isn’t the destination that matters, it is the road that leads there.

Stay humble.

Beata

Photography Begins Where Ego Ends

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