Reading · Process ☼ On Photography, by Wesley Verhoeve

Process ☼ On Photography, by Wesley Verhoeve · Process ☼ On Photography, by Wesley Verhoeve

Dear friends,

A few months ago, I wrote the entire second season of my comedic video series, The Chain. All of it. Done.

Then one night an idea showed up. A clever way to simplify the story, always my goal, and also the shooting schedule. It would make the whole thing cleaner and more itself.

I knew this would mean throwing out the finished script for an entire season and starting from scratch. The first version worked, the actors liked it, and we could have shot it. But I knew it’d be better if I rewrote it, so I rewrote the whole thing.

I’m not saying this was the smartest move, though I do think it made the project a bit better. The reason I’m telling you about this is to illustrate that the reason for the re-writing wasn’t a specific deadline or because of a paycheck. I just felt the thing would be better, and most of all I love the process of making the thing.

That’s the part I want to talk about this week. Not the result. The doing.

Before I go there a quick announcement:

NEW WORKSHOPS — After the big success of the first Develop Workshop in London last month (see video), we have announced new dates for London (Sept 5), and Paris (Nov 15). More info here.

There’s a version of the creative life that we see online that is all about outcomes. The show that gets picked up, the book that sells, the photo that goes everywhere. Those things are nice when they come, but of course rare and impossible to predict. They’re not a good reason to create and should not be centered in your creative life if you ask me.

I find the same instinct in how I shoot pictures. Some of my favorite days are the ones with no plan at all. No client obligation, no thought-through brief, and not even a project to work towards. I just grab a camera and walk. Most of what I get either isn’t anything or may never be used for a specific project. It’s the walking and the noticing and the documenting that makes it so I come back home lighter than when I left.

The same goes for making a book or a zine. For me, it’s about the sequencing, the small decisions around type faces and cover paper color. The process of figuring out the puzzle to tell a meaningful story in the best way possible. I love being inside that, the actual hours of it, just about as much as I love holding the finished copy of the book. The only thing I love even more is seeing it on other people’s shelves and hearing that they are moved by it in some sort of way.

Various IG stories from people who bought *NOTICE <3*

I got to thinking about all this when listening to filmmaker Cord Jefferson put words to this in a conversation with Ryan Coogler, another great film maker. He was talking to people trying to break into film, and he said if the goal is to win an Oscar, you shouldn’t be doing this. You have to find value in the work itself. In just the making of stuff, even if it never becomes successful, even if you never make a cent from it. Coogler agreed and called it what it is: a love of the process. Finding satisfaction in the doing of the thing.

Cord talked about making his first film at 42. His point was that there’s time. Artists aren’t athletes. Everything you read and see and live through just makes the work better, so there’s no clock to race. Give yourself some grace, he said, and find the value in the making.

I always love hearing this, and need to at times. Because I’m still picking up new forms. I came to film and to comedy late. Heck, I even came to photography as a second career after over a decade as a musician and record label guy. I’m not where I’d be if I’d started at twenty. But if the love is in the doing, then starting late costs you nothing, because we are not racing anyone to a finish line, because the finish line doesn’t exist.

Back in the day! Photo in the studio, by Carissa Gallo

And for all of you, the proof is simple. If you’d quit the moment the reward didn’t show up, you’d have quit a long time ago. You’re still here. Still making things. That’s not because you’re winning an imaginary (or real) prize. It’s because some part of you loves the doing, and that’s the most important part we must protect. Sometimes making your passion into your job can kill that part. I am always thinking about ways to avoid that.

I hope that when you’re working on a project, or just doing the creative act you are passionate about, you find yourself so in love with the process, that you’ll tear up the finished version if you see a better one. And that you take that walk that goes nowhere. Not for what it’ll get you or some sort of honors or achievement, but for what the actual doing does for you.

Share this issue with a friend who gets stuck and could get something out of reading it.

If something came to mind while you were reading, some piece of work you’ve held back from because you were afraid you’d get it wrong or weren’t the right person to make it, that’s probably the work. You don’t have to make all of it this week. You could just take the first small step toward it.

I’d love to hear what it is. Tell me in the comments. I read every one and I know other readers would love to read them as well.

I will randomly select one of the comments as the winner of this week’s Process Giveaway and they will receive a package with some surprise goodies, including some film, a book from my collection, and more.

254 ☼ Starting Late Costs You Nothing

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