Picture-taking biographical sketch. Over the years my picture taking has gone from my parent’s Kodak Instamatic (126 then 110 format) to the high school camera club’s rangefinder loaner (Yashica) and then a beginner package to buy my own Pentax k1000. After borrowing the multi-lens kit from my nextdoor neighbor, I saved up for a Konica with Vivitar 35–135mm zoom lens. Going bigger, I saved up for the medium format SLR from Bronica (4.5cm x 6cm). Seeking something more compact I had an acquaintance in the Minolta world who got a discount on their rangefinder the CLE and a telephoto lens to go with the normal lens. Seeking even more compact photography, a few years later I sold the others and got the clamshell Olympus-XA. Eager for the flexibility of interchangeable lenses, though, I kept the XA and got the Olympus SLR (OM-1) with 24mm extra-wide lens and a modest zoom, too. Life got in the way and between around 1996 and 1999, I took few 35mm photos or slides except with our new family’s point-and-shoot Nikon. But with some grant money the prospect of the digital star from Ricoh, the DU-4, took me into the world of smartmedia cards and photos at 640 or 1280 pixel-width. No video, but the option of audio recording, too. As digital expanded into cellphones and other devices, too, the range of cameras and apps that I bought, borrowed, or tried out expanded. Over the years the superannuated ones have gathered dust.
As of 2024 my closet of digital camera and other devices with lens and app for taking pictures and video has grown to nine or ten things, most of which continue in use on some occasions. There is a mirrorless model for interchangeable lenses (or pinhole — no glass lens). Another is an enthusiast model with 1" sensor. Smaller devices include IPod Touch, which is the lightest weight of all; an Android cellphone with map functions on photos; an action camera (time-lapse and interval logging, slo-mo, underwater, looping video recording to catch the right moment, ultrawide field of view, interviews with external mic for improved audio results); and most recently a camera drone better than toy, but not professional grade. Finally, there is a toy camera for low resolution, retro-looking (video like 8mm films; photos something like pinhole) photography.
From a consumer point of view, camera makers and sellers will be happy with this lifetime of pleasure from so many purchases and then, correspondingly, so many exposures taken. From a first-person point of view, too, there is joy in marking life’s passing days with mementoes to share, to frame, to revisit and reflect on. And for professional uses, too, there is satisfaction in being able to record, analyze, discuss with others, and publish on subjects vividly illustrated by use of lenses. Cognitively, too, something happens when “to see is to know” and “captured forever” by a snapshot gives photographer and those in the frame a sense of accomplishing something; bottling something fleeting to outlast the ages.
Other commentators of photography have pointed out how personal snapshots reflect and also express relationships (who is included or excluded in group shots, say; e.g. Richard Chalfen, Snapshot Versions of Life [1987] and Snapping and Wrapping [2021]). And holding a camera seems to give the person a role at events and in places where the same person might not feel welcome or equipped to observe and participate. A bonafide photographer’s function is to be present to record things, but is not expected to get directly involved necessarily; a professional bystander or onlooker, thus.
No matter what the photographer’s motivation and satisfactions in taking pictures, either to hoard or to share, for pay or free, the end result is a bunch of electronics, a bank of skills and problem-solving experiences, and a body of photos (and negatives in the film days) and hard-drive backups. Only a very few images will be printed, much less be publicly displayed. Ones online at photo-sharing sites or in one’s own website collection may meet more eyeballs and result in some interchange with viewers. But clearly, of all the places visited and the envisioned images eventually composed and captured, a very small fraction indeed will make any ripples on the consciousness of others. So it is fair to ask the question, why curate a collection of cameras able to record still and moving images in many different environments when the result, apart from one’s own growth and edification, is likely to be very limited on imperceptible at all. A parallel question could be made for writers of poetry, scholarly research, or music lovers who continue to make music for self and others.
“Because it is there” is the classic answer to the question about why climb a mountain. Related is the reply credited to Garry Winogrand about why he roamed the streets snapping so many pictures, many rolls of which remained undeveloped or contact printed at the time of his death: “because I want to see what the subject would look like as a picture.” In other words, ‘because it is there’. In other words, noticing and then composing pictures is its own reward. Delight can come in photowalking with others or in a solitary way; from organizing the frame and capturing the subject; from post-processing (film darkroom or digital lightroom) and then printing and/or sharing with others. All these phases take equipment (selection, money, and training), time, talent, and motivation. As well there are opportunity costs — what is given up by expending effort, heart, money, and discretionary hours in photographic pursuit instead of some other enterprise, paid or unpaid, stimulating or otherwise.
In summary, impressionistically there is a learning curve to photography — both in making pictures but also in looking at the work of others with care. The vast majority of pictures imagined, taken, and seen by others will make little difference to self or others. Setting apart professionals in studios and at news events, suppose a lifetime of picture-taking produces 500,000 exposures. And suppose 5 were deeply meaningful to one or more persons in the frame or by a viewer outside the frame. Clearly, those rare shots are not motivating of the rest of the photographs. We take pictures to see what the result will be (Winogrand; or technical experiment). We take pictures as a witness or testimony to give to those in the frame; to document history, no matter how personal in scale. We take pictures for the tactile experience of handling precision equipment as a way to show up in the world and to exercise technical mastery, ready to notice things all around, no matter how big or small. The resulting images are proof of having interacted with the subject matter and the setting. It is a way of saying “I was there; I exist and notice things.”
Now that I have managed to gather up devices to photograph from underwater, on land, and from the air, I should probably select one of the cameras and take it out on a walk for exercise; moving my legs but also my eyes and imagination at the same time. If something of note ends up recorded and shared for others now and in the distant future to see, that is a bonus. The main reward why to photograph comes from the eye being caught, the frame being composed and the shutter being released.
