Not Embarrassed by Any of It

On early work, validation, and staying kind to your past self.

I have taken a lot of photos I don't love. Some break rules as a way of rebelling rather than as an artistic choice. Some are over-processed. Some are just boring. But I keep them all. Not because they’re good, but because they’re mine. I was figuring things out and didn’t really know where to start.

When I think back to when I first started, I remember how much time I spent watching videos from people who seemed to have it all figured out. They told me what to buy, what settings to use, how much to charge clients. Most of them sounded very sure of themselves, so I took them at their word. I thought if I followed their formula for success, I’d find myself just as successful. With their guidance, I was sure I could turn my camera into a money-making machine. And for a while, that was the goal.

I've made money with my camera, and I still do sometimes. But early on, I let that goal take priority over self-discovery, and it slowed my growth. I said yes to everything, even if it didn’t interest me, and it showed in the images I delivered. I wasn’t connecting with the subject. I was just doing a job. That’s not how you make good work. And if you’re not making good work, you can expect the money to suffer accordingly.

These days, I’m much more selective. I have no intention of taking on work just because someone flashes some cash at me and knows I own a nice camera. I’m no longer a camera for hire. I’m an artist for hire. That distinction matters.

Early on in my development, I chased validation over growth. First from friends and family, then from other photographers. I figured if they approved, I could finally call myself a professional. In hindsight, I now recognize the only person I needed to impress was myself. The only validation I depended on was internal. Everything else was just static. I look back at some of my earlier work and think, “Oh, girl. I owe you a refund.” But even then, I was learning what worked and what didn’t. I was also learning what kind of work I wanted to do, and what kind didn’t interest me. That was a shift in identity from entrepreneur to artist.

There’s one image from my earlier work that has earned a permanent place in my portfolio. I was shooting an actress who needed creative headshots. We went to a park and tried a few locations. The photo that stuck with me wasn’t the one with the nice backdrop or careful composition. It was the one where I had her stand in front of the bright blue sky. I shot from a lower angle with a longer lens, so the image was nothing but her and that sky.

I love that photo for what it taught me about my voice. That image shaped a lot of what I’m drawn to now: open space, strong color, and subjects that feel placed but not staged. I didn’t realize I was developing my identity as a photographer when I knelt down to take that photo. But I was.

My taste has evolved, but it didn’t change. It got sharper and more specific. I know what I like, and I know when I’ve hit the mark. That didn’t happen overnight. Growth has been steady, with occasional spikes. Some shoots are nothing but gold. Others are a reel of hot garbage. The images might be technically fine, but they don’t speak to me. That’s part of the process too.

Letting go of the need to be liked helped a lot. I still want people to care about what I make, but I don’t need constant reassurance. What helped me let go of that was learning the importance of validating others. Not just “nice shot,” but something specific and honest. “The color here is doing a lot of work.” “I see the intent.” That kind of feedback, when it’s real, means a great deal, no matter what stage someone is in. I know how much it’s meant to me, so I try to give it when I can.

Growth in photography, like most things, is not linear. It is not more megapixels or more expensive gear. It is not louder edits or sharper lenses. In fact, the further I’ve come as an artist, the more I find myself taking sharpness out of my images, not pushing those sliders up. Growth, to me, is realizing that your opinion of your own work is the one that matters most. It is recognizing when you got something wrong and being kind to yourself anyway. That takes time. I’m still working on making that a standard practice.

I keep all of my photos in an archive as a way of remembering how far I’ve come. Not just technically, but creatively. That image of the girl in the floral dress against the blue sky is forever a favorite. I look at it and see where the roots of my style began. The color, the composition, the restraint. I didn’t know what I was doing when I took that picture. But I knew enough to take it.

If I could say anything to the artist I used to be, it would be this: you were already doing it. Maybe not with polish, but with intention. Once you decide to call yourself an artist, you have a responsibility to keep showing up for that part of yourself. You don't become one later. You just get better at being the one you already were.

And if someone is just starting now, I’d say keep second guessing your work. Just don’t turn it into shame. Self-criticism is only useful when it leads to growth. If you think you’re already great, your work is probably not as strong as you think it is. The best artists I know are still trying to get better.

I will never consider myself the best photographer. I will never consider myself done. I will know I am dead when I stop learning and growing. And that is not part of the plan. Not anytime soon.