He said, “If you’re not uncomfortable, you’re not making art.”
The words went in one ear and festered in my body for years. Still to this day, that statement echoes in my head.
I was sitting in a Starbucks on Broad Street in the Financial District while a picky older gay man critiqued my photographs. I wanted to throw up my matcha latte.
My artful use of lighting would surely entice him to buy a few of my prints to sell in his Hudson, NY boutique.
A few weeks prior, I walked into an antique shop/art boutique in upstate New York. I was drawn to the erotic art corner of the shop and imagined my kinky photo prints on the shelf.
As I purchased a nude photograph book titled, “The Body”, I told the shop owner I was an artist. He asked me what kind of art I created.
I said, “mostly photography, but I’m also a graphic designer.”
“Honey, that’s not art,” he responded with a sassy hand wave.
I was a little embarrassed. He was right. Graphic design isn’t art. Why did I even mention that?
To be clear, graphic design can be art. But often it’s a creative service that adheres to client direction. I definitely didn’t feel like I was making art at my agency job.
The flamboyant shop owner, once a fine art critic, agreed to meet me in Manhattan to take a look at my portfolio and decide if he wanted to buy prints for his boutique.
Que: panic. My stale portfolio needed an update…like, yesterday.
A few weeks later we agreed to meet in the Starbucks around the corner from my office. We greeted each other outside and sat down at a table by the bustling New York City street window.
I offered to buy him a coffee. He responded, “I hate Starbucks. But I figured it would be an easy place to meet.”
*gulp*
My nerves scattered like a colony of ants crawling through tunnels of sand.
He began to scroll through my website portfolio that I recently updated just for this meeting. His silence surely wasn’t a good sign, right?
He complimented my use of lighting and contrast (called it). I exhaled a breath that felt like it was in my chest for 30 minutes.
Waiting for the inevitable rejection, he continued to tell me if I ever wanted to become a real art photographer, I needed to get uncomfortable.
“Go out and photograph gang members,” he suggested.
I was confused. That was not at all that subject I was interested in capturing and perhaps that was the point. “Get uncomfortable.”
He agreed to buy two of my prints. His shop closed in 2020 and I never heard from him again. Yet, his sharp words loop in my mind every time I start a new project.
It was no different with my newest venture, “Dear Body…” If you have no idea what I’m talking about, check it out below.
As I read your submissions for “Dear Body…” my body lights up and caves in all at the same time. I’m so honored and very much uncomfortable. I’ve photographed hundreds of people intimately over the years, including myself. But this feels different.
Your body stories are raw, authentic, and otherwise would stay hidden in the shadows.
It’s a huge responsibility and I’m afraid I’ll fuck it up. Or worse yet, people will get UNCOMFORTABLE.
And that’s the point, my friend. We’re making art.
With discomfort,
Olivia