I was interviewed again by Voyage LA, and this time took a different tack so I could provide different answers. As anyone who knows me knows, I repeat myself – yes, repeat myself – on occasion. Not so much this time. Here’s the link, or read the whole thing below.
Today we’d like to introduce you to Barry Schwartz.
Hi Barry, thanks for joining us today. We’d love for you to start by introducing yourself.
As a kid, I loved looking at the annuals of photo magazines, the occasional book like The Family of Man, which was everywhere, and of course Life magazine – the gold standard. My first camera was a bellows 35 MM Zeiss that was entirely mechanical, loud, and needed a light meter; it was not very good, but neither was I. I graduated at 16 to a used twin-lens YashicaMat and that was a revelation; I got more serious about making good photos because this camera would help me produce them.
I figured out early it was not the camera that mattered: it was my taste and ability to stay focused to get a good picture on location and then print it on paper. This has not changed, except for how photos are viewed, now, mostly, on screen. I still love to print, however!
Can you talk to us a bit about the challenges and lessons you’ve learned along the way? Looking back would you say it’s been easy or smooth in retrospect?
Working as a creative entrepreneur is never a straight, let alone, a smooth road. Until I turned pro after another career, I shot mostly for myself, and was published on occasion, but never thought I could make it professionally, so did not try; I just kept at it. I worked for myself as a contractor and kitchen designer, documenting my projects for my portfolio. Then I got carpal tunnel, and it was a natural transition to become an architectural photographer. My work had always included portraits and documentary work, and I chose to include it all on my website and in my printed portfolios. This hurts me with some architectural designers about who they hire to document their work, but it also gets me to work where a broad range of skills is important.
My taste and people skills were already in place and I even had some business chops, but learning basic digital processes was a big adjustment: being my own IT person, printer, and retoucher. I never thought I’d be that kind of gearhead, but work is work. Digital is just another tool – it does not change the fundamentals it takes to produce a good photo.
One of the great things about being a photographer is access to places and people you would not encounter otherwise; this is a continuing thrill (and not news to my colleagues!). I’ve been in fantastic buildings for pay, and in others where I just talked my way in. Being around people you’re being paid to photograph, or on a self-assignment has many pleasures, chief among them being being surprised by where you are and who you’re hanging around with – and that you get to capture part of the experience and haul it away with you on a camera.
Later, you get to experience it again in a different way in the privacy of your studio and present the results to people who were never there who get to see a bit of what you saw, and perhaps get a little of the same tingle you experienced on the spot. A nice part of the gig.
Great, so let’s talk business. Can you tell our readers more about what you do and what you think sets you apart from others?
My specialties are architecture, interiors, landscape architecture, hospitality, portraits, and documentary work.
Being able to work in different specialties – sometimes on the same project – is something I always look for. In one sense, each kind of specialty uses a different brain, but that’s not really it; I mean, you only have one brain, right? Anything that keeps you on your toes, thinking on your feet, and keeping an open mind, affects everything else you do, including different kinds of photography.
I write a bit – non-fiction – and teach more than a bit: professional practices for photographers at the college level, in workshops, including, since the pandemic, in webinars.
Do you have any advice for those just starting out?
I love teaching. I have a lot of contact with photographers at all levels, students, emerging professionals, and established professionals. I learned early that effective educators are always learning. Teaching is about being useful, and it’s a give-back.
I discovered not to take a student’s seriousness or capabilities or even their experience for granted. In my workshops and classes, there are always people who are more successful or experienced than I am, with deep knowledge based on practice in their area of photography. That being said, everyone has a different pain point or a reason why they are in a class or workshop: something in the profession they are puzzled about, intimidated by, or perhaps they want to move into a different specialty and need more grounding than they have. These folks understand that continuing to learn can help keep careers from bottoming out; I know this as well as anyone, and since teaching requires learning, it applies to me, as well. It’s only fair.
For emerging and younger photographers, being in the same spaces with professionals can make practices that seem abstract more real and attainable. Anyone who has gone to a talk given by someone they admire has experienced the same kind of thing.
Creative careers operate on pathways that may not be clearly defined, because being a creative person, by default, means that you spend a lot of time making it up as you go – hopefully at a professional level. One of the things I teach is this process is not only OK, but it’s also sort of required.
The easy stuff in teaching professional practices are the things that seem so intimidating to students at first: contracts, negotiating, pricing, marketing, and digital workflow. But these are learnable skills; the more important things in successfully working for yourself – or as an employee – are people skills, and learning how to produce good work reliably; this is a never-ending process. In the end, it’s about being nice, having flexibility, and open imagination, and, more than anything: it’s about the work. The late designer Milton Glaser had a sign above the entry door to his building: Art Is Work. That’s it.
Successful professionals – that is, people who make most of their living as photographers – have a kind of global view of their career. They behave as though marketing and contract negotiations and digital workflow are all just as important as composition and lighting.
For instance, the first thing any potential client wants to see is proof a photographer knows what they are doing: typically, a website populated with work the photographer does best. How does that potential client get to the website? Marketing. There is all kinds of marketing: being featured in a paid directory, reaching out via email, a personal meeting, a snail-mail promo, Instagram, a referral, handing a business card to someone in the checkout line at the market. You don’t have to engage with all these avenues, but you have to be engaged with at least a few.
All negotiations begin with a conversation via email or, preferably, on the phone. (As a young friend of mine says, “Texting is for social, email is for business”.) Photographers need a few questions answered: what kinds of images is the client looking for, how many do they need, when does the photography take place and when does it need to be delivered, where will it be done, and how much money is involved. Not least, photographers have to know how the images are going to be used – licensing.
The best result – true in any business – is a contract where everyone gets what they want, a win-win. As photographers negotiate, they have to calculate factors based on everything they know about their business: their hard costs (equipment, insurance, living expenses), people skills (how to get along with the client and everyone else), how much time they need to produce the work to their standard, how many people (if any) they will hire, Plan B, and Plan C. And Plan D (you never know…). Digital workflow (something clients know little about) is critical to delivering images. It’s all in the mix, and it all goes into the contract. Once the contract is signed, the photographer has to produce the work while being prepared (technically and emotionally) to deal with inevitable changes, and, finally, to deliver on time and budget. How hard is that?
Photographers have to already be prepared for that entire process – marketing to negotiating to digital workflow – before any client reaches out, leading to the best result: the client is happy, pays the bill, and hires the photographer again for another project. Another win-win. However, even if the photographer does not get hired again, the finished, delivered project may remain a successful conclusion if the photos are good enough to provide fresh work for the photographer’s website so that when the next potential client comes along, they have something worthwhile to see. And so it goes.
This is the first of an occasional column about business practices for photographers for PetaPixel. I’ve written about business and taught college classes, seminars, and webinars for many years. All the while, I’ve been listening to photographers, editors, curators, reps, assistants, consultants, lawyers, printers, stylists, digitechs, and everyone else in the field. My job is to reflect back to readers and students what I hear. Everyone has pain-points, and everyone has successes. I’m a working photographer myself, so this information matters to me and my career, as well.
I will be writing about negotiating, marketing, photo specialties, copyright, insurance, contracts, assisting, releases, how to find and research clients, digital workflow, support trades, video, art school, and social media. I could go on. I’ll try to cover anything students and pros may encounter, and anything that makes life easier and the work better. There will be the occasional interview. There won’t be much gear-talk, except on occasion, since it’s an inevitable part of a photographers’ life; but without all the other skills needed to make a living, there won’t be any need to buy gear.
I’ve had two careers as a self-employed professional; now as a photographer and educator, previously as a journeyman carpenter, contractor, and kitchen designer. Early in each career I was told there were rules I must follow; other people suggested there are no rules. I was just smart enough to know either could be true; it was important to distinguish the signal from the noise.
I got more efficient at repairing my mistakes, learning from my mistakes, and ignoring my mistakes and just getting on with it. Feeling unsure is a standard-issue component of being a professional; it keeps one on one’s toes. Ignoring those feelings of insecurity can self-destructive, with the result that one starts looking for the rules.
Creative entrepreneurs occupy a peculiar status in the world of work, whether they went to school or invented their own career; supporting a career requires a basic foundation in marketing, contracts, achieving technical proficiency and a sense of one’s own aesthetic, but that’s about it as far as the rules go. We’re all in our own bubble, producing work. People skills helps.
Part of my practice is to take in lots of information about the things I’m interested in; I tell myself this behavior will somehow monetize itself, but the truth is I have no choice. Really, I just gotta. Here’s a few of those professional influences.
Ralph Gibson has been making photos like no one else for decades, and is an esteemed teacher as well. He has plenty to say, and it’s all worth hearing. Shapiro was Life Magazine’s last editor, and he has plenty to say, as well (check out his Instagram).
“…when he was assisting the great photographer Dorothea Lange in 1961, he received a lesson that he relies on to this day: Know your point of departure. That is, before going to shoot, have a sense, however vague, of what you’re trying to find. ‘It’s not a confining thing,’ he explains. ‘It’s liberating, because having something in mind leads to pictures; and could lead you to something even more interesting than what you were looking for. ‘This has been the backbone of my career,’ he says. ‘It brings the eye and emotions into clearer focus. I don’t touch my Leica without knowing my point of departure.’”
By Lin-Manuel Miranda in The Atlantic Magazine, December 2019
Miranda wrote the hit Broadway musical In The Heights, which earned him a Tony while still in his twenties. And Hamilton after that. But you’ve heard of him.
On writing In The Heights. “As we wrote about this Upper Manhattan community on the verge of change, we looked to our musical-theater forebears. In Cabaret, the upheaval facing the characters in Berlin is the rise of the Nazi Party. In Fiddler on the Roof, the town of Anatevka struggles to hold on to its traditions as the world changes around it, and the threat of pogroms looms. For our musical world, upheaval comes in the form of gentrification. This is obviously different from fascism and pogroms; it’s not even in the same moral universe. How you begin to dramatize something as subtle and multifaceted as gentrification poses some tricky questions. We threw our characters into the same dilemma faced by their real-life working-class counterparts: What do we do when we can’t afford to live in the place we’ve lived all our lives, especially when we are the ones who make the neighborhood special and attractive to others? Each of the characters confronts this question differently: One sacrifices the family business to ensure his child’s educational future. Another relocates to the less expensive Bronx. Our narrator decides to stay, despite the odds, taking on the responsibility of telling this neighborhood’s stories and carrying on its traditions.”
Erwitt, now well into his 90s and still working, is one of photography’s great stylists and documentary and advertising photographers. An actual, real and true living legend.
“He says remaining an amateur photographer is key to keeping his curiosity alert. It’s also just plain and simple work.
‘The fact that photography is international working, and people have to work,’ says Erwitt. ‘Most people have repetitive jobs; it doesn’t last very long before you get bored.’
But photography is different, he says. ‘It’s elective, you don’t have to spend much time doing stuff you don’t like, in the end,’ says Erwitt. ‘You are able to get up early in the morning and even have real choices.'”
By Susan Hilferty in American Theatre, November 4, 2020
Ming Cho Lee, who recently passed, was one of the great theatre designers of the last century, equally well known for his work an educator at the Yale School of Drama, where, among other things, he not only helped train legions of working designers, he helped change how design is taught in universities all over the U.S. and beyond.
“I can see his hand smoothing the yellow trace on top of my drawing, and I can hear his words guiding his pencil and my eyes as he helps refocus the design beneath. There are so many lessons from that image, even in the choice of materials. The yellow trace torn from a roll is humble, unlike an expensive piece of watercolor paper, which seems to question whether the mark you make is ‘worth’ it. The pencil is quotidian; it makes it easy to toss a sketch aside, tear off another piece of trace, and sketch new thoughts inspired by the first.
The most important lesson, however, was that the trace protected the original design. Ming did not draw on or over my drawing. He was protective. He meant to guide, not to force a change. Deep in his method of teaching was the inspiration that the design for a set is constantly unfolding and that the designer needs to be available to sketch quickly—in model or on a piece of paper—to allow the full idea to be revealed at the end of the process. Ming’s eyes had razor-sharp focus as he weighed scale, proportion, and value in what he was looking at, while also tightening up the point of view of this student designer. He helped me see.”
Usher has been producing books of letters for over twenty years, about an incredible range of subjects. He is a first-rate curator of great writing. And has a wonderful newsletter. This one is from the great artist Saul LeWitt.
“In 1960, pioneering American artists Sol LeWitt and Eva Hesse met for the first time and instantly clicked, quickly forming a strong, deep bond that would last for ten years and result in countless inspirational discussions and rich exchanges of ideas. Indeed, they remained incredibly close friends until May of 1970, at which point Hesse, still only 34 years of age, sadly passed away after being diagnosed with a brain tumour. In 1965, half-way through their relationship, Eva found herself facing a creative block during a period of self-doubt, and told Sol of her frustrating predicament. A few weeks later, Sol replied with the work of art seen here—a wonderful, invaluable letter of advice, copies of which have since inspired artists the world over, and which now grace the walls of art studios in all corners of the globe.”
“…Maybe you need your agony to accomplish what you do. And maybe it goads you on to do better. But it is very painful I know. It would be better if you had the confidence just to do the stuff and not even think about it. Can’t you leave the ‘world’ and ‘ART’ alone and also quit fondling your ego. I know that you (or anyone) can only work so much and the rest of the time you are left with your thoughts. But when you work or before your work you have to empty your mind and concentrate on what you are going. After you do something it is done and that’s that. After a while you can see some are better than others but also you can see what direction you are going. I’m sure you know all that. You also must know that you don’t have to justify your work — not even to yourself. Well, you know I admire your work greatly and can’t understand why you are so bothered by it. But you can see the next ones & I can’t. You also must believe in your ability. I think you do. So try the most outrageous things you can — shock yourself. You have at your power the ability to do anything….”
By Claudia Dreifus in The New York Review, August 8, 2019
Ira Glass is best known for This American Life, and is himself a great interview. He knows how to describe his own processes.
“Are sources who’ve been through psychotherapy better at interviews than those who have not?
I haven’t observed that, but I believe that is probably true. It doesn’t have to be psychotherapy, honestly—even if they’ve been through a decent twelve-step program where they’ve been forced to be introspective. We have to kill stories sometimes because the people are just not capable or in the habit of reflecting on what happened to them in a meaningful way.
Are you a workaholic?
Workaholic implies a problem. It’s more like I get in a little over my head. I’m not the greatest at managing my time. I’d like to work a little less.”
Kleon is an author (Steal Like An Artist, among others) and has a terrific blog. Subscribe to his newsletter. Comes out on Fridays. You will be glad.
“Prince would get mad when people called his music magical: ‘Funk is the opposite of magic. Funk is about rules.’”
“Here’s Miles Davis at the end of his autobiography:
‘I have never felt this creative. I feel like the best if yet to come. Like Prince says when he’s talking about hitting the beat and getting to the music and the rhythm, I’m going to keep ‘getting up on the one,’ brother, I’m just going to try to keep my music getting up on the one, getting up on the one every day I play. Getting up on the one. Later.'”
Hische is a wonderful type and graphic designer, and author; well known for giving back. Her advice is sterling; here it’s for designers, but it applies to any creative entrepreneur. Following is the footnote to this superb article:
“A footnote for the haters:
For whatever reason, whenever anyone writes an article like this—asking designers to raise the standards for themselves and others, calling out companies for unfair pay or empty promises—there are always a few anonymous contrarians that berate the author for preaching from an ivory tower, not understanding what the masses are actually going through. I have been lucky enough to have success in my career, and I want to use the knowledge I’ve gained to help others have success. Why anyone would complain when someone is advocating for better wages, I do not know, but it always happens.”
By Mark Bittman on The Bittman Project, June 9, 2021
Bittman was for many years a food writer at the New York Times(The Minimalist), producing many videos at the paper and on television, and has written many books. His level of common sense about food, cooking, and their place in the culture is priceless; he is a man of the people in the very best sense. Cutting to the chase here, so to speak, is that it can be a mistake to emulate other professionals’ technique, because technique does not matter. What matters is the end result, and there is little connection between the two.
“Me chopping an onion is not a pretty sight. The crew on The Minimalist set used to try to shoot me doing it — ‘Teach people how it’s done’ — but I demurred. I’ve shown people how to chop an onion — how I chop an onion — but it’s not how you want to learn to chop an onion. And yet I get by.
I know how you’re supposed to chop an onion, but since no one ever threw a 25-pound box of onions at me and said, ‘Chop this, I need it fast,’ I never had to rush. Consequently, it takes me maybe 45 seconds, even a minute, to do one, and as I said it’s not pretty: A good chef can do it in 10 seconds, and it’s a thing of beauty.
Even Nigella Lawson has admitted to having no knife skills. When I talked to her for the podcast, she told me when she’s chopping for her TV show, ‘my director more or less has to put a hand over his eyes as he’s checking the monitor. Because he can’t bear it when he sees that … when I’ve got the camera just on my hands, it makes me so panicked that I can barely hold a knife, let alone chop… But it’s good for people to see bad chopping.'”
Usher reproduced several letters and a telegraph cable from Dorothy Parker in this post. Here is his introduction, followed by one of his selections. There are more in his post.
“The great Dorothy Parker wrote hundreds of poems and short stories, was a much-loved book critic for The New Yorker, co-wrote two Academy Award-nominated screenplays, and was a founding member of the Algonquin Round Table. AND YET, despite it all, there does not exist a published collection of her many letters. Instead we must make do with the relatively few letters and snippets that pop up tantalisingly in books such as the excellent The Portable Dorothy Parker. See also: What Fresh Hell is This?, The Last Days of Dorothy Parker, and Alpine Giggle Week.
For such a book to be absent in the year of our Lord 2021 is nonsensical and an unsustainable state of affairs, and I’m this close to starting an online petition. In the meantime, however, here are some Flashes of brilliance.”
“Dear Mr. Thalberg,
Yours of March 6 received and its contents duly noted. In reply to your query as to my inability to attend the script meeting, I can only offer the explanation that I was too ****ing busy and vice versa.