Novice Enthusiasm: Now What?

Like many of you in the creative field, my work slowed down over the last year. It’s been the kind of lull that has made me rethink my entire trajectory. In fact, I stopped drawing altogether for a time. I didn’t know it, but I was in severe need of a reset. I thought, “Now what?” Instead of forcing another half-assed sketch, I picked up my camera to mix things up a bit. I’m not calling myself a photographer yet since I’m still figuring out shutter speed, ISO, and every setting in between. But the pull to keeping making images feels familiar, almost like starting comics all over again, despite my “novice” ability.

Oddly enough, the steep part of the photography learning curve hasn’t felt that steep at all. Fifteen years of graphic design and comics taught me to see in compositions: balance, weight, negative space, the interactions of shapes on a page. That muscle memory followed me straight into photography. When someone asked why most of my shots are black and white, the answer felt obvious to me. A designer I admire once said, “If your work doesn’t hold up in black and white, no amount of color will save it. ” Those words settled in somewhere deep, and I hear them every time I draw or now, click a shutter.

A friend recently offered some constructive criticism and mentioned some of my photos look flat. Fair enough. I’ve spent years working with 2-D characters in comics, so a bit of “flatness” sneaking into my photos makes sense. The feedback reminds me of my early days as an illustrator, learning how to draw in perspective pushing for depth where I could.

These days, I’m paying less attention to the subject itself and more to how that subject sits inside the frame. When you draw comics, your job is to guide the reader’s eye to the emotion in each panel. I try to do the same with my photos. As the subjects constantly change in the frame, I notice myself edit while shoot. If there’s no story, I don’t press the shutter. If I do and the frame doesn’t work, I delete it. Each missed moment clarifies what I’m actually chasing and where my novice limits begin. That brutality feels generous, somehow. It keeps the well of curiosity from drying up.

Last night’s dog walk is a good example. Dusk left just enough light to play with, and streetlights added odd shadows. I pictured a single black-and-white panel from a Frank Miller comic. Heavy ink, deep shadows. I shot with my phone, knowing the results would be grainy. The photos were rough, but the idea felt solid. Now I want to try again with my Lumix and a 35 mm lens in low light. The image quality wasn’t the goal; testing an idea under tight limits was.

Years of freelancing in the shadows of my heroes taught me to imitate, iterate, and then finally to listen to my own voice. Turns out that voice is fluent in more than one medium. It knows what it loves: high-contrast inks, cinematic stillness, the quiet between beatsand it drags those loves into every new craft I try. You’d be surprised how deep your creative well runs once you dip into territory you don’t control yet… or never will. Ideas coupled with limitation force creative growth.

So I’ll keep shooting, deleting, and learning. Illustration showed me how to see; photography is teaching me how to see differently. The pictures may still be a bit flat, but they’re honest and they’re mine and that’s a good to keep creating from.