Perfect practice
When I was in school I was really into music. Mainly listening though I went through times where I played a lot too.
When I first started playing guitar I must have been 10 and it was just so much fun, practicing and learning and getting better. Then there was the doldrums from age 12 to 15 where, really, I didn't improve or learn much. I would go to lessons and muck around, but I'd barely practice at all at home.
Sometime around 16 I started getting a lot more serious again. I was playing bass pretty consistently, and had found a teacher that really worked with me and how I approach learning. I practiced a lot.
But the thing about practice is that it's sort of a messy, vague umbrella term. What do you do when you practice?
For years I think I'd just run through some songs, flub the parts I couldn't play properly and just not get anywhere. I was playing in the most standard way: one run through of a song.
But of course, musical practice can be training one's ear, playing the hard parts of a song, repeating to gain endurance or any number of things. I wasn't getting any better because I wasn't putting in much time, but I also wasn't getting any better because my actions were never going to produce improvements.
Similarly, I remember wanting to be good at drawing and painting when I was really young. But I didn't practice, I'd just try and make one really good picture. I think we can forgive our primary school aged selves for this, but there's an important lesson: I didn't actually enjoy practicing drawing or painting. I also, it has to be said, didn't really enjoy practicing music.
I liked bands, I loved jamming, I enjoyed song writing. I liked doodling, I liked making silly cartoons, I liked making a mess with acrylic paint. But that was it. The ceiling was always going to be there because the practice that would lead to better results was just something I wasn't going to do, or at least didn't realise how to do.
Photography and writing, on the other hand, are things I've always enjoyed practicing. I like trying to make new types of photos, and I enjoy doing things like this (which is absolutely writing practice). I've kept a journal for years, which is also a form of practice, and for years I'd walk around with a camera.
Recently, I've wanted to develop a more commercially viable skillset in addition to my weird arty shit. I don't want to be mr wedding photographer, and I certainly do not want to make the sort of bland, personality-less work that permeates much of the web, but, I'd like to be able to take some photos that look interesting and might work in a commercial setting.
Making things is an interesting space: no one is going to give you an opportunity that you've not generated for yourself. In other words - if I want to practice taking commercial images I have to find ways to get good, no one is going to call me to do a job I've not practiced for. Nor should they. Similarly, all my paid writing opportunities have come from writing I've done as practice: reviews, interviews, blogs and newsletters.
So - how can I practice taking images that are commercial? Well, I do own a small business, so I started there. For ages I've wanted Tall Poppy Press to have more snappy, interesting and playful product photos, and I figured if I can't do well with my own business, who on earth will pay me to do well for them?
One afternoon, when our new book had landed, I set up a shoot with my girlfriend - she was holding the book on our couch and I was mucking around taking photos of someone actually looking at and enjoying the book - you know, the way a book actually exists. I like the results and enjoyed making something that's more alive.
I'm digressing a bit here and am in danger of just summarising, so I wanted to put it this way: results come from practice, but practice isn't always obvious - finding ways to try and learn is essential to demonstrating competence, and also gives one an opportunity to showcase what they would do if hired.
Practice makes perfect, but perfect practice is hard to come by.