Then IT happened. I went to school. My teacher told me, "Greg, horses are not Silver!". My fellow classmates would laugh at my midnight blue frogs. Slowly I was shackled by others expectations and visions. Some of my crayons broke and yet others lost. Heck I think even some of my friends stole a few of my special colors because they were still harnessed with their 8 pack. Eventually,due to the influence of others, my 64 pack whittled down to my original 8 for that is how the world saw it.
Almost a half century later I find myself doing the very same thing with my photography. There was a time when my dreams fueled my ideas for my images. I would awake with the craziest of ideas and do my best to capture what I envisioned in those mystical nocturnal trips in my mind. There was no feedback for no one else saw them. They were safe for me to gaze upon my computer whenever I wanted to. Photoshop was my 64 color pack and unbridled my creative urges. I actually looked forward to bedtime as I would await it like an anxious child waiting to see what Santa would bring in the morning.
The internet was still young back then and digital photography was still the scourge of film purists. I put some of my work on this new media highway and immediately got others writing and wanting to shoot with me. Wow, this was cool. People liked what I had captured! So I shot more and got bolder in my creativity. Several months later, the web site I was on (One Model Place, the largest of it's kind then) gave me the ultimate honor of featuring my work on their home page. Considering there were over 26,000 photographers on the site and I was only the 30th person to be highlighted in this manner I found it hard to believe they wanted to single me out. It was the "atta boy" I needed to convince me to go full steam ahead and damn the torpedoes. At 44 I embarked on a new career. I was going to be a full time photographer. Heck no one told me that horses were not silver in those days, so why would I think I couldn't?
Then it happened. Over the years gradually others stole my crayons in this new medium as well. My parents would offer their two cents. Friends and colleagues chimed in with their thoughts. Models would become critics and editors wanted you to fall in line with their vision. Shackled with the burden of doing this for a living and having to bend to others whims I gradually lost more and more of my colors. There is an old saying that an artist is never as great as he was before he became famous. That the influence of others robs him of what separated him in the first place. How sad is it that to survive economically one has to cater to others visions.
Today I have more critics than a quarterback on a 1-11 team. I have to remind myself that those who do, do. That those who don't become editors. I am sure that will raise the hair on some of my editor friends backs but it is true. How many editors have made a name for themselves with their own photography? I shot a motorcycle calendar several years ago and when queried why they sought my photography I was told because I thought outside of the box. However, when attempting to actually shoot the calendar I was told what I could and couldnt do in each frame. Exasperated I finally shouted "why did you hire me in the first place if you only want me to shoot it like you did the year before?". "Heck just shoot it yourself and save both of us a lot of aggravation". They were stealing my crayons right in front of my eye's and never even blinked as they did it. The very thing that drew them to me was what they wanted to steal from me. My vision was not their vision and after all it was their project so they had the final say.
So it was that last night I had another dream. It was curiously enough, a dream about dreams. A dream about getting back to the passion that is driven by one's own vision. Not to do it for any other reason other than to capture one's own thoughts. To create not for another persons approval or for financial reward. To get back to the 64 color pack and guard it like it is the very breath we need to survive. To go back to those days where horses were silver. To listen to my own inner voices more than others. To become "the honey badger" and not give a shit. To find happiness within my own dreams. Therein lies my peace. Within those dreams I find comfort in my existence. I urge each and every one of you to lie down tonight in your bed and open that wonderful box of 64 crayons with me. Never stop dreaming and never allow anyone to steal your crayons.
Stay great my friends
GW Burns
