Woman in New York Metro who is looking directly at me with eye contact. The dynamic tension of, “What is she going to do, or say next?”

Do You Live to Photograph, or Photograph to Live?

Woman with Star of David. NYC subway, 2017

Do you live to photograph, or photograph to live?
Do you make pictures— imaging them to be your own kids?

Do you live to photograph, or photograph to live?
When you walk the streets, are you paying attention… or sucked into your black mirror, distracted, and running about like an arrow without a quiver?

Do you shoot to live, or live to shoot?
Where do your creative roots spring from?

Do you make pictures for you, or for your fans?
Do you make your pictures with your own hands?

Do you shoot for you, or shoot for me?
Is your shooting effortless— can you shoot freely,
Light as a feather, and swift like a breeze?

What does photography mean to you?
What kind of pictures are you fermenting in your visual brew?

What colors, lights and tones will you use as your blocks to make your new photo Rome?

Do you take your photography seriously like a child
Shooting pictures for a long while, focused, eyes furrowed… creative guile?

What is your unique style? What is your unique voice?
In the visual streams of the ocean, do your own pictures give your own soul spiritual motion?
Do your pictures give you joy and glee?
Are you stitching together your own visual tapestry— do you fit a unique weave?

Don’t heave and puff
Shit, making pictures can be tough
But know that you got this shit
Keep swinging your visual bat
Hit a home run— over the bleachers
Listen to yourself, and your own gut
Kill your teachers.

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