This is me

Hello. My name is Spencer. It’s nice to meet you.

Welcome. If you’ve followed this blog, you probably already know a little about me, but I thought an introduction was in order after spending so much time writing here. First, a big, big thank you to everyone who has passed through this site. Truly and sincerely, I am humbled by the fact that so many have taken a moment to read my words. Agree or disagree. Love them or hate them. And doubly so to each person who has commented, shared, and contributed.

Staring out into the void (a.k.a. a glowing, blank screen) as I write, I am often more than a little bit curious about who you are. Post a comment, or, better yet, go to the Facebook page and list your URL. Share your projects. Who you are. What you want to be. Or just say “Hello.” I would love to hear from you. Some days are like butter, and I know just what I want to say. Some thoughts are so seared into my mind and body, that I can’t help but let them spill out. But some days, I run on empty with a schedule on full. And that lasts right up until someone says this or mentions that, and it gets me energized and going all over again. Every person out there is what lets me write in here. We – as photographers, as business owners, as people – are a community, and that community has meant the world to me.

About me? I’m in my 9th season now, and I’ve been a photographer for over two decades. I can’t believe these numbers as I say them. I never thought I’d be shooting weddings at this age. I’m not sure I ever thought about being this age at all. I was supposed to have done this and accomplished that. I think my resume was suppose to read that I won my Oscar by now. It would have helped if I managed to make more than a few short films in my brief career as a filmmaker. But time has a way of creeping up on you, as you discover that what you thought you wanted isn’t quite what you did want. The next thing I knew, I was a decade older, grasping for evidence of my existence. What, exactly, did I have to show for it all?

For all my time doing this, I don’t regard myself as having been a photographer until about the start of 2010. Even now, I entertain the thought tenuously. There’s too much to be learned. Too much changes. But with deference to those who are great with a capital G, if I am not the photographer I’d like to be and the artist I hope to become, I like to think photography is a field of inclusion. It’s not about proving who you are. It’s about showing what you are. You spend a lot of time separating the wheat from the chaff, as you try to figure out what’s you and what’s not. But you are as you will, and I think existence precedes essence. That I am, at very least, a photographer with a lower case p. I can certainly frame a shot, pick a moment, and, on a good day, express an idea and see a little more of what’s in front of me than some. And the plight of the artist – really of any individual struggling to excel – that I understand intimately and deeply.

Of course, if you asked me what I thought of myself at the end of 2008, I thought I was pretty kick-ass. I knew my apertures, I knew my shutter speeds, I understood my camera, and I was lighting quick in M mode. I had my Leica for the street, my D3 for weddings. And that lasted right up until I was thrust headlong into the brick wall that is Magnum photographer David Alan Harvey’s workshop. I couldn’t have been luckier. You see, when you start to think you’re too good, that it’s all too easy, that’s when you move on. That’s when you burn out. And I was right there, but that single event saved me. It also destroyed me. I came to see my images for what they were. A morass of tricks and techniques hobbled together less as something I wanted to create and more as something I thought I should create. My library was more a source of blueprints than inspiration. Pictures just waiting to be copied. I might have had my moments, but it was well beyond my control. It still is and probably always will be. But less so now. Much less.

2009 was a year of reconstruction. Torn down, born anew, it was two parts pain, one part inspiration, and one part desperation. I struggled to process it all. To see what was what, how things worked, and how, exactly, a medium forged so distinctly in what is could show what can be. In fact, every moment after that workshop has been one of reinvention, and I couldn’t be happier. I love going to sleep with a thought on my mind and that tiny seed of discontent that keeps pushing me along. It’s a cliche to say it’s how I know I’m alive. But, well, it is. It keeps me moving, which keeps me discovering, which keeps tomorrow as exciting as today. I figure if tomorrow is always filled with potential, today will never let you down.

We have about 4,160 weekend days in our careers. And these two things I know. They will pass fast enough to give you whiplash. Between life, love, friendships forged, friendships lost, between the birth of a child, the death of a parent, between the infinitely small moments that we barely recall, always cherish, and never cherish enough, the time is always insufficient. But it’s also a hell of a lot of weddings. You must love it. Something in it. Something there. You must make room for you in your pictures. Don’t push yourself out of your own life. Because if time is limited, the desire for money is not. Don’t trade all of your time for money. Money will never buy you enough time to spare.

Photography to me is freedom. A construct for exploration. A window and a mirror. It is love. For the world. For myself. It is self-acceptance. A crucible to burn through the impurities of living and reveal life. It pushes, prods, and forms the people we are. It will not save your neighbor, it will not keep you warm. It will not protect, perform, or build. But if change comes from the smallest of things, if it comes from deep, deep down – if movement is made from finding our best selves and taking one step towards it, then photography is about being better. And that is everything.

What do I have to show for it all? It’s not the portfolio. It’s not the skill. It’s not this image or that, this thing or that, this moment or that. It is simply me. To feel a little more at ease in my own skin, flaws and all. Photography lets me stand in the open, arms stretched wide, eyes closed, back arched, and proclaim “This is me.” And that’s what Ground Glass is really about. Finding you.