It happened again. I thought I had worked through that idea of being a “fake photographer” but the evil notion raised its head once again. Skip to the happy ending….I squashed this feeling down like the Beelzebub that it is. In the meantime . . .
A few months ago, a friend asked me to participate in a quarterly showcase she puts on to promote rising musical talent here in Austin. As an additional feature, she shared with me that she liked to include a visual artist who is also up and coming. “Would you like to participate showing your photographs?” she offered. Me, being addicted to opportunities, of course, agreed to her very kind offer.
Fast forward to this past weekend, the weekend of the event. As I was driving to set up with a car loaded with easels, matted and framed photographs and a box of supplies should I need anything, I had that panicky moment of “What was I thinking? I can’t put these images out there for the world to see….and even worse, stand next to them for 4 hours admitting that they were mine!” This thought sequence had become the pinnacle of my hesitant claim that “I am a photographer.” This phrase has always been hard for me to say. Who am I to put myself in the ranks of those who publish, print, sell, speak and have been universally accepted into the lofty ranks of those who shoot RAW?
As my impostor thoughts swirled in my head, my inner coach told me to dial it back. I have won a few competitions, have had some pro photographers tell me they like my work (surely they were fibbing.) Maybe I could put up these easels and framed images and bravely stand next to them for ALL the world to see (really, not all, just a small gathering.) I drove on.
What better way to present my work publicly (other than the safety of Facebook and Instagram) for the first time than a minimally lit lounge with a crowd there primarily for the music? Yep, I did it.
And even sold one.