Egoless Photography

I vividly remember when I discovered photography. I was a third-year undergraduate engineering student in the United States when I experienced a revelation while visiting an exhibition of Ansel Adams' photographs at the university museum. Around the same time I discovered The Decisive Moment, a book of photographs by Henri Cartier-Bresson. These two bodies of work thrilled and delighted me. The beauty of the photographs held me spellbound and I marvelled at the people who had made them.

This was my entrance into the world of photography – at a time with no Internet or smart phones. This was good in a way, because I spent my free hours poring over books by great photographers, avoiding information overload and focusing only on classic works. I also learned from magazines and drew inspiration from visiting photo exhibitions.

Soon I wanted to proceed beyond just looking at fine photographs. I was ready to create my own. So I took classes to learn technique: camera basics and black and white film processing. That was the easy part. The hard part was learning aesthetics – what makes a photograph worthy. This took more time. I got others to critique my work. I looked at lots of photographs, all the while trying to place myself in the shoes of the photographers.

As I approached this, my Western education and mindset, which places emphasis on the individual and his creativity, played a big role. Ever since the Renaissance, creative work in the West has largely emphasized the individual. The overarching importance of the individual's view of the world was paramount in Western art.

As an example, consider the mathematics of perspective as invented by Leonardo da Vinci. It enables painters to paint with "me" at the centre and the world radiating out from there. In contrast, the artist in East was more humble and anonymous. For example, note the lack of perspective in paintings from the Mughal times – the painter is not at the centre of the world.

In photography classes, too, teachers emphasized the individual's point of view. "What do you want to say in this photograph?" and "How do you see it?"

And so my ego ran away from me and embedded itself into each photograph I made. Fortunately two things happened. I kept working away at photography, striving towards maturity. And I married a woman who encouraged and understood my passion.

But a longer process was also in the works. Writing software in Silicon Valley, I matured as an engineer. In the process I learned that when you create something for others, you must provide some value in your creation, be it software or photography.  What the viewer sees in a photograph should not be just an exercise in ego gratification, but rather be something that he or she finds useful, something that makes his or her time worthwhile. Beyond the camera, I learned to approach the subject of the photograph with respect and empathy. Slowly but surely, my ego returned to my control.

My photography teacher Frank Espada was instrumental as I learned to approach photography with humility and gratitude.

And so today, if the viewer taking a moment to look at my photographs feels that their time was well-spent, then I feel humbled by their attention and grateful for being able to create such a work.

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