No formula exists for making fine art. It is the elusive quality that makes the work of art rare and consequential. However, certain important elements can be explored. One is the idea of commitment. For the Fine Art photographer, there must first be the commitment to being an artist. Then we have the commitment to photography as the means of expression. There is commitment to a particular set of choices available to the photographer—subject matter, equipment, lighting, film, printing, location and so on. Eventually, there is hyper-commitment to each and every element in every frame a photographer chooses to expose. This is the time when the artist trusts himself so thoroughly that he has cast aside any need for outside approval.

I encourage my students to commit. When a student has very little idea how to begin this process, I will ask him or her to commit to anything! Making specific choices does not limit the artist, but frees him to fully develop his gifts. My students rapidly discover if their choices are incompatible with their real passions. In this case, they usually lose interest in the area of their commitment. This can lead to a certain soul-searching that draws the artist closer to his or her natural calling, closer to an instinctive realization that more and more specific commitments are ‘right’ for that individual.

During an open group forum, a photographer presented a dozen snapshots of a wide variety of subject matter, a range of film types, lighting and various techniques. The work appeared stiff and manipulated. I asked her what she might consider photographing if asked to create a series of personally meaningful images, a ‘body of work,’ so to speak. She answered instinctively, ‘Black and white portraits of children in ambient light.’ Then I asked her specifically, ‘Who would you photograph?’ She responded without hesitation. She would like to photograph her niece. I urged her to commit to photographing this one person exclusively, in black & white, in ambient light, just as she had suggested. She returned a month later with a series of captivating B & W images. The Forum members were astounded by her instinctive abilities. Image after image was intimate and connected. A month after that she shared an image of her granddaughter that was so profound, I asked if I might acquire a print for my private collection. The change in just two months was remarkable! She had uncanny intuition and aptitude once she was focused on her task. As long as she continues to focus, to commit and to refine her craft, she will go on to consistently produce artful images.

Students who approach their work in a haphazard manner have become known in my forums and workshops, as ‘random shooters.’ Some of them are extremely skillful. Some have passionate natures and take their work very seriously. However, they are reluctant to commit to a set of choices. They come to me with photographs of anything and everything that catches their attention. The work is inconsistent, both technically and thematically. Making specific commitments with regard to your work means taking full responsibility for the work you produce. It can be a big step, particularly when an artist does not have a network of external support or strong trust in his own instincts. As artists, most of us experience some degree of fear, feelings of confusion, feelings of being at risk emotionally. Albert Camus, in his writings about art, insists that this is to be expected. He talks about the artist’s need for emotional support. He also finds that experiential understanding, what I call ‘conscious living,’ is an integral part of the artistic process;

'...the artist becomes unreal if he remains in his ivory tower...the truth is that the artist is groping his way in the dark, just like the man in the street—incapable of separating himself from the world’s misfortune and passionately longing for solitude and silence; dreaming of justice, yet being himself a source of injustice; dragged—even though he thinks he is driving it—behind a chariot that is bigger than he. In this exhausting adventure, the artist can only draw help from others, and, like anyone else, he will get help from pleasure, from forgetting, and also from friendship and admiration. And, like anyone else, he will get help from hope.'

When the artist is supported, the courage to create becomes an integrated part of his life and his existence. By taking risks, ‘getting dirty,’ and making mistakes, he moves toward authentic expression. Rather than peeling from my students, their anxieties and emotions, I encourage them to explore them as fully as possible. The artist who denies his own humanness does himself a grave injustice. It is the very aspects of human nature, replete with all its fears and passions that give us the raw material for our work as artists. The ‘random shooter’ cannot make specific commitments in his work because it means exposing himself—putting the very essence of himself at risk. Commitment will lead the artist into unfamiliar territory. With it comes the fear of the unknown and the very real possibility that what the individual has come to trust as predictable and stable will be shaken.

The importance of a support system, be it a partner, spouse, friend, or a group of like-minded artists, cannot be overemphasized. The risk-taking artist must have a safe haven. The artist’s work, if it is personal and honest, by definition, renders the artist vulnerable. And anything raw and truthful will make somebody somewhere uncomfortable.

Even when an artist is able to commit more and more specifically and truthfully, there will be distressing times, times Julia Cameron, author of The Artist’s Way describes as ‘Ugly Duckling Growth Stages.’ As mathematician Jules Henri Poincare noted, ‘These sudden inspirations never happen except after some days of voluntary effort which have appeared absolutely fruitless and whence nothing good seems to have come, where the way taken seems totally astray. These efforts have not been as sterile as one thinks; they have set agoing the unconscious machine and without them it would not have moved and would have produced nothing.’ The artist must be reassured especially during these times of frustration that he or she will be okay. They will make it through and the strength of their work as well as their psyche will climb again from the place it has plateaued.

In considering the idea of commitment, my students have expressed the fear of becoming ‘too narrow,’ both in their work and in their thinking. I believe that the very awareness of the possibility that one might become ‘too narrow’ will prevent it from happening. More and more specific commitments will not lead to ‘narrowness.’ Rather, they will lead to mastery and growth. The work resulting from specificity leads the artist deeper and deeper into the process of discovery and self-expression. Finally it transcends itself and the artist’s work evolves into ever more masterful and personal expression.

The recipe for consistently creating works of art is not a simple one. It requires passion, discipline, confidence and vision. It involves the honing of the artist’s self-awareness and observational skills. The artist must accept him or herself as a human being amongst other human beings and explore, rather than reject, his or her own nature. The artist needs adequate support. He must be kind and patient with himself. The artist cannot flourish when he brutalizes himself. And finally, the artist must commit, to his work and to living life in a manner of self-exploration. Such commitment readies the artist to intuitively recognize opportunity and create from it a work of fine art. It is this commitment, combined with mastery of craft, that ultimately gives the artist freedom.