I zoom in, physically, which means I walk the ten extra feet to capture the angle that I want. I did this to myself, I exclaimed what I hate about ease, about convenience, so I bought a fixed lens and with it a sort of curmudgeonly attitude that allows me to use a digital camera while simultaneously disassociating from the digital lifestyle.
The irony is that I still need auto-focus, I need instant replay, and none of these photos will see the ink side of a computer. In fact, the majority of these images will only be seen on the 750x1334 of an iPhone, because what I appreciate about difficulty is not a universal value. An audience—it seems—isn't built by making it difficult to gather (or so it's been said). It begs the question: “why do we have to make everything so hard—especially for ourselves?”
The effort I put into an image feels like pain, the click of a shutter is in fact effort, my pain is payment. It’s just hard enough to appreciate the task, ease can erase a sense of accomplishment, it entitles and devalues, while truly hard effort enriches, demands respect, and for the individual to seek.
The goal is to balance in between ease that allows access and hardship that narrows the crowd. I am not yet ready to turn my kitchen into a dark room, my bathtub into a chemical factory, but in realizing this, I know I am ready for effort, I know I am willing to do what others are not in order to produce what other cannot.