I Don’t Shoot for Likes. I Shoot Because I’d Go Crazy If I Didn’t.
The difference between attention and art.
I help photographers and creative entrepreneurs over 40 reclaim their confidence, cut through the noise, and build bold, independent lives through no-BS insight, experience, and action. Welcome to my Substack. I am glad you are here.
Hello, my name is Don.
I may have a problem.
I can’t go very long without picking up a camera. One is always nearby, and I’m constantly framing what I see, even if I’m more selective now than I used to be.
But occasionally I feel like dropping those limits and photographing everything in sight.
Not because it’ll be viewed as “good” in anyone else’s eyes.
Maybe it will be.
Maybe it won’t.
But just that it will ‘be.’
And that is often enough. At least it is enough for me.
The question of what to shoot and what to ignore is a daily tug-of-war in my brain.
No resolution yet and no resolution in sight.
I am constantly trying to block out the noise and stay true to my own, somewhat unique, ocassionally quirky vision.
Some days that works.
Some days it doesn’t.
But the therapy is in the action, the effort, the vision that is applied to the world. Execution - even bad execution - is still more valuable than doing nothing.
I rarely visit Instagram anymore.
Far too much mediocre filler buried between the occasional gem.
And honestly, it gives me anxiety.
Sometimes I wonder if there is any point to it. The endless scrolling and nothing to show for it. It seems like time wasted with little regard to the value of it all.
But that’s just me.
I’ve been doing this photo thing a long-ass time.
I started in my single digits helping Dad in the darkroom, then on to be the main photographer for his stories on hunting and fishing. “I’ll stand here, and you push the button when I tell you to.” Yeah, by main, I mean only.
Kind of our own “hold the flashlight” story.
He did full-on reviews for hunting and fishing magazines, writing and sending in the photos for accompaniment.
I even got photo credit a few times. I wish I had kept copies, but when you’re ten, the future is not something top of mind.
Like it is today.
A lot of people like to take photographs.
A few people love to make photographs.
Even fewer of us have to make photographs.
Most shoot for enjoyment.
Some shoot for fame.
A few shoot for money.
But if money’s the only reason, there are at least 50,000 easier, more reliable ways to make a buck . Ways that won’t break your heart the way photography can.
Photography as business, muse, and art has knocked me down more times than I can count.
Sometimes because I screwed up.
Sometimes because they screwed up.
Sometimes because of things I couldn’t control.
Sometimes because of things I should have controlled.
I have made a ton of money from photography.
I’ve eaten macaroni and cheese every night for a week because of photography.
Tremendous highs; Photographing Mohammed Ali, the very first cell phone from Motorola, and beautiful models for fashion and beauty.
I’ve also blown an important job because of a stupid mixup, pissed off a major art director because I couldn’t be a ‘team’ player, cancelled family plans, and missed birthdays and moments that I shouldn’t have.
I have been utterly thrilled with my work, and utterly disgusted when I miss the mark I had set.
The relationship between me and my work has been rocky at best.
I guess it’s complicated… heh.
There was a stretch of over twenty years where I only made photographs for other people.
Clients. Magazines. Agencies. I shot constantly, but never for myself.
I simply didn’t have time to do much of anything for myself. Seven days a week for months at a time takes a bit of a toll.
Taking every job I could because I loved it so, then ending up with deadlines that stacked on one another, hiring staff, building a second darkroom, hiring more staff., bigger studio, bigger cyc… bigger and more - bigger and more.
I took just two short vacations in a decade.
I was a damned busy professional photographer and in demand, baby!
And it wore me out.
I needed an overhaul. New brakes, fluids, and alignment.
I began to feel frayed along the edges like a model’s well-worn bell-bottoms.
The turning point came after a brutal shoot with a ridiculous deadline and the kind of client that drains your soul.
I knew if I didn’t walk away, even briefly, something was going to break.
Probably me.
No, it was definitely me.
I was exhausted from chasing the next job, from always putting myself second, from fighting for payments, and from the constant uncertainty of “Will I work again?”
And the deeper, constant fear… “What if I do — and it sucks?”
I hated being a ‘bank’ by fronting money to ad agencies that paid 90 to 120 days late. Seems we always had to wait to be paid what we were owed, and I knew that wasn’t right.
But most of all, I didn’t want to produce work I had no say in, only to see it butchered by bad layouts or worse copy. Or mindless, soul-crushing clients trying to save a few bucks on printing.
So I stopped.
And then I pivoted.
I started offering myself as a designer-photographer hybrid. I had just enough design chops to do product sheets. I could control the look, the layout, the message.
It snowballed from there.
I learned typography, working with galleys, the charms of rubber cement, T-squares, razor knives, leading, kerning, and pairing.
I got pretty darn good at it.
And I got paid
On time.
I bought a Mac Plus. Then upgraded.
(I added two additional MB of RAM for $1200, and a 20MB hard drive for $800. Twenty MB of storage… dude, I was set for life.)
Got a bigger studio and started billing for design and photography.
Made double the money.
Took half the clients.
I was busy, but with a type of work that gave me back some of my time.
And I took that time to shoot for myself again.
I rediscovered the joy of making something just for me.
The thrill of making a photo that didn’t need approval from clowns.
The quiet pride of a shot that made me smile and remember a moment.
It was something I liked, even if no one else ever saw it.
Long before Srini’s Audience of One, I had figured it out. I was my own audience.
And my own harshest critic, raving fan, and disgusted hater rolled into one lovable, soft-spoken, and occasionally creative guy.
Then came the agency.
I had built up a good roster of clients. Local, regional, and national. Outsourcing to freelancers, I had found a way to grow my business.
Again.
I found a partner, we got a building downtown.
He hustled work, I did the designa and photography. We flew under the local radar by creating a system of finding work that we fit with perfectly.
We hired a junior designer.
Then a second.
Then a coder. And another.
We moved from 5 people in 800 sq feet into 3500 square feet.
And a hiring spree for staff.
Ocean Integrated Media Group. We grew fast. We opened the doors in 1995. By 2000, we were Arizona’s third-largest by billing.
Fifteen people on payroll.
Clients around the world.
Meetings, pitches, three-piece suits.
An award wall and a modicum of fame.
Long nights, early mornings, and lots of travel.
Photography — once again — became my sanctuary.
Late-night still lifes in our agency’s studio.
Portraits of staff and friends.
The occasional landscape.
I didn’t shoot as much, but I made the shots count.
I dug into large-format work.
Slowed it down.
Focused.
The work shifted from people and fashion to still life, product, and environment al portraits. I needed the studio to be calm, and I needed the work to be reflective.
Two things that being an agency owner / creatove director wouldn’t allow me
Instead of my fashion days and having the studio filled with youngsters blaring god-knows-what on our custom stereo, I had Sinatra, Miles, and Mozart. Instead of crews, it was just me and occasionally one of my art directors staying late and doing somethng for a client, I was the ones making the creative calls, and the work was exciting again.
When the agency succumbed to the dot-bomb and 9-11, my photography and design once again led me to a new chapter as a small, boutique agency. Just me and Daniel, my coder, back into an 800 sq ft studio.
And digging the hell out of it.
Later, the excitement of digital brought a new kind of energy. Working with young, digital-first art directors showed me how wide-open the art and craft of photography could be.
Now, I’m always working to hold on to that exhilarating feeling.
I’m older.
Less impressed with fads.
More focused on the kinds of images I want to make.
Teaching helps.
Mentoring photographers who are hungry for it, who shoot every chance they get, is a huge joy. Watching them grow, push boundaries, and step into new creative territory has been the most rewarding part of my teaching life.
And yes, it feeds into my own creative work.
Because I still have to make photographs.
It’s how I make sense of things.
It’s how I breathe.
While I have changed it up many times, I don’t think I have ever made a truly strategic career move.
Not for money, or fame, or even a Lambo.
I just let my creative DNA, my desire to be creative, lead me to the next turn.
And here I am.
So, why do you make photographs?
I’d love to know. Tell me in the comments.
ANNOUNCEMENT
I am now able to give y’all a 15% Discount at DXO.
Use the CODE: Giannatti.
I am a huge fan of NIK, and the new NIK 8 is worth every penny. I haven’t used their Pure RAW tool yet, but when I do, there will be some sort of review.
If you’re over 40 and still hungry to make, build, and create, stick around. This space is for people who aren’t done yet (and never will be). I’ve got five decades of wins, failures, comebacks, and creative battles under my belt, and I’m sharing everything that still works—and burning the rest.
No fluff.
No hustle porn.
Just real tools for building a creative life on your own damn terms.
My Personal Website
My Photography Website.
Me on Medium.
Photo Notes:
Image one.
Rays of light in a slot canyon. This exposure was far too dark. I used NIK Analog to bring the exposure back and add flaws that resemble an old camera to the image. The presentation lends itself to the feeling I had in that little slice of earth.
Image two:
Brown leaves in Santa Fe were still recovering from winter. Early in May it was still chilly in the evening, and I loved the warm colors of afternoon glow and the desert colored adobe.
Image three:
Wyoming highways can be straight, long, and desolate. I wanted this image to give me the feeling of that moment on the bike. It was cold and storms threatened rain. The added grit of post processing made it look like it felt to me.
Image four:
Long ago, someone vandalized telephones at this small truck stop on the reservation near Sheep Springs. I find entropy to be a constant theme of mine, and the mix of old phones and a satellite dish tells a little story.
Image five:
The Rio Grande river runs through a wild and deep gorge near Santa Fe, NM. The contrast of the black rock and wheat-colored desert is increased by the high-contrast processing. Black and white makes a rather boring color image more intriguing.
See you next time.
Thank you, Don, for sharing your story and your passion with the rest of us. Over the years, I've been inspired by you, your stories, your teachings and watching your students thrive.
I'm in the can't not take photos category. I've had a camera for 50 years in some form or another. It's part of who I am.
You're shot of the Rio Grande Gorge is exquisite! I love that place.