"Migrant Mother," 1936, by Dorothea Lange.
If you are interested in Darwin, theories regarding evolution of the brain or why depression might have a positive side, definitely check out “Depressions Upside.” I just reading this fascinating article by Jonah Lehrer, featured in “The New York Times Magazine” online. Lehrer is lucid, and he relates a number of intriguing thoughts from thinkers trying to understand the paradox of depression. (Why would we evolve a quality that saps of us the desire to eat and have sex?)
The title of this post is meant evoke my desire to supportively embrace all of you creative types who, like me, at times feel slightly or seriously depressed, and who at these times often feel seriously alone and, probably worst of all, are seriously unable to engage in aspects of your creative process or simply get basic, necessary work accomplished.
Although my title is meant to suggest comfort, it is somewhat backwards. For one thing, all photographers do not suffer from depression. For another thing, many photographers seem to be quite alone — at least in their creative and professional pursuits.
So my title might not be accurate, but I think the sentiment is valid, and it comes from something I have learned first hand: A lot of successful photographers suffer from bouts of depression — from light but serious to downright crippling. And yet, at least in their public personas, many of these photographers come across as upbeat and cheery.
This information comes to me directly from the mouths of these photographers, who have told me so during over the past number of years in interviews about their lives and work. Obviously I’m not going to name names. However, I hope you’ll trust me that it’s true. And I hope you’ll believe me when I say that most of the photographers I am thinking of don’t seem to fall into the “depressed type” category — not at all.
This is one of the biggest problems with feeling depressed: When we feel depressed we feel alone and often incompetent in handling this force that lays us low, keeps us from functioning anywhere near our best. Making it worse, we often feel culpable. “Why can’t I snap myself out of this?” “Why am I so weak?”
I feel tempted to share some of Lehrer’s ideas about the nature of depression and creativity. (”Why is mental illness so closely associated with creativity?”, he asks.) It’s interesting stuff. But if you are interested, you can read his article. I want to stay on track.
The simple fact that if you are a creative person and you suffer from depression, you are not alone. Lehrer writes that, “Every year, approximately 7 percent of us will be afflicted to some degree by the awful mental state that William Styron described as a ‘gray drizzle of horror . . . a storm of murk.’ Obsessed with our pain, we will retreat from everything.”
(I’m pretty sure that quote is from Styron’s “Darkness Visible,” in which the author shares very openly his very private battle with depression. A great book.)
If 7 percent of the population will suffer from depression this year, it’s arguable that a higher percentage of photographers will suffer from light or heavy storms of murk. As Lehrer quotes Roland Barthes: “A creative writer is one for whom writing is a problem.”
Barthes’ sentiment rings true, and it seems appropriate to suggest that a creative photographer is one for whom creating photographs is a problem.
In the industry — at least outside of fine art photography — we tend to not romanticize photographers with “problems.” Whenever possible we seem to refer to “challenges” instead of “problems.” And we do our best to find the positive in challenges. We know it’s a tough, challenging career, but it’s worth it! That’s what we seem to exclaim.
Yes, there certainly seem to be many benefits to overcoming challenges. And so it makes sense that photographers would highlight the positive in the challenges they face, just as Darwin and many of Lehrer’s interviewees try to find the positive aspects of depression.
However, no amount of positive thinking about depression changes the the fact that depression sucks. (Not as eloquent as Styron, I know.) The sensation of depression is horrible and debilitating.
Although it is not a salve, one thing that does seem to comfort those of us who get laid low by depression is to know that we are not alone — especially when we learn that, like Styron, some of those affected by depression are the very role models whose accomplishments we deeply respect.
However, if you are a photographer, you might not find too much comfort in the words of Stryon or other writers who have suffered from depression. “Eighty percent of the writers met the formal diagnostic criteria for some form of depression,” Lehrer writes of one study, also noting that, “The Romantic poets took the veneration of sadness to its logical extreme and described suffering as a prerequisite for the literary life.”
While writers seem relatively willing to embrace their bouts of depression, most photographers seem — at least in public — to shun the idea that they might be prone to depression. It’s not that photographers are Depression Deniers; it is simply that — in public, at least — photographers, like all people, put on their best face. It’s natural.
Why photographers would seem to be considered a more chipper lot than writers I don’t know. Recreational photography is a joy, but succeeding in professional photography has always been extremely difficult. After all, those photographers who are really engaged in creating images (and not just taking pictures) are writing with light. Not easy. And to make money at it is nearly impossible.
In regard to Lehrer’s mention of the pain of “literary life,” I think it’s important to remember that “literary life” falls under the bigger umbrella of the “creative life,” where photography can be found as well.
I can think of one excellent photographer I know well who really, truly never appears to have suffered from any bought of depression. That makes sense. Not all photographers suffer from depression. (Regardless of the claim of my post title.)
Charles Darwin. Very Successful. Very Depressed.
I have interviewed a number of photographers who never directly mentioned having suffered from depression, and whom I find it hard to imagine getting seriously “blue.” Of course this could just be the public persona they were projecting to me, but I’m sure quite a few of these photographers simply don’t get depressed (even if it does have theoretical evolutionary advantages).
However, getting back to the comfort of not feeling alone, I must admit that I feel an incredible sense of relief when highly successful photographers share with me that they have suffered from depression. Some of them recall one or two major episodes of depression, while others have shared that it just comes and goes, in little and big waves, here and there, a constant force to deal with.
Some of these photographers speak of their depression quite openly, without being asked, in relation to an indirect question. Others talk about their depression more quietly, somewhat in the manner of a confessor.
I know, I know. This post would have a heck of a lot more punch if I could name names and give specific examples. Then you could say, “Wow. Even X has gotten overwhelmed by depression. That’s really hard to believe, but it’s kind of comforting. If he gets depressed and if he is that successful, than there is hope for me.”
Actually, you might not find it that comforting. Depression is depressing. Depression and comfort are like oil and water. But Lehrer’s article inspired me to try to spread just a little comfort.
One of the most hardworking photographers I know once shared this with me: “I think I have gotten depressed a number of times throughout my life, though I never called it that. Those days you just need to get in bed with a good book.”
If you knew this person — 14-hour work days are the norm — you would have a very hard time imaging him/her curling up in bed with a book as a means of comfort against depression. But if you find it hard to get through certain days due to depression, you might at least find a little comfort in that fact that this photographer — like so successful many photographers I know — does indeed have to deal with the pain of depression to create his images and to make money from the process.
I have many more examples like this that I would like to share. But sharing such intimacies is hard, and part of the reason they are truly comforting to me is because they are so intimate and personal. Just one person telling another person, with honesty and for no personal gain, that their creative life is much more difficult than others often imagine.
If this post does not resonate with you because you do not ever suffer from depression, I’m very glad. There’s nothing enviable or romantic about feeling depression, even if the Romantics thought so. Jonah Lehrer explores some fascinating reasons why depression might have evolutionary advantages, and they are interesting. But from my point of view, advantages or not, depression just sucks.
If you yourself, from time to time or quite often, get knocked down by depression but keep getting up anyway, I applaud you. I also hope you can trust me that, at least in the world of successful photographers, you are not alone.