From a Photojournalist: What Makes a Great Artist?

From my intern, Ashley Scarbrough (part one of two):

Lights, Camera, Love: A Photojournalist’s Take onWhat Makes a Great Artist 

 Asa child, I would slide out the dusty photo boxes from underneath my parents’bed and scatter the photos across the rosy carpet. I saw my mom and dad suitedup in camo gear, fresh from the morning hunt, skinning bucks. I discovered mydad’s teenage years sporting bell-bottom blue jeans and an afro hairstyle. Ilaughed at my brother in his cooking lessons with a giant mushroom on his head.And I blushed at the sight of my butt-naked baby pictures that showed me drinkingfrom the backyard hose. There is nothing like a good picture to tell a story.And that’s why I decided to pursue photojournalism.

Itwas from these photos that I learned about my family. I got to meet people, like my grandfather,whom I never knew. As I grew older, I loved meeting people and just hearingtheir stories: the teenage breakups, the first kiss, the volleyballchampionships, and art competitions. A good story is the photographer’sadrenaline rush. But unfortunately, as I soaked in these stories, I got lost inthe rush and forgot the irreplaceable piece of every good story: the people.

Recentlyin my photography journey, however, I had to relearn one basic life principle: wemust love people.  Photojournalistssearch long and hard for a good story, but the secret to capturing stories isnot hidden in any special formula. We find the stories when we love people.

Iam not talking about the love we use to describe our favorite type of cake. Thelove I have in mind is more than just about a favorite pair of shoes, or a dreamhome. This love listens when you want to snap a quick photo. Love puts down the camera, to comfort ahurting friend. Love waits until theyknow you care. People want to open up toand show their deepest sores. No amount of energy or time could drown it out.This love breathes hope into a broken story. In this love, a person finds rest, safety, and strength. When a personburned by the past speaks, it cools their scorched hearts. Through the ebbsand flows of conversation, this love touches the most jagged of souls, moldingthem into smooth stones.  

Onlylove can capture authentic stories. Out of this innocent love for people, Ifell in love with photos as a child. Thephotos underneath my parents' bed were like the children's photo books that all myfriends read at night. When I scattered the family photos on that rosy carpet, Itraveled back in time. I smelled the trail of my grandpa’s cigarette smoke ashe walked the farm. I heard my mom fire the 22 from the deer stand. I walkedalongside my dad in his bell-bottom blue jeans. I slurped my brother’s soupsfrom a spoon during his cooking classes. 

Love.That’s what makes a great artist.