Posing in front of the Christmas tree.

Blowing out birthday cake candles.

Holding an award.

Sitting at a picnic family gathering, smiling.

These are the 4x6 photos I grew up looking at.

Photography, in my small world, was reduced to snapshots of posed semi-remarkable moments, captured so our family could remember the memories.

As photography should be.

But beyond that, my little artistic yearnings were not satisfied.

Photography was marking me, but I couldn't quite put my finger on why I wasn't motivated to take it beyond just watching my mom use a camera.

I didn't feel like I was deserving of photography.

It felt reserved for the moms. The keepers of the family history. The ones who managed the budgets and decided if money would be spent on 12 rolls of film in a year, or less. Every snapshot felt like gold - an expensive choice, so it was only ever reserved for the most important moments.

The birthdays.

The holidays.

The school concerts and the wedding showers.

If something that expensive and that prized was reserved for such important moments, why were the photos so boring, so cliché?

It felt like photos could be more than just cliché. It could possibly be art. (!)

But who would spend money on film to simply take photos as art? To take photos of abstract nothings?

How frivolous, I thought.

But when I was about to turn 13, something changed. I dared to ask for a camera for my birthday.

And I got one. It came with one roll of film. One expensive roll of film. That didn't even include the money it would cost to develop it and make prints.

It was a simple point and shoot plastic camera from Black's.

But every roll of film cost me two hours of babysitting. And every processing of the film cost me two more hours of babysitting.

Photography was SO expensive.

But the camera was now mine. And I started daring to take pictures that were, well... frivolous.

One of the very first memories I have with my new camera was blowing through a whole roll of film in one winter afternoon at the lake. I dared to forget about the cost, and to just take photos of art. Of nothing. Of interesting things. Of abstract shapes.

It felt wrong, yet kind of freeing.

I was wasting film on the opposite of birthdays, holiday photos and posed smiles.

Not only that, but I was pushing the boundaries of what I thought was "safe" and "ok" to do with a camera.

I was standing on the snowy lakeshore, looking up at the bright shining sun through the bare trees. And then I wondered, "Can I take a photo of the sun? Like, point the camera lens directly at that big ball of fire in the sky?"

I wondered what would happen. Would my camera break? Would my film fry and melt? Would the photo come out completely destroyed? What would happen?

Click.

I took a photo staring directly at the sun.

I dared to take a dangerous photo.

And I would have to wait 2 weeks (and cash from two babysitting hours) to see the results.

Two weeks later, the results were spectacular. A bright, beautiful winter sun shining through bare tree branches, creating an unusual (to me) landscape photo.

For the first time I felt like I was no longer wasting money on frivolous art photos.

I was creating art, and it felt good. So good.

It felt freeing. It felt valuable.

It felt like babysitting money well spent.

I was breaking through cliché. As a 13 year old in the 1990s, this felt fantastic.

To this day, I still apply this mindset to my photography.

I dare to push my camera to take unconventional photos. I dare to take dangerous photos.

No I'm not jumping out of planes or sticking my phone in the microwave to see what will happen.

I'm just creating art by pushing the limits of my expectations.

And I think that every photographer, no matter the experience or expertise level, should push the limits of their expectations, and dare to take dangerous photos.

But hear me out: it's not a competition for who can be the most "daring".

What one "dangerous photo" is to one person could be totally mild compared to another's "dangerous photo". The point is not to be the edgiest photographer.

The point is to push your own limits, whatever they may be.

Your unique fingerprint is going to be on all your photos, and the best way to continue exploring your unique creative journey is by pushing the limits of your expectations.

Try new things. Wonder.

Get curious.

Try a photo that will likely fail.

Then try another one, from a different perspective.

Learn. Take notes. Critique. Embrace. Erase.

Start again.

Yes there will always be more advanced, daring photographers who will photograph more amazing things than you. But don't dismiss photography just because of that.

It's not about being the most daring photographer in the world.

It's about being the most daring artist you've ever been, measured only against past versions of you.

That's being a successful photographer. Daring to push your own limits in your own world. And seeing where that takes you.

Tell me:

What's the most daring photo you've ever taken? How did it shape who you are today as a photographer?

Or have you not yet dared to take a dangerous photo? Where do you think you'll start?

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Unlock the power of your phone camera and your creative voice at my next photography workshops.​

•••

Hi I'm Gabrielle. I run a full time photography business in Winnipeg, specializing in portrait and commercial photography. This newsletter started with my passion for helping everyday people realize their full photography potential. With a bit of technical and creative help, you too can take better photos with the phone camera you already have.

Find more of my resources here:

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Gabrielle Touchette Photography

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