I have over 400,000 photographs on my hard drives. Of those, only 2,000 images have been compelling enough over the years to consider them final photographs or “keepers.” I suspect I’d have even fewer if I went through them all now. That’s a so-called keeper rate of 0.5% or less.
After almost 40 years behind a camera, only half of one percent of the images I make become something I’m proud of, something that feels like it does what I wanted it to, something I’d sign my name to.
Most of the 99.5% that I have rejected are sharp; most are exposed “properly.”
Those 398,000 images weren’t excluded from my final choices because they failed technically but for other reasons. The balance didn’t feel right. I missed the moment. The colours didn’t harmonize.
In many cases, the story didn’t work or the mood wasn’t…well, it just wasn’t. And sometimes they just feel too…safe. Or repetitive, like a crappier version of something I’ve already done better but tried to replicate because that’s just easier than risking something new.
And yes, sometimes I’ve tried to do something new with my technique and it didn’t go to plan. But I learned something, and that’s valuable.
Those 398,000 rejected images weren’t failures. They’re my most faithful teachers; I needed them to get me to the 2,000. But they weren’t successes, either. And every now and then, I send a couple thousand of them to the bin so their 1’s and 0’s get recycled into fresh efforts, saving me some much-needed hard drive space.
As I have grown as a photographer, my keeper rate (can we stop calling it that?) has worsened. I return from my trips with more image files and fewer that make the cut. Can you identify with that?
Far from being a bad thing, it might be important that your keeper rate is diminishing. It should be something we strive for.
That it takes more effort to get to an image that really works for you might mean you’re taking more risks and trying new things. If that were the case, you’d probably have more “sketch images”—more photographs that are a swing and miss. They’re important, but that doesn’t mean you’ll be showing them at the next club meeting or adding them to your portfolio.
If you love every photograph you make, you’re probably not trying hard enough—not risking enough.
Fewer keepers might also mean you’re getting pickier, that you’re refining your sense of what works and what does not as you seek to make photographs that express something specific or reflect who you’re becoming as a photographer.
Fewer keepers probably means your tastes are evolving and that you’re getting better at your craft and are less willing to accept the images you would have once been thrilled with. You’re growing, and that should be celebrated.
Photographers who follow their curiosity and ask, “I wonder what would happen if…?” will answer that question by pressing the shutter, then react to the results and try again and again. They are photographers who make a lot of sketch images and follow the process further because they aren’t put off by the stinkers. And because they get so familiar with the so-called failures, they’re photographers who become more courageous and less tentative in their efforts. They know that 99 efforts are a small price to pay for the one image that isn’t just sharp but poignant.
Growing into excellence in this craft is a long game. It begs patience from us—and perseverance.
It takes time to wrap our imaginations around the way the camera sees light, space, and time differently than we do.
It takes time to remember where all the buttons and dials are and get our fingers there without thinking about it.
It takes time to learn who we are as photographers, what we like and don’t like, which subjects we want to focus our efforts on and what we can leave for others.
Yes, it takes time. But what’s the hurry? Isn’t so much of the joy of this found in the process, in the looking, in the playful attempts at something better (or just different) than what we’ve done before? Isn’t so much of the pleasure found in the making, not just in the having made? Isn’t that part of the delight?
Keeper rates are a terrible metric to measure progress. They make us rigid where we should be free and hedge our bets and play it safe. I suspect they also make some very good photographers feel like they’re moving in the wrong direction when, in fact, they’re getting closer to discovering their voice.
Art-making is not measured with rates and ratios. You don’t measure wonder and delight and the thrill of discovery or expression. You feel it.
The goal of art-making is not efficiency. It’s not subject to cost-benefit analyses. It can’t be reduced to “this is what I kept and this is what I discarded” as if the one had nothing to do with the other. The one leads to the others. It’s necessary. It’s not waste; it’s process. It’s the price extracted for wanting to make something more than just good but truly your own. It’s the grease on the wheels of your creativity.
So screw your keeper rate. Make peace with your so-called failures. Celebrate them. Learn from them. And whatever you do, don’t let them make you feel like you’re on the wrong track. My “keeper rate” is getting worse every year. But I’ve never been happier with my photographs.
For the Love of the Photograph,
David
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