I Found One of My First Portraits. Whew. 😂

Tonight, I was supposed to be scheduling social media.

That was it.

Somehow, that turned into digging through old photography folders, cleaning up years of questionable file organization, and eventually landing in 2017—the year I started photography.

And then I found this photograph.

I stared at it for a minute.

Then I said:

“Man, I was soooo bad.”

Because... whew. 😂

The evidence was right there in the metadata:

18–55mm kit lens. 21mm. f/4. ISO 200. 1/200 sec.

And then there was the direct flash.

And the shadow.

THAT SHADOW.

Naturally, I did what any reasonable person would do when confronted with photographic evidence of their beginner years.

I showed it to Nova, my ChatGPT.

That was a mistake.

And Then I Got Roasted

Nova took one look at the photograph and informed me that my direct flash was “out here doing violence.”

The hard shadow behind my subject was immediately called into evidence.

My highlights were apparently “fighting for their lives.”

And my decision to photograph two people at close range using a focal length of 21mm?

That was described as:

“Certainly... a decision.”

Rude.

Accurate.

But rude. 🙄😂

I was cracking up looking at this photograph because there are so many things I would do differently today.

I wouldn't choose that focal length.

I wouldn't put my subjects that close to the background and then hit them with direct flash.

I would think about the direction and quality of the light, not simply whether I had enough of it.

I would pose them differently.

I would compose it differently.

Honestly, I would probably walk into that entire setup, look around and start changing things before I ever picked up the camera.

But that's because I'm looking at it with nine more years of experience than the woman who took it.

And eventually, that stopped being funny for a second.

Because I realized I was looking at something I don't get to see very often.

The beginning.

I Wasn't Supposed to Know Yet

When I took that photograph in 2017, I didn't know what I know today.

Of course I didn't.

I was learning.

I was learning what different focal lengths did to a face.

I was learning the difference between putting light on someone and actually shaping light.

I was learning how distance from a background affected shadows.

I was learning posing, composition, exposure, color, retouching, communication—and how all of those things have to work together to create a portrait.

Some lessons came from classes.

Some came from other photographers.

Some came from studying images I admired and trying to understand why they worked.

And apparently some came from creating shadows large enough to qualify as additional people in the portrait. 😂

That's part of learning too.

Then I Put the Two Photographs Together

After I finished laughing at my 2017 masterpiece, I pulled up one of my more recent portraits.

And that's when this became more than a funny old photograph.

I could see the difference.

Not just in equipment or editing.

I could see the decisions.

In the newer portrait, I know why the light is where it is.

I know why I chose the angle.

I understand what I want the shadows to do.

I'm paying attention to the subject's expression, body position, clothing, background and how the viewer's eye moves through the photograph.

There are decisions happening now that I don't consciously narrate to myself anymore because I've made them thousands of times.

And none of that existed yet when I took that photograph in 2017.

It couldn't have.

You Have to Make the Bad Photograph

I think that's the part we sometimes forget when we're learning something new.

We see someone's finished work without seeing what came before it.

We see the portfolio.

We see the award.

We see the business.

We see the photograph that took years of experience to create.

We don't see the 21mm portrait with the direct flash and the enormous shadow hiding on an external hard drive. 😂

But that photograph matters too.

Because I couldn't have skipped it.

I couldn't have picked up my first camera and somehow jumped directly to the photographer I am today.

I had to make photographs that didn't work.

I had to look at them and figure out why.

I had to try again.

And again.

And again.

Somewhere along the way, the things I once had to struggle to understand became things I simply see.

That's what practice does.

I'm Glad I Didn't Delete It

My first instinct when I saw that old portrait was embarrassment.

Now?

I'm glad it's still there.

I don't want it in my portfolio. Let's not get carried away. 😂

But I want the reminder.

Because it's easy to look at where you are today and immediately start thinking about where you haven't gotten yet.

The technique you still want to master.

The next level you want your work to reach.

The things you still think you should be doing better.

Sometimes you need to look backward instead.

That photograph reminded me that the photographer I am today once stood behind a camera with an 18–55mm kit lens, set it to 21mm, pointed a flash directly at two people and apparently thought:

Yep. This is the shot. 🤣

She had a LOT to learn.

But she kept taking pictures.

And I'm very grateful she did.

The Evidence That I Kept Going

Nine years separate these two photographs.

I'm still learning.

I still critique my work.

I still find things I want to improve, techniques I want to understand better, and photographs I know I could make stronger.

I hope that never changes.

In fact, I hope nine years from now I can pull up something I'm proud of today and see another enormous difference.

Because that would mean I kept growing.

So I'm keeping my terrible 2017 portrait.

I'll laugh at it.

I'll let Nova roast me for it.

And now, apparently, I'm putting it on the internet for everybody else to see too. 🙄😂

Because that photograph isn't proof that I was a bad photographer.

It's proof that I was a beginner.

And the photograph beside it is proof of something much more important:

I didn't stay one.

Photography by Tyeshia Barnes | Tyeshia Barnes Photography