The Photo That started my career
Photography is a competitive game. Perhaps more now, than ever. With the advent of smartphones and the continual leaps that technology makes, almost everyone now has access to a decent camera capable of taking high quality photos, right in their pocket. The growth of social media and especially instagram has fuelled a photography flux over the past decade or so, encouraging everyone to document their lives. This is an amazing opportunity for a lot of people but it comes with it’s challenges for those seeking to build a career out of the craft.
It floods the internet with reams of photos, that as a photographer you need to find a way to stand out from. Don’t get me wrong, having access to a camera does not make you a photographer, there are skills and knowledge that still, and will always, set professional apart from amateurs. Understanding light, composition, framing, exposure and how to tell a story within an image, are things that can’t be bought as upgrades. Having the eye to see a creative angle or new take requires time and practice — there is no shortcut to this. But trying to be seen and recognised in a congested space is hard…
I first picked up a camera with the sole intention of taking pictures of my friends and I, as we skied. the goal was self promotion as an athlete, not as a photographer. Yet sometimes, through fortunate accidents, we discover that life has a different plan for us. My dream of competing on the FWT was always very ambitious, and this was compounded when I tore my ACL and MCL in a competition in Canada. I doubled down on photography then, finding an outlet that let me keep up with my uninjured friends and avoid missing out on the rest of the season. And to my surprise, I loved it perhaps more than the skiing itself.
I knew then that I wanted to be a photographer and to make films. I loved watching the reactions on the faces of my friends as I showed them a recent photo or finished film and I learnt the power of storytelling — something that has always been intrinsic to the human experience. I was hooked. I spent the next couple of years desperatly shooting everything I could, and working on my style. Most of those photos were terrible… I look at them now and wince. I was convinced that the edit was more important than the capture and it took several years to really understand how to take a good photo.
Despite my new found passion and obsession, I struggled to make it anything more than a hobby. I realised that as good as my photos got, no-one cared if the subject wasn’t interesting enough. My friends were good skiers, lots of them semi-pro, lots of them having made careers out of the sport, and yet, they were not pros. This sounds ungrateful, but I assure you it is not — I will forever be grateful to the people who have helped and supported me throughout my journey — however, to be seen in a niche like action sports, you just have to be showing something that the masses will engage with. For me with skiing, that meant pro athletes with large followings or big events on the world stage.
The new challenge became access. How do you get into this world without anything to show, to convince people you’re good enough? And so for several years I plateaued as an okay photographer shooting mostly for exposure with anyone who was interested. Until I moved to New Zealand…
Arriving at Cardrona for the first time, I was blown away by the quality of the resort and the quality of the local riders. This was an opportunity to shoot some big names in the sport: the Wells brothers, the Porteous brothers, the Bilous brothers, Margeaux Hacketts, Janina Kuzma, to name but a few of the very talented locals who could often be found lapping Whitestar. Not to mention the influx of pros who came to train during the northern summer or compete at the Jossi Wells Invitational.
On a clear day when I was off work and lapping the park with camera in hand, by luck I ended up on a chair with Beau-James and Jackson Wells. Timidly, I asked them if I could lap with them and take some photos, expecting a polite “no”. But I underestimated the kiwi politeness and friendliness; “Of course brother”, was the answer.
So I spent the afternoon lapping, trying my hardest not to be in their way, taking photos from the sidelines, none of which were very good. The truth is I was scared to ask anything of them, they were doing me a favour, I just wanted to stay out of their way. But as the afternoon went on, my confidence built and I asked Beau if he would help me capture a photo that had been on my mind for some time.
There is an iconic clocktower at Cardrona — recognisable to everyone in the ski world. I wanted to get a shot of a skier mid flight, tweaking a mute grab over the clocktower. I had the image clear in my mind but needed a skier to make it happen — here was my chance. I explained the concept to Beau, who understood exactly what I wanted and then set off to the far side of the resort with my longest lens so that I could compress the background as much as possible and make the tower look closer to the jumpline. I didn’t expect it to work — but on the first try, Beau nailed the trick and I nailed the shot. I was unbelievably stoked! I knew it was good, not an exceptional photo… the light was quite flat, the time of day was terrible, the focus slightly off… but the frame was perfect.
I posted the photo, tagging everyone I could and it blew up. The most liked photo I had posted at the time, reshared by the resort, by Beau, by the local tourism board, the local town and by a few skiing accounts. Later that week, I was called by the marketing department at Cardrona and asked if I would part-time shoot for them. I was in the door. I would like to say that I haven’t looked back since, but the truth is that I look back often. It is not my best photo and I know I could do a lot better today, but it will always be my favourite because it captures so perfectly the path I took to get where I am. After years of trying, I had my first real job as a photographer.
Beau-James at Cardrona Alpine Resort - The photo that started my career.