Eric Clise Photographer

Eric Clise Photographer is the company name on my business license.

When I was in junior high school I was fortunate enough to have a mentor by the name of Bruce Burgess. Mr. Burgess was my English teacher, and although English was my worst subject, he was one of my favorite teachers. Not that I was impressed with his teaching style or with the subject matter, I just liked him. He was a very kind, generous, and soft-spoken man. He seemed to me to be vaguely foreign. He was from New England somewhere, and a product of the old school of tweeds and wools, English reserve, and proper good manners. I was charmed. He also was an enthusiastic amateur photographer and was known throughout the school as the ‘photography resource.’ He gave many impromptu photography lectures between classes and after school. I begged for and received a 35mm Pentax SLR for my thirteenth birthday. Mr. Burgess lived just across the Street from school and maintained a darkroom in his basement. This facility was available to all photo enthusiasts under his supervision. In the years that followed (this institution was both a Junior and Senior High School) I spent many hours in that darkened, malodorous basement. By my Junior and Senior year, I was the recognized leader of the small group of shutter bugs that roamed the halls. It was a source of pier approval for me, and a wonderful outlet for my budding creative talents.

Immediately following high school, I spent the better part of a year living in the Canadian wilderness. I had ambitions to sell an article, complete with my magnificent photos, to The National Geographic chronicling the adventure. Upon returning to civilization, I packaged a manuscript, a copy of which is still collecting dust around the house somewhere, six dozen of my best slides, and mailed them to the editors of National Geographic. I fully expected to receive an enormous check in the mail accompanied by a letter of gushing praise shortly after that. Months passed. One day I did get my submission back, and my first professional rejection. It was not a form letter however. On expensive embossed parchment, was the gentlest, most flattering rejection I have ever received. I have saved that letter. “Dear Mr. Clise, I have greatly enjoyed reviewing your manuscript ‘A Winter at Chaunigan’ and the transparencies that illustrate it...” The letter went on to say that although they liked it, they had something similar enough on their schedule to rule out any near future consideration for the article. Then they dangled a carrot in front of me, '...resubmit the story to me in April or May of 1974 for further consideration... Sincerely, Mr. National Geographic'.

National Geographic shot me down somewhat less gently after my second submission. Still, I felt that I hadn’t done badly for my first professional outing. After an abortive attempt to matriculate at a preppy east coast Liberal Arts college, I enrolled in Brooks Institute of Professional Photography. The next four years were difficult ones for me.

Photography had always been a source of joy and creative play for me. I didn’t have a great deal of control over the process, but what mastery I did have, came from enthusiastic experimentation. Things were different at Brooks. There is a great deal more technique and technology involved in commercial photography than most people realize.. .even photo enthusiasts. The educational philosophy at Brooks might be paraphrased as follows: “In the three and a half years a typical student is in our program, he or she will be challenged to their personal limit to master the mechanics of the photographic process. Creative growth is a process best done after one has mastered these techniques and, in any event, we have neither the resources nor the inclination to teach it here.” This philosophy is not stated in any of their literature however, so is not surprising that many dreams are dashed at Brooks. The school typically experiences an attrition rate of 50 percent in the first year. I know many people who have had there love of photography completely purged at that institution, and in some ways, I am also a casualty.

I don’t mean to slam Brooks unfairly, much of the problem is inherent in glamorous businesses like acting and photography. The romance of the business is seductive, and people tend to have unrealistic expectations. The reality is that commercial photography is a tough business. The people who buy photography for advertising expect absolute professionalism. Technique is not even an issue...it is a given. Brooks is an excellent resource for attaining technical competence. It is a lousy environment for naive romantics. I stuck it out at Brooks. There are far too many things I have declined to try in my life, but once committed, I tend to persevere. I did not quit, but I insisted on playing and experimenting with the medium far more than my instructors approved of, and I only gave a halfhearted effort to my restrictive, daily assignments. I graduated from Brooks with a mediocre academic performance.

Like many other enthusiastic amateur photographers, by the time I managed to graduate from Brooks, my love for photography was virtually gone. The joy had been replaced with a certain arrogance concerning my newly acquired technical skills. Taking a picture for fun was now disdainfully amateurish to me. If I was going to take a picture, someone had better be paying me. Although I was technically competent, and still more creative than most of my peers, I was missing one critical piece of the professional puzzle. I was completely ignorant in the ways of business. The photography business is a little crazier than most, but it is still, first, last ,and always, a business. Although it had taken me four years to prepare for the technical end of photography, I figured I could master the business side in about two to three months...tops!

I endured a three month apprenticeship (read that slave labor) with an established commercial photographer. He was of the attitude that he was doing me a favor to let me work for him for nothing, and I was of the opinion that the sooner this crap was over with the better. I judged that after twelve weeks I was sufficiently exposed to the ‘real world’ of commercial photography to strike out on my own.

My father had just died and I inherited enough money to rent a warehouse and build a photography studio. I had talked Jim Mears, who, at the time was working as a full time assistant to the photographer I had just apprenticed with, into going into the studio with me. Our arrangement was that we were independent photographers sharing the same studio space. We also had an understanding that, in exchange for certain financial considerations from me, he would help me learn the ropes of the Seattle commercial photography market. What exactly was meant by this was never adequately discussed and contributed to a bitter divorce two years later when I folded shop. Initially however, we were full of optimism. We held a gala opening party that was probably the highlight of our business association. Soon we were both trying to hustle up work.

I do not like being a solicitor. There is something about trying to sell myself to disinterested parties that leaves me cold. I know what it is...it’s rejection! I do not like it. Getting a foothold in photography, like many other businesses, presents the rookie with a real dilemma. Ad agencies do not like to take risks, after all, they have to perform for their clients. There is little motivation for them to try the untried shooter. Many of them will not even meet with you. “Please leave your book with the receptionist, if we get a moment we’ll have a look.” Hey, god damn it, I’m a Brooks graduate!" Well anyway, you scrounge around until someone throws you a bone or humiliates you by getting you to work for peanuts. The really nasty part comes when you expect some quid pro quo for your hazing. The agencies have now labeled you as a ‘cheap’ photographer because you were willing to work for low pay just to get your foot in the door. They’ll take a risk with you as long as it doesn’t cost them. If you keep taking jobs for cut rate fees, you eventually are labeled as a cut rate photographer. If you dare to ask ‘full price,’ they are more comfortable working with their short list of regular shooters. I am not thick skinned enough for this shit.

Eventually I stopped trying to sell myself. My associate was able to capitalize on the business affiliations he had established as an assistant, and began to make a living. His clients, most of whom already knew him from his tenure as an assistant, were aware that he had often been doing the actual shooting of their jobs anyway. They began throwing the bread and butter jobs his way. I was the more creative, more skilled, better photographer, but he was making it... and I was failing. I was miserable. My attitude and effort began a nose dive and I had to quit.

Jim, my ex-business associate is still in photography. He is having a rough time. He was never able to make the transition from the type of work he was doing as a photo assistant to the types of jobs he wanted. The people who used him when he struck out on his own, only gave him the same sort of boring jobs he was allowed to shoot as an assistant. There is no loyalty in the advertising community—your only as good as your last job. Even if you perform like a champ for an agency, they inexplicably stop calling. Maybe the guy who used you got fired or promoted. Maybe he wants to work with a bigger ‘name’ (we call those guys star-fuckers) or maybe they just aren’t doing that kind work anymore. Maybe they got some desperate, talented kid to do the same work for free. Jim complains that you never get done paying your dues in his business. You’ve got to sell, sell, sell...and never stop. That’s the real business, hell, photography is just what you get to charge them for if your successful in your real job—selling yourself! If your uncomfortable with that, you better get a different sort of job. I think Jim is starting to look around for something else.

I didn’t take a picture for many years. Although a source of peer approval, great joy and creative expression for me as a young man, for a long time my cameras only reminded me of my failure. They collected dust and I eventually sold them. I have recently started taking pictures again, but I am strictly dabbling. My technique is rusty and I sometimes make amateurish mistakes, but for the first time in many years, I am enjoying it.

I learned a lot from those years. I believed that my photographic skills, were the corner stone of a successful business plan. I was not prepared for the business realities of the highly competitive field I had chosen. In that arena, camera skills are a given, business and sales ability are the real determiners of success and failure. I went into business sorely lacking business skills, and disdainful of the task of personally selling myself; my failure was inevitable. I learned that you can lose something you cherish, if you try to make a living out if it and fail. I learned that passions are not always suitable for careers and careers, especially those that appear to be glamorous, are often not what they seem. I learned I should not be in business for myself. I used to think I could not stand to have a boss, what I have discovered is that there is always a ‘boss’. The thing about being self-employed is that, not only do you have to answer to your bosses (read that ‘clients’), but also you have to constantly sell yourself to them...and I am no salesman. Give me a job to do, and I will learn to do it well and with professionalism, but if that job is trying to convince you to give me a job, or place an order, well.. .I don’t want to do that any more than is absolutely necessary, and certainly not as a part of my daily routine. It is not what I do best.

I felt hopeless for a long time because I had invested so much time in energy preparing for a job I was ultimately unsuited for. I know that this happens all the time, in fact, come the end of October, I will be up to my armpits with kindred spirits at the Crystal Barkley seminar. My ambition is to figure out how to spend the rest of my working life, employed in an occupation I am suited for. I want to be good at what I do, and I want professional acknowledgement from my peers. I believe, that in the competitive world of business, a person’s best effort is a minimum requirement. It seems to me, that effort will never materialize unless there is a compatibility between the man and the job. It is important, I think, to distinguish between capabilities and compatibilities.

When I began my career in photography my agenda was primarily to achieve social status, personal creative freedom, and financial reward. I wanted to be showered in the glitter of what I perceived to be a glamorous profession. I believed the entrance requirements to be relatively easy. Hell, I already was a good photographer, just ask my friends. Today my professional agenda is very different. I feel I have a lot to contribute to any number of tasks or activities. I can learn quickly and apply what of learned effectively. I am a creative problem solver. What I want is a chance to apply myself and feel proud of my accomplishments. In photography, I convinced myself that my ability would sell itself, I was wrong. I want to be in a job environment where that is actually the case. I need to be in a working community, where my peers and superiors, will recognize my abilities and efforts because it is their job to notice such things. I need a job that makes me feel good about myself. I need a job I can excel in, a job that will pay the bills. Finally, I need a job that gives me time to spend with my family and allows me to pursue my other interests…like photography.