In photography, and in life, work and joy can, and should, coexist

One of the things that I love about photography forums is discussing things with people with whom I disagree. It’s often a learning experience, and I get to ideas that I would not have arrived at without the argument. Just yesterday, apropos of a discussion where I said that I consider cameras tools to make images, not toys, someone responded with: “Tools [imply] work…  Photography is not work for me[;] it is a joy.  I play with photography so my cameras etc … are toys.”

It got me thinking about the use of the word “work” in the arts. It is widespread:

• “Show me your work.”
• “What are you working on these days?”
• “I think that image works.”
• “That’s a work of art.”

The definition of work that is appropriate in this context is: “Activity involving mental or physical effort done to achieve a purpose or result.” Nowhere in that definition is the absence of joy.

For me, joy is part of the work of making art. Joy has also been part of the work that I did professionally, which was engineering. I’m not alone. When Hewlett-Packard shut down the Omega 32-bit computer project in the early 1970s, many of the engineers refused to stop working on the machine, even though they had been reassigned to other projects. They still came in nights and weekends to work on the project, even though management told them to stop. They finally had to lock the computer lab doors at night to keep the engineers from working on the computer. The engineers weren’t doing that to make money. They did it because they loved what they were doing.

When I hired people, I always looked for those for whom work and joy were consonant. I found that they did better work than someone who was just working for a paycheck, that they were more satisfied with their jobs, that they were better team players, and that they had a positive influence on morale, rather than the effect of someone who is just putting in the time.

I’ve learned from, talked with, and worked with many photographic artists over the years. Here are a few that come to mind:

• Ansel Adams
• Michael Kenna
• Paul and John Caponigro
• George Tice
• Dan Burkholder
• Ruth Bernhard
• John Sexton
• Huntington Witherill
• Arthur Tress
• Jerry Uselmann
• Eugene Richards
• Don Worth
• Ted Orland
• Jack Welpott

One thing all these people had in common is that they experienced great joy in doing the work of making art, and that they worked very hard at making art. Here’s a trivial example: watching John Sexton making prints in the darkroom is a lot like watching a dancer on the stage. Every move is executed beautifully, with precision, care, and, yes, joy.

I think that joy should be part of making art. It’s not antithetical to working hard, and I think the joy shows in the results.

[Added 7/14/2025]

Joy is an emotion. It’s typically understood as a positive feeling, something that arises in response to certain experiences or moments. In psychology, it’s considered one of the core emotional states, often associated with happiness, delight, or a deep sense of well-being. But joy isn’t necessarily constant or controllable; it tends to emerge spontaneously, often when we’re immersed in something meaningful, beautiful, or surprising.

That brings us to the question of how people think about joy. Is it something to pursue directly, or is it something that comes as a result of other pursuits? Many people see joy as a goal, a destination they can reach if they just choose the right path or mindset. But that framing can be problematic. Treating joy as a target can lead to frustration, because joy doesn’t always respond to effort in the way achievements do. You can plan for success, work for wealth, even schedule relaxation, but you can’t command joy to appear on demand.

Instead, it often makes more sense to think of joy as a byproduct, something that shows up when you’re doing something else with your full attention. It might come while you’re making art, solving a problem, helping someone, walking in the woods, or laughing with a friend. In those moments, you’re not aiming for joy; you’re absorbed in the process, and joy simply arises. That perspective suggests a quieter and more sustainable relationship with joy. It is not something to chase. It is something to notice when it visits.