Jack of All Trades, Master of None

In defense of being a creative generalist

Notes from the Lab is a newsletter that delves deep into the creative process, rituals, and thought process behind being a photographer and filmmaker.

This project is a journal of my projects and experiments. A logbook of everything I learn, a record of inspirations and takeaways from my journey as a parent and artist. I want to relentlessly share my creative and technical progress — because gatekeeping sucks. It’s published (almost-) weekly.

Occasionally, it’s also a good old photo blog and a weekly log of mundane things.

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One of the most commonly misquoted adages is the well-known phrase, "Jack of all trades, master of none." However, the (supposedly) original sentence reads: "A Jack of all trades is a master of none, but oftentimes better than a master of one."

In fact, the person referred to as a "jack-of-all-trades" in the original text was none other than William Shakespeare. This description was attributed to a playwright who was a constant presence in the theater, contributing to various aspects such as stage preparation, set design, costume, and even remembering lines and experimenting with directing at times.

What has initially been a compliment was flipped by our society into an insult. A description of a person devoid of any means of commitment, a failure, refusing to stay in his lane. A person whose knowledge, while covering a number of areas, is superficial in all of them is thus disregarded as shallow and erratic.

I always found it incredibly boring when photographers, especially those who consider themselves professionals, labeled their work in a specific niche. Sure, for a client to consider you for a job, there has to be something in your work that is identifiable as YOU, but in the best case, it’s the unique way you perceive the world, and I mean the WHOLE world, not only fancy buildings or expensive food. Your unique vision and identity are embedded in images that are striking enough to catch the audience's attention.

Ideally, the foundation of your work is your personality. In a lifelong commitment to growing as a person, to add layers to the work that still represents you but also represents your maturation as an artist and person. And these layers may come from various sources.

The depth of your work may come from personal experiences, moments of pain, and joy. Discovering a painting in a museum might change the way you perceive light. Picking up a pencil instead of your camera might change your composition. And sharpens your eye for the details that might go unnoticed. Actual writing might make you a better storyteller, and learning to play the drums might want you to explore the rhythm of an image sequence or short movie. Becoming a dad might change the way you perceive your mortality and the value of the time that you have left to create and to share.

It’s all out there, but the hard part is to make it your own, be brave enough to listen to your guts and be wise enough to recognize your limitations without restricting yourself out of fear of wasting time. Playing outside of your expertise almost certainly leads to rejuvenation.

— Ramon

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01 — HOUSEKEEPING

Weekly Log

I secretly added a new section to this Substack, and I thought I keep it a secret for a bit longer until I feel I can maintain the pace of a short weekly, GoPro-ready recap, but fuck it, it’s too much fun.

Find the section here. (I won’t send this out as an email to annoy anyone, I promise. So feel free to check back regularly.)

Here’s the one from last week:

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02 — THINGS WORTH SHARING