Past dreams and discoveries | The Photography Letter

It was summer 2016. Rihanna was singing that we needed to work, work, work, and I was running around Kraków, taking photos. I wanted to apply for a mentoring programme organised by a well-known collective of photographers. To do that, I needed a portfolio.

Even though, by that time, I had already completed two major photo projects—one about backyards and another about artists—I decided they were not good enough and threw myself into creating a completely new series from scratch. I sought out people who had immigrated to Poland and asked them what home meant to them.

I had never had any formal training in either art or photography. For years, it had been just me—reading about photography, studying others' pictures, and taking as many as I could. Making art had always been a joy but also a privilege I couldn't afford for a long time. I had to focus on getting a real job, earning money, and being independent. As much as I could, I invested in photography. I lived in a tiny flat that I optimised for photography—softboxes hung on the walls, and I didn’t have a real bed because I needed as much space for pictures as possible.

Looking back, I think I could have made it professionally—I had a somewhat regular circle of clients. What had been missing was a clear decision and a sense of security. Not to mention, after graduating in Human-Computer Interaction, I wanted to see if I could be a real cool software engineer (this sounds so corny right now, but was true!). And I felt like any creative pursuit would be too risky. I didn't have much support, and had I failed, there would have been nobody to pick me up.

Applying for the mentorship was a huge deal for me. The idea that I could learn from great professionals and receive meaningful feedback on my pictures felt like opening a door to paradise. Even the prospect of traveling to Warsaw every month was appealing—I had grown tired of Krakow and its lack of anonymity. My palms were sweaty, and my heart was not just beating but banging in my chest when I sent the application.

I waited and waited and waited.

Finally, the day came. I opened the email, my eyes scanned the text.

I didn’t get in.

Fast forward

Fast forward to September 2024. Instagram shows me a call for applications for the same mentorship programme. I send it to my wife and tell her the story. She encourages me to apply again.

I don’t have any new projects. I stopped taking photos when I moved to Berlin. Focusing on one thing—software engineering—has been productive, and I’ve become quite good at it.

But sometimes, when nobody’s watching, I can feel the tingling in my fingers. I can hear the yearning—that maybe now, after years of striving, grinding, and pushing, there could be a little bit of time, space, and money to dust off the camera and do something completely useless and creative again.

I look at my old photos, the ones I labelled not good enough eight years ago. I pick a couple. I ask around for help with writing a project proposal. After a few sessions of overthinking (Why would I do it? What if they dismiss me again? What if they accept me? What if I have to go to Warsaw every month? Can we afford it? Do I have anything to say?! Am I still a photographer? Why am I not a photographer anymore? What happened there?), I send the application.

Days pass, and eventually, an email arrives: witamy na pokładzie!—Welcome aboard!

Past dreams and discoveries

So here I am, enrolled in and participating in one of the most prestigious photography programmes in Poland, among extremely talented people, learning from the best photographers.

I cannot quite pin down what the strangest aspect of this experience is.

Maybe it’s the fact that my old pictures were already good enough—I just couldn’t see them the right way? Ever since my brain fully developed at 35, I haven't been able to stop thinking about abundance: focusing on the resources already available instead of striving for perfection, grinding, and pushing against oneself. I explain this better in Celebrate Enough. What else is in my blind spot? What is in yours? Do you spend time and energy obsessing over your flaws instead of nurturing and excelling at what comes naturally to you? If so, high five! If not, what’s your secret?

Maybe it’s the unexpected feeling of belonging? I feel great taking a six-hour train to Warsaw on Fridays before classes. I don’t care that I have to arrange it with work or sleep somewhere unfamiliar. I love it. I love learning about photography; I love hearing about others’ ideas, projects, and creativity. The impostor syndrome came only once, but during PMS, so we shouldn’t take it too seriously.

And then, there are the people—the fellow photographers. They are wonderful: curious and sensitive, and we have deep conversations about honesty and bravery. Maybe it’s a matter of a fully developed brain, but I see how everyone is trying to express something important to them, and I find it touching.

And last but not least, maybe the strangest thing is that, through this experience and by dusting off my camera, I get a chance to reconnect with the person I used to be—the 27-year-old who had so many dreams and even more pain in her heart. I meet her through photography, and slowly, gently, I mend the wounds that never fully healed.

And that is the power of making art.

As always, thank you for reading. Make some art this weekend :)

Wiktoria

PS. This week's music corner presents Martha and Schumann