Limited: The Significance of Lanyards
I stepped onto the sacred turf of the Adelaide Oval a mixed bag of emotions as I wore, for the very first time, a lanyard identifying me as media personnel. Humbled, a tad nervous, wide-eyed, and incredulous at what was taking place, I positioned myself at the south-western corner of the pitch. A borrowed Nikon D850 and 400mm f2.8 at the ready, I was pumped with adrenaline and primed to devour what was in front of me, like a kid in the biggest candy store on earth. It was, after all, the global stage of the Socceroos v Saudi Arabia World Cup Qualifier.
That was the evening of June 8th, 2017.
I had won a competition to experience what it was to be a sports photographer on the field, with mentoring from Nikon Ambassador and nine-time Olympics photographer Delly Carr. (Delly has now shot 10x Olympic Games.)
I recall thinking, “Who gets paid to do this?”
Little did I know at the time of the self-fulfilling prophecy taking place.
A Story in Sports Photography
This is the story of how I “made it” as a sports photographer and why there is not one print of sporting action featured in Limited, my most expansive exhibition of photography to date. Instead of sports celebrities and athleticism, in this curation you will see cityscapes, landscapes and curious images captured during a significant time in my life. Scattered amongst the framed wall hangings you’ll find a variety of lanyards. They, together with the art, subtly tell the tale of my journey as a sports photographer and where I found myself career wise in 2022.
Limited has been shown at:
The Women’s and Children’s Hospital (WCH) Green Heart Gallery as part of the WCH Foundation Arts in Health Program from 4 November 2022 - 31 January 2023.
Caroma on The Parade 6 July - 30 September (2022 SALA Festival).
The National Wine Centre 9 February - 27 March 2022.
Wine, Not Whine
How apt that Limited was first exhibited at the National Wine Centre. I do enjoy a vino or two. Sit me down with a bottle of fine Australian shiraz and I’ll not only pour us a glass, I’ll gladly pore over details of photographing the likes of Ash Barty, Steve Smith, Geva Mentor and Eddie Betts. These are moments I treasure and of which I am proud. I don’t speak of them often. It’s the Tall Poppy Syndrome that keeps me from sharing stories of my success and I worry too, that if I open up to speak of the good things, I may start whining about the bad. Because while I’ve been “successful” in having my images published by international news agencies, that’s just one side of the story. Like many professions, there are less gratifying aspects of being a sports photographer. Number one for me, is the adverse reality that a career in sports photography hasn’t yet afforded me the luxury of giving up my day job. It’s limited, you might say.
In answer to that wide-eyed girl photographing the Socceroos World Cup Qualifier wondering “Who gets paid to do this?”, I say to her, “You do, but not enough.”
Have I been “successful”? That’s subjective.
Take A Chance
Let’s go back a little. In 2017 Nikon ran a competition on Instagram. I saw it by chance, entered and won, but not due to photography merit. Rather, the rules were something along the lines of “Tell us in 20 words or less why you’d like to photograph the Socceroos World Cup qualifier”. So while it would be more apt a tale to tell had I won due to my sports photography skills, it was in fact my love of writing that got me over the line and in turn, sparked my motivation for a career in sports photography.
The night of the game I stood alongside Delly and hung off of his every word. The images I took opened doors for me that were previously closed. My sports portfolio had been limited to photographs of local footy and unrecognisable surfers catching a wave 200 metres offshore. Now I had my very own pictures of Australia’s most elite soccer players on my website. I showcased those images in emails pitching for work and used them as ammunition to target the big guns; Getty Images, Adelaide United FC, AFL Photos, the Adelaide Crows, Cricket Australia, and more.
It worked.
The Golden Ticket
In 2018 the credentials starting coming in. The A League, Suncorp Super Netball and AFLW. Lanyards arrived in the mail and were my ticket to pretty much everything a sports lover could dream of. There was no queueing to get through the turnstiles. The best seats in the house on the very edge of the field were mine. The only thing between me and the action was a camera and 600mm lens. Up close and personal I saw foreheads of sporting stars carpeted in sweat. I heard the crunch of bodies as they crashed into each other and hit the ground within metres of me. Access to the sporting arena, before, after, and during the breaks in play was something I became accustomed to. The after match celebrations in the locker rooms were some of my favourite moments. The chorus of voices singing the club song, with arms wrapped around each other and so much pride in the room - it gave me goosebumps. I’d swing my camera around the team circle hoping to capture the right face at the right time telling the story of the day - the glory of the winning team.
The action. The photos. The vibe. The lanyards were my golden ticket.
Come the end of the day, I’d hang the lanyard on the handle of my office door. First one side was filled, then the other.
In 2019 with more credentials came more lanyards. AFL, WNBL, Cricket Australia, the Australian Masters Games, so forth and so on. The door handles in my home were filling up fast with lanyards and at one point I questioned why I was keeping them. I’m not one to collect things, but I couldn’t bring myself to lay them to rest in a rubbish bin. They still had an energy, a ‘life’ about them. “I worked hard for those lanyards!” I told myself. I rationalised that it was just a piece of plastic with fabric loop, something I’d wave at officials with my sack truck full of photographic equipment in tow. But was it just? To me each lanyard symbolised a personal success. With those golden tickets I was living the dream I’d had since being a little girl, to photograph sports at the elite level. I wasn’t ready to relinquish them. So I gathered and tossed them in a drawer. There, the tangled mess of plastic lay and grew larger with each sporting event I photographed.
For Love Nor Money
Between photographing sport, editing, writing and my weekday job in corporate governance, I was working seven days a week and most nights. I was beyond tired. At times anxiety set in, taking a hold and driving me to bed. My heart thumped so hard my chest cavity hurt. It was as if my life force was punching me from the inside, begging me to stop ‘doing’ so it could take a breather. But after a short rest, with energy and thirst for the dream I’d be back at it. Photographing, editing, filing, each day from 5:30am until 10:30pm, with the other job thrown in for good measure, plus hundreds of kilometres travelled each week.
The irony of it all was that no matter how many hours or how hard I tried, I couldn’t make a living from sports photography for love nor money. I simply did not have the confidence in my photographic ability and business acumen to give up the security of a salaried position and venture into full time photography. So I continued as I’d always known, hustling for the next contract, pitching to photograph the end of season finals series, hoping that somehow, some day, the courage and self-belief would come and I would let go of the crutch of my day job to welcome a regular, sustainable income from photography.
Just like the perpetual loop of a lanyard, I was going round and round chasing a dream that was so close I could taste it, but never long enough to savour.
Then came 2020.
Limited
The world was introduced to the COVID-19 pandemic and sporting events were not immune to the chaos and madness. Sports photography dried up for a few months. I relished in the opportunity to slow down, and my health thanked me for it. I turned my camera towards less action-packed, more peaceful subjects. I photographed the environment, nature, and urban life. There was no brief to follow. No deadline to meet. No rush to edit and file. But there was also no pay cheque as my reward. None of that mattered. I was having a break. The loop was broken.
I explored the possibility of exhibiting. Having studied film photography I appreciate the tangible aspects and qualities of the printed image. The following is true, I know:
You are more likely to be lost in a gaze of an image on paper, framed and hung on a wall, than a two-dimensional photograph on a computer screen.
That thought was all I needed to begin curating.
This time the selection of image(s) was of my choice, not that of a news agency. This time the medium was a physical venue at which my family and friends could attend, rather than a fleeting web page that would be here today, gone tomorrow. This time the viewers were lovers of art with the specific intention of absorbing the artist’s voice, not readers of the daily sporting news in which my image happens to feature.
Limited in income from self-doubt, and with further limitations from COVID-19, I was determined to continue with my dream of achieving success - financial success - as a photographer, and I put my 2022 exhibition in motion. Faced with yet another limitation, this time of subject matter, I realised that I could not achieve monetary gain from any sporting image I had photographed under contract. Copyright was mine, but I was not able to profit.
And so, though I class myself first and foremost as a sports photographer, I know I must exhibit images other than Ash, Smudge and Eddie if I am to draw an income from exhibiting.
I present Limited, a curation of images and lanyards symbolising a point in time of my photographic career - 2022 - in which restrictions with employment, communication, creative expression, and life at large have been experienced. I invite you to look beyond these words and find the beauty in each piece, which ultimately lies in your eyes, the beholder. Do you see limitation or abundance?
I look to the future with a promise to continue pushing boundaries, finding my way, and gathering a few more lanyards along the course including the most recent from the Commonwealth Games in Birmingham, England where I covered the netball.
Limited is on display at the Women’s and Children’s Hospital Green Heart Gallery, Level 2, Zone D, near Hospital Cafe from 4 November 2022 - 31 January 2023.