Lost in Street Photography? Break The Rules
Lost In Street Photography?
This is a classic creative evolution, often mirrored in the Japanese concept of Shuhari: follow the rule, break the rule, transcend the rule. In the context of Tokyo Forgeries, where we constantly dance between the "fake" and the "found," the struggle to reach that third peak—Innovation—is exactly where most photographers stall out.
It is where I find myself from time to time. I chase the dream of being a street photographer instead of just doing the work. The social media landscape makes it so easy to chase likes, clicks, and shares; that is, but the first step in the process. Following the rules that get you likes is the easiest place to be stuck; it feels so good. For many, it is the end of their creative journey. Few of us will break those rules, and fewer still will transcend them.
Today’s post focuses on pushing through rule 1. I will discuss all three rules as the concepts: imitation, integration, and Innovation. These are my thoughts. I would suggest taking them with a grain of salt and using them as a jumping-off point in your own creative journey. There is no preaching from here, just observation as Tokyo’s humble street photographer.
1. Imitation: The Ghost in the Machine
In art history, this is the Apprenticeship phase. Renaissance masters didn't start with a blank canvas; they started by copying their master’s sketches until their hands moved with the same muscle memory. Like many, I started with books showcasing the greats and began to make a facsimile of what I was seeing.
Art historian E.H. Gombrich argued that "art is born of art, not of nature." In street photography, this is the "Winogrand Phase" or the "Moriyama Phase." You aren't looking at the street; you are looking for a Moriyama photo in the street. You are learning the syntax—the high contrast, the tilted frame, the decisive moment—before you can write your own sentences.
Social media doubles down on this phase with a plethora of great photographers to emulate. Unfortunately, there are twice as many photographers who have chosen to chase an algorithm, which makes it difficult to learn from their work. Something that is liked en masse is not always good art. Not yet knowing what is great, let alone having developed a personal taste toward street photography, stunts growth exponentially.
We all start as counterfeiters. We hit the Shinjuku alleys with a Ricoh GR, squinting through the grain to see if we can catch a ghost of Daido. We aren't seeing Tokyo yet; we’re seeing a 1960s photobook reflected in a puddle. It's a necessary forgery. You have to inhabit the skin of the greats to understand why their bones didn't break under the pressure of the city.
Start with the historically great street. photographers and work toward the contemporary giants. See how they were influenced and consider which styles you are drawn to. Practice and share those images. Disregard the likes and judge for yourself, be brutally honest with why a shot is working. Let go of your romanticized feelings toward it; no one will have the same attachment to it as you do. Shoot like this 100 times, and keep 1 or 2 images from each.
2. Integration: The Frankenstein Phase
Integration is when you stop being a tribute act and become a DJ. You take the geometry of Cartier-Bresson and mix it with the neon-soaked nihilism of contemporary cyberpunk or the stillness of Saul Leiter. This is the sum of imitation, knowledge, plus the brutality of experience, which equals a new perspective.
This reflects the Hegelian Dialectic: Thesis (Imitation) encounters Antithesis (your specific context or limitations), leading to Synthesis. In the history of street photography, this happened when the "New Topographics" movement combined the detached, objective perspective of industrial surveys with the poetic expression of fine art. Exactly what is missing from the boring street photography of social media, zero perspective, just carbon copies of what someone else found successful, quantified by ‘clicks,’ expressing nothing and mechanizing the soul.
Integration is the messy middle. It's where your Fan Ho obsession crashes into your love for glitch art. It’s a strobe light in a temple; a 50mm lens in a space meant for a wide-angle. You're no longer just copying; you’re stealing parts from different machines to see if the engine will turn over. It’s clunky, it’s derivative, but for the first time, it starts to smell like you.
Individual experiences may differ, but the point of doing what feels right in the moment is the path to travel on. This road is the hardest to venture down, as the conflict of choice arises. The silhouette shot I love so much is right there, but today I am shooting taxis. Shoot both, or stick to the plan of creating images with taxi-cabs as the subject. Spending the day in what is comfortable stunts growth.
3. Innovation: The Great Filter
This represents the most challenging gap to overcome. Innovation is not merely "doing something new"; it involves redefining the medium's boundaries. Why is this gap so difficult to traverse?
The Algorithm Trap: In the social media age, imitation is rewarded. Innovation—which often looks "ugly" or "wrong" at first—is punished by the feed.
The Anxiety of Influence: As Harold Bloom noted, the "weight" of past masters can be paralyzing. It is easier to be a "good" imitator than a "risky" innovator.
The Saturation of the Lens: Every corner of Shibuya has been shot a billion times. To innovate here requires moving beyond the visual and into the conceptual—treating the camera not as a recorder, but as a scalpel.
Think about William Eggleston. His innovation was in compelling the "serious" art world to embrace colour photography—once seen only in ads and snapshots—as a form of high art. He didn't merely improve his photography; he redefined the very nature of street photography. We cannot all be this level of disrupter, nor should we strive to be. The disruption needs to come at the personal level. If it's authentic, it won't feel like disruption; it'll feel like art.
Innovation marks a point of no return. It shifts focus from seeking 'the shot' to questioning the purpose of holding the camera. Many settle at Integration because it feels safe—garnering likes and fitting norms. True innovation involves risking misinterpretation, moving beyond the familiar 'Tokyo'—the neon, umbrellas, crowds—and discovering a unique visual language untouched by hashtags. This leap is the most challenging, demanding you to abandon your guides and venture into uncertainty.
As always, I would love to hear your story in the comments below. If you feel so inclined, share a coffee with me. I am a flat white kind of guy. Happy shooting, everyone.
To book a tour, visit my photo workshop/photo tour website, or email directly jeff@tokyoforgeries.com
