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Stuff I’ve Stopped Caring About (And What That’s Made Room For)

Field notes from the far side of chasing relevance.

I am very interested in the art and lives of the early indigenous people of the southwest. This is an incredible place in Utah called the Parowan Gap. This narrow slot was caused by an ancient river. The people 2000 years ago found this opening and left their marks here. Some of the marks are maps. Some are hunting zones, others may be simply memories that needed to be preserved… to let us know they were here. They were here.

I am out of the office for three weeks of reflection and revitalization. I needed to get out of the valley, and I needed to take my wife, so no bike this time.

We are building a home in the desert, and the bureaucratic hell has almost taken the excitement of this endeavor and crushed it like an old rusted can of Falstaff.

Almost.

To escape the heat (114) of the summer valley, we come up to the mountains of southern Utah (76). We read, walk, write, make photographs, and explore.

A thought struck me yesterday, and I had to stop and flesh it out a bit.

Somewhere between a walk along a remote lake in the Dixie Forest, and a canyon whose name I never caught, I realized something had shifted.

I don’t worry about the usual things anymore.
And not just don’t worry about them, I simply don’t care about them anymore.

Not in a bitter way. Not at all.

The stuff I no longer care about served its purpose. But it also ran its course.

More like stepping off a moving sidewalk and realizing you’ve been carried along by someone else’s idea of success for too long. I was standing on solid ground, dusty boots and all, and it felt damn good.

So here’s a short list of things I’ve stopped giving a damn about, along with what that’s opened up.

Social Media Theater

The scroll is full of staged hustle, filtered vulnerability, and recycled advice from people trying to sell you something they haven’t mastered themselves.

Today, this meme popped up from someone wanting to sell a course on photography:

Stupid meme on Facebook, August 4, 2025

Good lord, are we still at this silly level in the art and technology of photography? There are so many things wrong with this ancient thinking, that it would take an entire post to discuss. (Should we? Let me know in the comments.)

Once upon a time, I tried to keep up with the social media madness.

Post the work.
Say the right thing.
Smile for the algorithm.

Today on Facebook, in one scroll down, there were:

Ten ads by photographers selling courses that are totally out of touch with reality, eight posts of AI drek with thousands of gawking fans drooling over them. Sincere insults to all of us who practice the art. And let’s not forget the uncountable ads for quick, get rich publishing garbage, or making AI stuff, or opening a store on Etsy and easily selling four $27 digital products because that is all it takes… what a load of crap.

And, sadly there are myriad ads encouraging young people to learn how to cheat the system the, you know, right way, with their AI detection rewriting tools to fool their educators.

I’d rather make something real and keep it to myself for a while.

If I share, it’s because I want to, not because I’m feeding a machine.

Gear Obsession

I never used to care all that much about the newest gear. But over the years, I have acquired a sizeable amount of gear. And I tended to use a lot of it on shoots.

I have far more cameras than I can use at this point.

Now I travel light. Really light.

I know what my gear can do, and I trust it.

It seems the fewer tools I carry, the more I tend to see.

I don’t care about pixel-peeping, high-resolution, solar-powered mirrorless cameras with 20–4000 zooms, or even what kind or brand of light I choose.

Or even use a light at all.

I’m here to make photographs that make me feel. Something.

I want people who look at my images to think, or smile, or want to look deeper.

Some of the glyphs we see seem obvious. They show the gap, where to find water, the best hungting grounds, where to find an SD card when it is raining… OK, I made that up, but the fascination of seeing this intricately carved story, or legacy of a people, is simply exquisite. They had something to say, and they said it. On the rough stone walls of a deep gorge in the desert.

Struggling to Teach Photographers Who Don’t Want to Learn

This one hurts a bit.

For years, I’ve taught business to photographers.
I just finished a 5-Day Free Workshop on how to be seen in the age of AI, and the changes to search AI has created.

There didn’t seem to be much interest in it.
And that is sad. Not for me, but for the people who need to understand the challenges and do something about it.

Project 52 was my flagship class, and I worked with over 400 photographers.

Some got it.
Some ran with it.
Some built real careers.

It is deeply gratifying to work with artists and see them thrive.

But lately, the landscape’s shifting.

There’s more interest in quick tricks and trending sounds than in craft or strategy.

There seems to be very little interest in the work. The work that MUST be done. The work that makes it real, makes it noticable, and makes it a success.

And I get it, I do. The game’s crazy noisy out there.

I’m just not sure I want to keep shouting over the noise.

The biggest frustration I have is watching talented people fall for bullshit, or worse yet, believe all the BS they read by people who have never done it. Ever.

But they have a lot of followers (see number one above), and that is all the credibility too many people need.

Maybe it’s time to teach something else.

Or teach differently? Maybe.

Or… maybe not try to teach at all for a while, and just engage in the art and discussions with artists on a more personal level.

I write these days. Probably about as much, or maybe more, than I photograph. When my studio is finally ready, that may even out a bit, but I love writing and storytelling. I plan to mix them more in the coming months. I wonder if my writing will stand the test of time that these amazing glyphs have. I have no illusions that they will, but like a Fremont hunter, I will gather my rocks, look for some varnish on the sandstone, and start carving. I’ll just wear some good Levi’s and leather gloves as I do it.

The Artificial Rules of the Art World

“Shoot this way, SOOC BS, follow the trends.”
“Don’t mix media.”
“Stay in your lane.”
“Listen to the experts.”
(I think it is pretty apparent that “the experts” are anything but.)

I’m done.

I’ve started experimenting again.

Printing on handmade papers, exploring tintypes, folding in hi-tech and low-tech, chasing odd little ideas with no ROI attached.

I don’t care if I don’t fit the mold. I care if it wakes me up.

I need to be shaken by what I do, pushed to the edge, and fight for something I want to see.

And Here’s What That Made Room For:

Creative Freedom

Letting go of the metrics, the rules, and the ‘shoulds’ has made space for experimentation again.

I’m no longer building a brand; I already have one.

I’m making myself work.
I am forcing the outcome.
I am happy with failure.
As long as it doesn’t stagnate.

There’s a big difference between letting the work overtake you and you overtaking the work itself.

Depth Over Reach

A thoughtful conversation with one curious reader beats 10,000 likes from glazed eyes.

It’s what I do this for.

I want to make people feel something.
I hope that they dont just glance and scroll.

Depth of engagement is far more interesting than the glaze of superficial pats on the back.

Stillness and Surprise

When you’re not rushing to be visible, you have time to actually see.

The light.
The mood.
The moment.

That’s where the good stuff is, the stuff that makes you go ‘Hmmm.

That’s where it always has been.

Wonder, Not Approval

I don’t strive to impress people anymore.

I want to be surprised by what I can still make, even after all these years.

That’s the fuel I need.

And today, that’s enough.

A Closing Thought

I didn’t stop caring because I’m tired. I’m not

I stopped because I’m finally aware of what matters.

I’m not giving up.

I’m clearing the deck for whatever comes next.

There has to be a next, right?

And I’ve got a feeling the next part’s going to be pretty good.

I’m Don Giannatti — photographer, creative troublemaker, and mentor to the bold. I help photographers stop playing it safe and start making work that truly matters. You can find me at DonGiannatti.com and on Substack, where I post stuff about art and hopefully provoke thought