Helsinki Bus Station Theory

In this episode of the Art Marketing Podcast, we explore the powerful concept of the Helsinki Bus Station Theory, a metaphor for the creative journey of photographers and artists. Join us as we delve into the importance of perseverance and staying true to your unique vision, even when it feels like you're going in circles. Discover why the most impactful artists are those who commit to their path and continue to evolve their work over time. Whether you're a seasoned photographer or just starting out, this episode offers valuable insights to help you find and stay on your creative bus.

Podcast Transcribe

Patrick Shanahan: Coming up on today's edition of the Art Marketing Podcast, calling a bit of an audible, doing something a little bit different. I'm going to read you a speech. I want to tell you a little story. It's about something that happened to me, but it could have happened to you or it could happen to you. And I want you to remember this story. It's called the Helsinki bus station theory. Okay, here we go. It's a simple theory. It goes like this. There are say two dozen platforms in the Helsinki bus station, the main bus station. Long-distance buses leave from all of them. Each bus has a number. It also has a sign in the front window telling you its destination. Let's say you get on a bus, the number 21 to Turku, a city on the west coast of Finland where I lived as a boy. You pay your fare, find a seat, the bus pulls out, and you settle back for a three-hour ride. Two stops down the line, you might pull out your portfolio out from under the seat just to see how the pictures are looking today. Slide it back and maybe snooze for a while. An hour out of Helsinki, you wake up and you look out the window. What you see starts to look familiar. Haven't I seen this before? You ask yourself. You realize you're back in Helsinki. Somehow the bus driver made a wrong turn and returned to the station. Annoying, yes, but not the end of the world. You can stay on the same bus, assuming it's still going to Turku, and you haven't lost much time. But what if upon returning to the station, you say, "Okay, that was interesting. I've seen Helsinki. Maybe I should try Tampere." Tampere is a city to the north. You get on the number 60 bus to Tampere, pay your fare, find a seat, but what happens? Three stops down the line, maybe daydreaming, you pull out your portfolio again, just to make sure the pictures haven't changed. An hour later, you look out the window. What do you see? Forests and lakes like before. But wait, that building back there, that looks like the stadium tower in Helsinki. Yes, you're back at the Helsinki bus station. This could go on all morning. You try the bus to Lahti. You try the bus to Hämeenlinna. You try the bus to Turku. And each time you end up back in Helsinki, you are beginning to wonder if any of these buses actually go anywhere. You were wondering if all the destinations are just Helsinki. This is what happens in photography. You graduate. You get A's. You get the awards. You are tops in your class. You know you are good. You're going to be a famous photographer. So, you head out into the field with your 8x10 view camera and start making pictures that look like Ansel Adams or Edward Weston. You probably do it quite well, maybe even better. And for 3 years, your pictures get published. You get exhibition invitations. People buy prints. Everything is going great. But one day, you wake up and realize, "Wait a minute, I'm back in Helsinki. These pictures look just like Ansel Adams." So you switch to a 35mm camera and start doing street photography. Maybe pictures that look like Garry Winogrand or Henri Cartier-Bresson. And you are good at this too. You get grants, you get assignments, you are the new star of photojournalism. But then 3 years later, you wake up again and realize, hold on, I'm back in Helsinki. These pictures look just like Garry Winogrand. So you switch again. You start to make big colored prints. Maybe they look like William Eggleston or Stephen Shore. And you are good for three years. You get commissions. Museum curators call. You get famous. But then one day you wake up and say, "Damn it, I'm back in Helsinki again." This is the Helsinki bus station theory. What to do? It's simple. Stay on the bus. Stay on the bus. Because if you do, in time you'll begin to see differences. Let's say the bus is again pulling out of the station headed for Turku. You have your Hasselblad or your Leica or your view camera or whatever you love to use. You've been working for 3 years. You're getting a little recognition but mainly you are plugging away trying to make the pictures you want to make. The bus stops, people get on, people get off. You keep photographing. The bus continues. The Finnish landscape scrolls by forests and lakes, lakes and forests. You keep photographing. You work on your vision. You work on your patience. You work on your skills. You are looking at your work and it's starting to look pretty good. Better than pretty good. It's starting to look like your own. You're developing your own voice. Then one and a half hours out of Helsinki, you look out the window and you see a sign, Turku, 15 km. What happens is this. All the buses stopping at the same stops just outside of Helsinki station look similar. The views look the same. Your work looks like Ansel Adams or Winogrand or Eggleston because you were stopping at the same places they stopped at. But they stayed on the bus. They stayed on the bus. They kept going. As they got further and further away from Helsinki, their work began to diverge. They began to see things differently because they were seeing different things. Their vision became their own because they had learned to see in their own way. The point is it's the same for you. If you stay on the bus, if you keep working on your own vision, you will eventually get to Turku or Tampere or Lahti or wherever your own destination lies. You will find your own unique voice, your own unique vision. The mistake is thinking that you need to find a new bus, a new style, a new genre, a new camera. Every time you feel you are back in Helsinki, no. Stay on the bus. Work through the challenges. Keep photographing what you love, what interests you, in the way that feels right to you. Commit to your path. The photographers who have lasting impact, the ones whose work we remember, are the ones who stayed on the bus. They might have started out looking like someone else, but they persevered. They evolved. And eventually their work became undeniably their own. So my advice to you graduating students of the New England School of Photography is this. Find your bus. Whatever subject matter calls to you, whatever approach feels authentic, get on the bus and stay on it. Don't compare your beginning to someone else's middle or end. Don't worry if your work looks like someone else's for a while. That's often how it starts. This is the key to keep going. Stay on the bus.