For those aspiring to make a living from travel photography, it's

Hear, O seekers of truth, the words of Martin Parr, who revealed with candor the hard lesson of craft and commerce: “For those aspiring to make a living from travel photography, it’s a sad fact that the boring shots are the shots that are going to make you money.” Though spoken of cameras and images, these words are not merely about photography, but about the tension between art and livelihood, between what the soul longs to create and what the world demands.

First, let us weigh the phrase: sad fact. Parr acknowledges the grief every artist feels when confronted with reality. The heart yearns to capture wonder—the dramatic sunset, the fleeting moment of human connection, the poetry of shadows and light. Yet the market demands something else: the clear postcard, the ordinary landmark, the easily understood view. The sadness is not in the act of taking such shots, but in knowing that what sells is often not what sings.

Next, consider the paradox of the boring shots. To the eye of the artist, they lack spirit. They are plain, repetitive, predictable. Yet to the tourist, the travel agency, the magazine, they are familiar, safe, useful. This is the truth Parr names: that value in the marketplace is not always aligned with beauty in the soul. The world pays for what it recognizes, not always for what it needs to discover.

Think upon the story of Vincent van Gogh, whose paintings of swirling skies and burning colors went unsold in his lifetime. The people of his day did not understand them; they wanted safe landscapes, portraits that imitated life, not visions that tore open the heavens. He died poor, though his art would one day be treasured beyond measure. His story mirrors Parr’s warning: what the market calls boring is often rewarded, while what the artist calls truth may wait years to be honored.

The meaning, then, is not to abandon the heart’s vision, but to understand the balance between art and survival. To live, one may sometimes need to take the boring shots, for they pay the bills and keep bread on the table. But the soul must not starve: alongside the safe and salable, one must also create the images that carry passion, even if they never sell. For a life of only commerce is empty, and a life of only art may perish—but a life that balances both can endure and flourish.

Thus the lesson is clear: do not despise the work that sustains you, even if it feels dull. Perform it faithfully, but never allow it to silence the deeper voice within. Use the earnings of practicality to purchase freedom for creativity. In this way, the boring shots may make you money, but the true shots—the ones that carry your ache, your joy, your vision—will make you immortal.

So, dear listener, take this counsel: when forced to choose between what the world demands and what your soul desires, do both in their season. Give the world what it asks, but also give yourself what you need. For one feeds the body, the other feeds the spirit. And in time, as with van Gogh, or as with Parr himself, the world may come to treasure not only the images it once thought ordinary, but the visions that carried your truest self.