Photography can never grow up if it imitates some other medium.

The words of Berenice Abbott — “Photography can never grow up if it imitates some other medium. It has to walk alone; it has to be itself.” — shine like a call to courage, not only for artists, but for all who create and live authentically. In these words, Abbott speaks not merely of photography, but of identity itself. She declares that true art — and by extension, true living — cannot flourish in imitation. Like a child who must one day leave the shadow of its parent to find its own path, every creative spirit must one day walk alone. For only in solitude, in originality, does art — or the soul — come fully alive.

In the early days of photography, when Abbott spoke these words, the new art form was dismissed as a mere mechanical imitation of painting. Critics said it lacked the imagination of the brush, that it was too cold, too real, too simple. But Abbott, a pioneer and visionary of her time, saw something grander: that photography was not the servant of painting, but its successor — a new language of light and truth. She refused to let her craft be a mere echo of older forms. “It has to walk alone,” she said — and in doing so, she gave voice to the spirit of every artist who must rise beyond imitation into creation.

Abbott’s own journey was proof of her words. In the 1920s and 30s, when the world still clung to romantic images and stylized portraits, she turned her lens toward the modern city, capturing New York not as fantasy, but as it truly was — bold, geometric, alive with power. Her photographs of skyscrapers and streets were not imitations of painting or poetry; they were revelations of reality itself, showing that truth could be as beautiful as dream. Through her eyes, photography came of age — no longer a mere reflection of art, but a form of art in its own right. She proved that when a medium, or a person, dares to be itself, it transcends comparison.

This principle extends beyond the walls of art. Every human being faces the same temptation — to imitate, to conform, to shape themselves after what is already praised. The world loves copies, for they are familiar and safe. But the soul is not born to mimic; it is born to create. When we imitate others, we silence the voice within us that longs to speak its own truth. Just as a photograph loses its power when it tries to look like a painting, so too does a life lose its brilliance when it tries to look like another’s. The one who would truly grow must dare to walk alone.

History is filled with those who understood this sacred truth. Consider Vincent van Gogh, who, though unrecognized in life, refused to imitate the styles that were fashionable in his day. His brush moved as his soul demanded — wild, vivid, unrestrained. The critics scorned him, yet in his solitude he painted the heavens in swirls of fire and gold. He walked alone, and through that loneliness, he became immortal. So too with Abbott: her lens saw what others overlooked because she did not seek approval, but truth. The greatness of both came from the same root — authenticity.

There is a deeper wisdom here as well. To “walk alone” does not mean to reject inspiration or to despise tradition. It means to absorb what is good, but never to become enslaved by it. The tree does not deny the soil from which it springs, but it reaches upward toward its own sky. In the same way, the artist — and indeed every person — must learn from others, but in the end, must grow in their own direction. True maturity, whether of art or of spirit, is the courage to say, “This is who I am, and this is what I see.”

The lesson, then, is both humble and heroic: be yourself — entirely, fiercely, and without apology. Do not imitate another’s voice, another’s dream, another’s truth. Whether you are an artist, a thinker, or a seeker of meaning, remember that the world does not need another echo; it needs your song. Walk your path, even if it is lonely. For as Abbott teaches, it is in that aloneness — in that unwavering commitment to your own vision — that greatness is born.

So, O listener, when you create, or when you live, remember her words: “It has to walk alone; it has to be itself.” Dare to be original in a world that rewards imitation. Let your art, your work, your life be your own — honest, imperfect, radiant with your truth. For only then will you not merely imitate the light — you will become the light itself.