Tired of the Silence? Here’s How Photographers Can Build Community

The Work Is Done. The Work Has Just Begun.

A few days ago, I saw this post from Chase Jarvis on LinkedIn. It started with a message he probably receives a lot.

“Chase… I’m about to lose it. How do I get anyone to give a sh*t about what I’m doing?!”

Which immediately made me think, yeah, I have the same question.

The person in the post had done everything they were “supposed” to do, allegedly. You know, they made good work, shared it online, maybe even paid for a template or two to make it look official.

But the response? Crickets. Or maybe just one cricket. I know that cricket. And even it’s tired. Eventually. Just… silence.

And Chase’s answer? It wasn’t some magic marketing trick or a platform pivot. It was this:

“You’re only doing half the job. The other half is building a community that’s ready to receive your work.”

I read that line like Chase was talking to me. I knew it was true. Which is probably why I’m not the best person to be talking to you about how photographers can build community.

Because I struggle like hell. I want to build the house and then go have a glass of cold lemonade. And then start the next house.

I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to shout about it. And I definitely don’t want to announce about it.

I just don’t really like social media all that much.

But, I decided to write about it because that’s what I do. I write the plan of action so I can internalize it even if I only half-heartedly believe in it.

I write as if, and hope it becomes a matter of fact. And maybe that will help you too. So let’s talk through this.

I Don’t Have a Content Problem. I Have a People Problem.

I probably have almost 100 blog posts on See Imagery and quite a few posts over on Subtack now. I think my content is decent, even if I am living in a kind of low-energy level, functional despair.

Because I’m doing it. I’ve been blogging every week. Yeah, consistency has been a problem in the past, but lately. I’m here. I post new photography. I mint my photography as an NFT. I show up. But still, it feels like I built this beautiful little house, carefully, thoughtfully, with all my best materials, and now I just want to sit on the porch, drink something cold, and admire it.

And instead the world says:
Cool house. Now start knocking on 500 doors and tell people it’s there.

And that… feels like hell.

The Exhausting Myth of “Just Put It Out There”

The internet lied to us, or maybe we misheard, or maybe I just lied to myself. Somewhere along the way, we got the idea that if you just make something good and “share it,” people will care. That your art will float through the noise and land gently in the hands of people who get it.

But it doesn’t work like that. Not anymore. Maybe not ever.

Now the world is more like a crowded Costco on a Sunday afternoon. Everyone’s yelling, carts are colliding, and nobody wants to stop for another free sample, no matter how good the cheese is.

So yes, maybe the work is good. But if there’s no one standing nearby with a paper plate, they’ll never taste it.

What Chase Said (This is the work)

Here’s what Chase wrote that stuck with me the most:

“This isn’t a distraction from the work. This is the work.”

And:

“Your work will remain invisible until you decide to do the WHOLE job.”

I can’t lie. I have been treating the sharing part like a distraction. The social part like a necessary evil I could half-heartedly check off the to-do list.

Being social isn’t my strongest quality. I would rather stay home and not go to the party. I would rather walk the streets or trail alone with my camera.

And let’s be honest:
Community-building sounds nice… until you realize it means talking to people.

There are two kinds of people in the world. Those who feel energized by social interaction, and those who feel completely drained by it.

I fall into the second camp.

How Photographers Can Build Community (Even If You’re Tired and Awkward)?

This is where we switch into field trip mode. Because I don’t have a clear answer. But maybe if we walk around the idea long enough, we’ll trip over something useful.

Imagine this like we’re on a weird little errand. We’ve got a camera, a coffee, and a creeping sense that maybe we should be doing more than just “posting and hoping.”

So let’s try to find it.

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First: What Is a Community, Actually?

I used to think it meant hundreds of people in a Discord or a newsletter list or a bunch of hearts on everything I post.

But community, in the simplest sense, might just be:

People who would notice if you stopped showing up.

That’s it. That’s the bar.

Not fans. Not collectors. Just people who care enough to wonder: “Hey, where’d they go?”

And that feels a lot more doable.

I mean, at least it’s a start…

Right?

Places Where Creative Community Hides

Maybe community doesn’t have to look like a crowd. At least not right away.

It’ doesn’t have to be 10,000 die-hard fans.

It can be 1 fan, and then 10, and then 100.

Sometimes it’s a quiet DM, a comment thread, or a lonely comment you forgot to reply to. It can look like:

• That one person who always reposts your stuff without being asked
• A group chat that barely talks but reacts to each other’s wins
• A newsletter reply that starts with “I needed this today”
• An artist who tags you in their work because you reminded them to keep going
• A small thread of encouragement on Farcaster that somehow stays warm all week

None of these will move mountains all by itself. But they are seeds. And maybe that’s the real work. Not building a crowd, but watering seeds. Continuously.

What If We Made a Plan That Didn’t Suck?

OK. Let’s say I accept this. I’m tired, I’m introverted, I don’t want to be a hype person or a brand or a TikTok factory. But I still want to grow something real.

What does a human plan look like?

Let’s build one. Not a marketing plan. A lonely artist survival plan.

Let’s call it…

The Half-Social Plan for Tired Creatives Who Want to Build a Community… Kind of Maybe

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1. Pick Two Places to Show Up
Look, we are tired, trying to be everywhere is the same as being nowhere.
One social (public), one private (intimate).
Mine right now is Twitter/X and my newsletter on Substack. That’s it. That’s all I can commit to.
If you enjoy this post you would probably enjoy my Substack “What if Nobody’s Watching“. It is very, let’s meet at 4am in a small town diner over coffee and talk things out. You can’t make it? I’ll send you a letter…
Subscribe to that after this post down below, or directly on Substack. Thank You!

2. Make Three Human Interactions Per Day
Not a like. Not a repost. Not a GM or a gm. Not “cool shot” or “love this”

Like, a real interaction. Find someone who said something interesting and reply with something thoughtful. Not to promote anything. Just to beaperson.

Say something meaningful. We can do this.

3. Build a Weekly “Quiet Signal”
This is something small that people come to expect. A post. A quote. A question. A routine. This is your thing. It doesn’t have to be loud or go viral. You’re just aiming for consistent.

4. Have One Slow Channel
This could be your blog, a monthly digest, a portfolio you update seasonally.
Something that doesn’t require daily attention, but shows you’re alive and evolving. For me, this is my blog, See Imagery.

5. Make Invitations, Not Announcements
Lately, I’ve been trying to stop making announcements. I sound stupid and boring. So, instead of “Here’s my new post,” I’m going to start advertising with more intention. I’m going to send invitations. Like…

• “I wrote this for anyone who’s feeling invisible lately.”
• “This one’s for anyone feeling a little sick, a little tired, and a little….”
• “I think this might help anyone… Or at least make you feel less alone.”

People are allergic to promotion. But they’re wired for connection. Let’s connect.

But What If It Still Doesn’t Work?

Then we try again.

I mean it. That’s the whole thing. We show up. We whisper into the void. We try again.

There’s this idea I love. Sometimes, you’re not shouting into the void. You’re just waiting for someone else to find the courage to speak back.

And that means you have to keep the light on.

If you see the light, leave a comment.

I’m here.

The Part That Never Feels Comfortable

There will always be days where someone who is not you gets 5,000 likes for posting a photo of their breakfast. Or someone starts a podcast and lands a sponsor in week one. Or someone runs a poll on “why photography is ded” and gets 500 replies.

And you’ll look at your blog or your art or your tiny newsletter and feel like you’re talking to the wall.

There will be days where you feel like quitting. And then the next day you will play David Bowie and hear him say “Nobody told me there’d be days like these” and somehow it will give you the strength to carry on.

Because you remember: every big story starts small. Every successful internet person once sat at their laptop with nothing more than an idea and a feeling. And most of the people who “went viral” couldn’t repeat it if they tried.

How to Stay Sane (When You’re Doing the Other 50%)

Now, we have a plan or some resemblance of such, but we need rules. Now you have just shown up in the diner, it’s 4 am, and I’ve been working on the rules.

We will call these the 4 am Rules because we are human rules:

• Don’t track engagement daily. Once a week max. Or not at all.
• Take real breaks…with coffee. Even from community-building. Burnout isn’t noble.
• Celebrate tiny moments. Someone replying “this helped” should feel like a standing ovation.
• Mute the loud ones. You don’t need to see everyone’s success. Especially not every day.
• Name your seasons. “This is my quiet planting season” is a better mindset than “why isn’t this working.”

Final Thoughts from the Porch

I still want that lemonade.

I still want to make the thing and rest. To post it and let it be. To believe that good work finds good people without needing to shout. And maybe one day, that’s possible.

But right now? The house is built. And the job’s not done.

Not because we have to hustle. But because we want to find our people. And to do that, we have to go out.

Awkward, tired, full of doubt.

But still knocking on doors.

One a door. Two. Maybe Three.

Yeah, three sounds right.

We knock on three doors.

And then we come back, sit on the porch, sip the lemonade, and try again tomorrow.

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