Shooting with

Jun Ishibashi

Few days ago I saw a story from a photographer I know. He asked:

“How many commercial shoots do you think I had this year?” “Correct answer — 0.” “Why do you think that is? What could be the reason?”

I thought about it for a long time. Because in a way, that question touched me too. A few years ago, such an answer would have made me feel panicked. I was chasing bookings. It felt like my value as a photographer was measured by how full my calendar was. If it wasn’t packed months ahead — I thought I was a failure.

I remembered my very first Instagram profile — the one where I first began sharing nude self-portraits. That space felt warm. True. It was me. I was sharing everything. I wanted to share myself. I was looking for connection, for people who would understand me. I was published in magazines — many more than now. And I had an open, emotional, communicative audience. People weren’t just interested in my photos — they were interested in me. (Back then, I used to write under every photo. Maybe someone here remembers that). Some even asked about prints. A French gallery reached out to offer a collaboration. And you know what? I had zero commercial shoots. But I felt seen. I felt heard. And yet… it still didn’t feel like “success.” Because people weren’t booking me. No full calendar. No endless inquiries. So I still felt like I was failing as a “real photographer.” As if my art was appreciated, but I wasn’t.

Then Instagram changed. The algorithms got dumber. The rules got stricter. My profile was deleted — even though everything was carefully censored. It felt deeply unfair. With every new profile, I lost a piece of myself. The audience. The energy. The boldness. I became less and less honest. Less and less confident in what I was posting. Until I reached a point where I was posting so cautiously — it didn’t even feel like posting anymore. Basically, I hardly post on Instagram now at all.

But as time passed, and I did some paid shoots here and there — one important truth slowly came to me: I don’t want to photograph people on demand. It’s not my desire. It’s not my path. It doesn’t bring me joy. I feel most fulfilled when I create, not when I work. (Not when there are limits on time, location, or someone else’s vision.) And this wasn’t a sudden realization. It took dozens of shoots. Almost two years of searching. Until I understood — there’s no one path. There are many. And they’re all valid. You can be a photographer who works with clients. You can be a photographer who creates personal projects and maybe monetizes them later — or not. And that’s okay too.

But when we become too focused on our audience, too focused on Instagram, likes, comments, numbers — we start creating what others like. Not what we like. And that stops our growth.

I’ve talked to many photographers with big followings and full calendars. And most of them have said: “What I post isn’t what I actually love to shoot. That’s just my job. My real work — people wouldn’t be interested in it.”

And then I thought of Dan Hecho and Ruslan Lobanov. Ten years ago, they were the ones doing nude photography. Back then, it was new. Bold. Rare. Now, everyone has a camera. Every third girl does nude self-portraits. It’s not a sensation anymore. Dan and Ruslan are still around — but their paths are very different now. Dan stopped shooting so much. He now travels doing workshops. Because he started focusing on the audience. On recognition. On what works. On what people like. Ruslan, on the other hand, stayed true to himself. He still shoots — and he does it for himself. Because he can’t not shoot. His focus isn’t on the audience. It’s on the art. He does it because it brings him joy. Because it feeds him. He’ll spend hours talking about an idea, searching for vintage pieces, having costumes tailored, finding the exact location for a photo story. It’s not about likes. It’s about need. And you can’t copy that. Not because it’s technically difficult (though let’s be honest — it is a lot of work), but because most people simply aren’t willing to give that much of themselves. They’re not that obsessed. Not that in love. And that passion? That’s what keeps Ruslan alive, relevant, and respected. That’s why he’s still a Maestro.

That’s the difference. That’s the reason.

Because when you burn for what you do — you stay alive. You keep moving. Evolving. You stay interesting — not because you try to please others, but because you dare to stay close to your own fire. But when you stop, when you get stuck in what once worked, when you keep repeating yourself just because it’s “your brand,” when you make things not because you love them, but because your audience expects them — you slowly become a shadow. Maybe still recognizable… but no longer alive. And eventually — you fade out. That’s what happened to Dan. He created something powerful. But he got stuck inside it. Focused on what people liked, instead of what he loved. And that’s what happens to many artists. They stop chasing their own voice — and start performing for applause. And little by little, they disappear.

So when my photographer friend asked, “Why did I have 0 shoots this year?” that question alone told me everything. It shows where his focus is. Not on himself. Not on his art. But on the outside — the audience, the numbers, the validation. Because when you’re truly doing it for yourself — you don’t ask questions like that. You don’t need to. You just create. You just live inside your craft. I guess that’s why I’m not afraid of “0 shoots” anymore.

I’ve realized what matters to me: To shoot what I love. And if it brings me joy — that’s already success. We don’t need to compare ourselves to others. We don’t need to measure our creativity by the standards of algorithms or bookings. Because that’s the easiest way to lose yourself. I choose to stay loyal to my own creativity. And that — for me — is everything.

Thank you to everyone who supports me here. Who looks, who reads, who feels with me. Thank you for allowing me to be different. Thank you for not judging. Thank you for staying close. ❤️

P.S. Sorry for such a long read