Rachel Bingham: How Harbinger has released a creative side of her from her competitiveness

I’ve always had a competitive spirit. It’s born into me – my mom was a varsity dancer at SM Northwest and my sister was a three-sport varsity athlete who now plays D1 volleyball. I didn’t join Harbinger to become an “art kid,” I joined to submit to contests and win at photo regionals and state. 

I was here to win.

Within my first month on staff, I was bombarded with a host of Tate’s Canvas announcements for photo contests and their deadlines. Instead of being overwhelmed, I reminded myself that this is exactly why I joined.

My first time shooting tennis, I perched from the top of the bleachers for what I thought could be some award-winning action shots. But my photo editor urged me to approach the fence. Nervously, I inched toward it, unsure of the etiquette to shoot tennis. Would I get yelled at for being so close? After three hours of shooting, I found a single picture I deemed “good” — and reused it for every contest the next three months.

I placed in one of the contests, but I didn’t win. I wasn’t sure what was wrong with my photos but I knew that I needed to work harder.

As Tate presented photo shows of “the best of the best” pictures from Harbinger and Hauberk over the years, I finally understood why I wasn’t placing: In comparison to the variety of lenses, angles, and context shown in those pictures, mine had little context or creativity.

I hadn’t realized how much preparation goes into great photos — hours spent scrolling through Pinterest for inspiration, determining the best equipment to suit the shoot, learning the story and setup and finally, creating my own style. I’d only win the competition if I used composition, using context and unique angles rather than a shot anyone would think to get.

Instead of standing straight up, snapping only action shots, I hunted for emotion and connection in the people I photographed, dropping to the ground and climbing up onto a ladder or chair. The anticipation in a football receiver’s face as the ball came flying toward them or the smiles from a freshman participating in her first SHARE event in the cafeteria fueling my passion. After reaching out to those involved in the story to learn more about the event, it didn’t matter as much to me if the picture only won an honorable mention — which I used to think of as a participation award — because the story became more important than the award.

I’ve found passion in creating art to tell stories that mean something. Rather than looking toward the game-winning shot, I turn my back and watch as the crowd’s faces light up and storm the court.