The Plagiarist

Part 1: The Picture

My life as The Plagiarist began in 1992 as a young, ambitious photographer. I have a hard time believing that anyone intentionally sets out to become one who uses “another person’s words or ideas without giving credit to that person” (Merriam-webster). It all began innocently enough as a 16-year-old student with an assignment deadline and a late-night shift at McDonald’s the night before. So, let’s jump in the DeLorean, get her up to 88 miles per hour, and take a trip back in time to the early nineties.

A few public schools still offered Black & White Photography as an art elective back then. When I discovered that my school was one, I signed up and started my amateur career as a photography nerd.

I soon learned the two-part process of photography. The first part is artistic. It’s fun and arguably, the more accessible aspect of photography. The photographer explores the world around them in hopes of finding a subject worthy of immortalization with silver nitrate and photosensitive paper (the mediums used in photography, better known as film and picture). After the subject is selected, a few critical adjustments are required from the camera. And then…click!

The second part of the photographic process is scientific; it comes down to chemistry and timing. Without going into all the details (which I could geek out about for days), the exposed film roll is loaded in a developing canister under dark conditions along with some dangerous chemicals under a strict timing protocol. After development, the photographer uses a magnifying loupe to inspect the negatives and chooses a suitable composition to meet the artist’s objectives. Finally, the photosensitive paper is exposed to a film enlarger, washed in a series of chemical baths, and presto, a photograph appears.

As it turns out, I was an average photographer, but I was a master in the darkroom. I was the Marie Curry of photography; I understood the mechanics and science better than anyone in my class (in my opinion). Henceforth, I was a photo nerd.

One morning, after a late-night shift at McDonald’s, I strolled into class like a zombie forgetting about the day’s assignment. We were tasked with photographing something in nature with high contrast. The final product would be “workshopped” during a critique. I had failed to remember the assignment. Too many late hours at work were to blame. Then, I had a brilliant idea pop into my teenage brain in a moment of panic.

A recycle bin for all the discarded film negatives was Stored in the darkroom. I hurried into the dark cavern and began digging through the recycle bin until I found something that might get me out of a pickle. I put on my chemistry apron and channeled my inner Ansel Adams. Not only was I a master at the development process, but I was also lightning fast. I enlarged, exposed, and developed one print in less than 30 minutes. After the print dried, I took it outside into the light of day to inspect the final product.

I was looking at old and withered stalks of corn with shadows and light hitting it in such a way to create a high contrast composition. It was beautiful. And it fit the assignment criteria perfectly. I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing the photograph ensured me an A+.

That’s when I had another thought. Whoever took this photo will rat me out! That thought led to another one.

I was aware of plagiarism. It’s ingrained in art and literary students. Plagiarism is the highest form of stealing. For artists and writers, it’s the equivalent of bank robbery. You don’t take what’s not yours!

I was still in a pickle. I began to have an internal conversation between the classic angel on my right shoulder and the devil on my left shoulder. It went something like this:

Angel: “You know, this is wrong.”

Devil: “Ignore the angel! You are 50% responsible for the creation of this photograph.”

Angel: “It wasn’t your idea. All you did was develop someone else’s art. Shame on you!”

Devil: “Ok, I can see why you’re in a pickle. But there are so many things you could do that are much worse. You didn’t kidnap someone’s puppy or kick an old lady in a wheelchair.”

Angel: “You’re going to get caught.”

Devil: “That’s possible. But the alternative is an ‘F,’ and your grades are already in the toilet.”

Ryan: “Good point, devil. Go away, angel!”

It didn’t really matter, though. I was holding in my hand one of the best photographs I had “created.” At the moment, I was able to re-engineer my mind and make an internal excuse as to why I deserved to pass off someone else’s idea as my own. It worked.

My photograph was celebrated during the class critique. My teacher expressed her admiration of what my “eye” had created. I kept waiting for another student to rat me out as a fraud. It never happened. As a matter of fact, my lie turned into something unexpected: a small measure of artistic fame.

Twice a year, the art students would host an art show for all students and parents. This plagiarized print was shown and well received by spectators. And it didn’t stop there. My teacher recommended I submit it to a publication for the art department. It was chosen and published. As a 16-year-old high schooler, I was a published photographer.

However, I harbored deep inside a resentment for what I had done.

I felt fake. I was living an artistic lie. I was so consumed with ambition and building a reputation as an artist that I compromised the first and most important rule of artistic creation: don’t take something that isn’t yours and pass it off as your own. I buried this lie deep down inside at the pit of my soul and just carried on with life into adulthood, forever knowing I was a plagiarist.

Part II: The Persona

I’m still a plagiarist, not in a sense I just described. But a plagiarist, nonetheless.

In 2014, I moved my family to a new job in sunny Florida. My role was in the creative arts field. Creating and being “a creative” through all forms of media and design became my field of study and profession.

An unintended consequence of being a high school photography nerd came about with the invention of a piece of software called Photoshop. In my junior and senior years of high school, our photography teacher purchased a Macintosh computer along with a scanner and a copy of Photoshop 2.0. As the star pupil, I was tasked with learning this software and the technology that would allow the photography department to transition into an early form of digital photography. As it turned out, I was a bit of a Photoshop master (in my opinion).

After graduation and a few years of college, I became a graphic designer. I ran the art department at a full-scale print shop. One thing led to another (yada, yada, yada, long story short); I found a job as a graphic designer at the largest church in New Mexico. Over time, I taught myself all aspects of digital media and videography. Over the next two decades, I worked hard, received promotions, and became what we call a Creative Arts Director for various churches in New Mexico and Florida.

Back to 2014: I moved my family to a church as the Creative Arts Director at another location in Florida. In addition, I was asked to lead the children and youth areas as the Next Generation Pastor.

Did I tell you I became an ordained pastor sometime during those two decades?

Well, I did. I loved teaching kids and students because I could channel my inner creative background and produce videos and digital content to tell Bible stories. I love being a storyteller! I discovered a new passion in helping people (and myself) learn essential truths about life and spirituality through my experiences as a content creator.

But, at my core, I’m a creative. More than anything else.

My new role as the Creative Arts Director and the NextGen Pastor was just about the perfect fit for me. It allowed an outlet for everything I loved: using technology and art to tell the most important stories in the world. Jesus did this too. He called them “parables.” However, I am not alluding to or comparing myself to him in this sense. I’m just connecting a few dots here.

My new job was heaven on earth! I was operating in my sweet spot. But, as sometimes things go, my role changed. It wasn’t a bad thing. It was a necessary change that I was supportive of. However, I was no longer operating in my sweet spot.

After a year of this, an opportunity was presented that included a promotion and oversight of most of the staff. I had never done something like this before (and I always loved new challenges). It’s a deeply competitive spirit. I hate to lose. I love to win. Sometimes, I win at any cost.

I accepted this new role as an administrator, not a creative.

There’s a scene I love from Jurassic Park where the wacky scientist, Ian Malcolm, is having a conversation with Dr. Hammond, the man responsible for bringing dinosaurs back to life. Ian Malcolm makes one of the most profound statements I’ve heard in the history of the whole wide world. It goes something like this, “Dr. Hammond, the only question you asked yourself was ‘could’ you bring dinosaurs back to life. You never asked yourself ‘should’ you bring them back” (Jurassic Park).

I never asked myself if I “should” take on this new role. I only considered if I had the ability as a leader that “could” do it successfully. Turns out I could. I led the central campus and its staff for the next six years.

Slowly and over time, things began to change in me.

Ultimately, as I look back and reflect, I was trying to become someone I wasn’t designed to be. I think we are all designed to be something specific. That doesn’t mean there aren’t others like us, or maybe even better than us. However, I’ll live and die with the notion that we are all designed and destined for something extraordinary and unique. Just for you. No one else in the world is just like you.

I was changing. I began to feel like a plagiarist again.

I started reading books, listening to podcasts, and attending conferences to learn from others. They were gifted and talented and designed by God to do precisely what they do. I thought I was too, but I wasn’t. I quickly learned that I have a highly adaptable mind that can change to whatever is necessary to win. Win at all costs.

If you don’t know the following truth, please take note: trying to learn to live someone’s life is the most exhausting thing a human can ever do.

I wasn’t living a lie like I did with my plagiarized photograph. However, I did feel like a fraud. I was looking at what other people were doing and trying to emulate them as best I could.

I became someone I was never designed or destined to be. The more I worked at becoming this other person (or persona), the more I forgot who I was. Austin Powers described it as losing his “mojo.” If my mojo was storytelling through creative forms of media, I was losing it a little bit every day. I lost my mojo, people!

Jump in the DeLorean and go back to the future…welcome to the post-pandemic world!

The role I was filling was no longer needed in the post-pandemic church. I fully agreed. So, I decided it was time to find something new. I did what you might call “soul searching” during this season. If soul searching is trying to figure out why you exist, the search is complex. I was hurting and scared at what a new future might look like for my wife and me. But amid all this confusion and chaos, whatever the next season of life was, I had to back to my roots of being creative and a storyteller.

I found what I was looking for in Atlanta, Georgia. Only a few hours north of where my kids live.

Part III: The Parable

Plagiarism was never part of the grand scheme of my life. It just happened. As a 16-year-old, I figured out how to take someone else’s art and manipulate it to make it my own. And I was good at it!

As an adult, I figured out how to take someone else’s persona and manipulate it to make it my own. Like I said, I’m a Photoshop expert. Photoshop is a piece of software designed to manipulate real life. I took those same skills and applied them to my soul. I Photoshopped myself into something different (fantastic use of cliché right there). I manipulated myself. It made me into something I thought was better. However, I was terribly wrong.

I love how Jesus is the master storyteller. When I was a children’s pastor, I used to explain to children that Jesus used parables to teach people about the width, depth, and mysteries of the Bible.

I defined it this way: “A parable is an earthly story with a heavenly meaning.”

The Parable of the Plagiarist: it’s a true earthly story with a heavenly and spiritual meaning.

God made me just the way I am. When I manipulated His design, I had to figure out ways to combat the side effects. It became exhausting, and I’m still reckoning with it. It’s a long process, just like developing black and white film.

Life is process.

I’m in the process. The process is like the beautiful image of my black and white photographs magically appearing from blank nothingness. I’m beginning to see glimpses of who I am developing into.

My favorite picture.