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By George Seminara
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I was 15 years old when my life stopped. A catastrophic accident left me in a coma for two months. I lost a kidney, part of my liver, and nearly 20 feet of my intestinal tract. Doctors saved my life, but medicine wasn't where it is today. MRI and CT scans weren’t available, so no one realized I’d also broken my spine in three places.
For decades, I didn’t know either. I went on with my life. I studied painting because I thought I would become an illustrator. Photography was simply something I loved doing on the side. Looking back, it’s funny how little of my career was planned. Almost everything that mattered happened because I said “yes” before I knew exactly how.
Bands would ask if they could use one of my photographs for publicity. I’d hand them over for five dollars, maybe a T-shirt if I was lucky. Those same bands eventually signed record deals and came back asking whether I knew how to direct a music video. I told them I did. The truth was I’d never made one. I figured I’d just learn it along the way.
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That one decision changed my life. Soon enough, I was directing music videos for icons like The Ramones, Darlene Love, Modern English and many of the artists who shaped hip-hop in its earliest years. I eventually directed nearly 400 music videos, won Emmy and Peabody Awards, and spent a lifetime photographing people whose faces became part of popular culture.
People often ask how I managed to photograph celebrities so differently. My answer disappoints them because it isn’t technical. I talk to them. I don’t build giant productions with dozens of assistants telling people where to stand and how to smile. I sit with them. We have conversations. The photographs simply happen in between.
That’s how I photographed Robin Williams. We had known each other for years, and our conversations were usually fast, funny, and completely ridiculous. That day was different. We spoke about old movies and bad science fiction. Years later, after his death, people began telling me they could see something in his eyes in the portrait that was used during his memorial. The very portrait that I’d captured. I think they were seeing what I felt that afternoon, even though neither of us understood it yet.
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Photography has never been about cameras for me. It’s about paying attention. Maybe that’s why getting older never frightened me. Experience wasn’t something I wanted to escape. It made me better. Better at listening, better at understanding people, and better at seeing the moments most people miss.
Then my past caught up with me. Around the age of 50, the spinal injuries doctors had missed when I was 15 finally began to collapse under decades of wear. One surgery became another. Then another. Nineteen operations later, I have titanium rods running nearly the length of my spine, two artificial hips, and a replacement knee.
Recovery became my full-time job. The hardest part wasn’t learning to walk again. It was watching the world decide my career had ended, and no one thought to tell me. While I was focused on surviving multiple surgeries, Hollywood kept moving. When I finally resurfaced, people reacted as though I had vanished forever. Some assumed I’d retired. Others assumed I had died.
Imagine spending a lifetime building a career only to discover people have mistaken your absence for your ending. The strange part is that I never stopped being an artist. I’d spent my days painting, writing, thinking about all the films I wanted to make and the photographs I wanted to take. My ideas and creativity never disappeared. Only the phone calls did.
People like to believe Hollywood worships creativity. In many ways, it does. But it also has an uncomfortable habit of deciding what box you belong in and keeping you there until you claw your way out.
Early in my career, the magazine Billboard called me one of the best low-budget music video directors working at the time. It was meant as a compliment. Instead, it became a label. Suddenly, everyone wanted me for low-budget projects because someone else had decided that was my category.
The industry does the same thing with age. After a certain point, people stop asking what you’re capable of creating. They start wondering whether you’re still creating at all. Those are two very different questions.
I’ve never believed creativity has an expiration date. If anything, I think age gives artists something they spend decades trying to earn. It gives perspective. You stop chasing trends. You become more interested in people than appearances. You learn that listening is often more important than speaking. That’s true whether you’re photographing an Oscar winner in a theater hallway or directing a crew on a tiny budget.
I understand why Hollywood loves discovering the next big thing. New voices matter. Every generation deserves its chance. But I don’t believe those opportunities should come at the expense of experience.
The older I get, the more curious I become. I’m still painting. I’m still writing. I’m still looking at faces and wondering what story they’re trying not to tell. I’m still excited when someone asks whether I know how to do something I’ve never done before. I usually give the same answer I’ve been giving my entire life.
“Yes.” Then I figure it out. People sometimes ask why I still want to work after everything I’ve been through. My answer is simple? I’m not finished yet.
George Seminara is a filmmaker, director, and creative strategist known for capturing human stories through cinematic lens work. Based in New York, Seminara collaborates with global brands and artists, push creative boundaries, and mentor the next generation of visual storytellers.
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