Stevie Ray Vaughan, Music and Photography
As someone who lives and breathes both music and photography, I often find myself noticing how close the two worlds are in terms of creativity. Both demand more than technical skill. They require feel. Instinct. Timing. A certain surrender to the moment, while somehow staying entirely present within it. That’s why Stevie Ray Vaughan hits me so deeply, not just as a listener, but as someone who creates too. As a left handed guitarist, I built my own guitars and the image that is linked to this post is the distressed sunburst strat that I built in honour of SRV.
When SRV was alive, and I was in my teans working towards my 10,000 hours on my Mexican Strat, I didn’t fully realise just how incredible he was, not only as a guitarist, but as a songwriter, a soul, and a human being. Now, looking back and listening closely, it’s impossible to miss. His guitar didn’t just sing, it spoke. It shouted. It wept. It healed. And like all great artists, he channelled something greater than himself, particularly after overcoming his demons. That’s what makes the way he left the world so unspeakably tragic, just when he’d found his peace, when his music had grown even deeper and more purposeful, he was gone.
What I hear in Stevie’s playing is the same thing I see in the photographs of Henri Cartier-Bresson, that raw, elegant honesty. Bresson knew exactly when to press the shutter to catch a fleeting truth. Vaughan did the same with every note. Their work has the same effect on me: it grabs hold and doesn’t let go. It reminds me what art is for.
One thing that’s always struck me about Stevie, beyond the music, was his sense of compassion. His belief wasn’t just in music it was in people. He had a deep-rooted desire to lift others up, especially those struggling or feeling left behind. That, to me, is real strength. It’s a philosophy I try to carry into my own creative work not just taking pictures, but hopefully reflecting something honest and kind in them too.
This year, I want to honour that spirit in my photography. To be generous. To stay vulnerable. To use my camera not to judge, but to understand. If I can make someone feel even a fraction of what Stevie Ray Vaughan’s music makes me feel, then I’ll know I’m on the right path.
Was he the best guitarist ever? For me, absolutely, not because of speed or flash, but because no other musician has had the same emotional impact on me. He changed the way I hear music. Just like Bresson changed the way I see the world with my camera.
They were both, in their own way, masters of the moment. And I can’t think of any higher praise than that.