Go ahead and imitate the great photographers – it's a great way to develop your own style

Individual style is a sensitive issue for artists. We are told that we must have a voice or an eye that stands out, yet when we finally develop one, some smartass comes along and says, "Oh, that looks just like so-and-so's work."

All of us learn how to do what we do by copying those who are bigger, faster and more experienced. I remember hearing Clive James, the Australian writer, talk about how one of his teachers made him write something each week in the style of another writer – Ian Fleming, James Joyce, Mark Twain and so on. James reckoned that this process of near slavish imitation had been very useful in developing his own voice.

In the words of the 19th century French painter, Edgar Degas, “the secret is to follow the advice the masters give you in their works while doing something different from them.” Easier said than done.

Near the end of his short life, the fabulous Indian photographer Raghubir Singh published a book called A Way Into India, which consisted entirely of photographs of or photographs made from inside a Hindustan Ambassador car. It’s a major and quirky work, a kind of photographic ode to a piece of metal.

This photograph is not only one of Singh’s, but also one of Indian photography’s greatest moments. The red colour dominates and integrates every element of the image from the Kerala State Transport Corporation bus and ochre earth in the background, to the steering wheel and interior of the humble Ambassador that have been transformed into the very definition of luxury. It is impossible not to fall in love with this image, which captures an immense chunk of the soul of India in such a commonplace and unremarkable scene.

In my own photographic search for India, I too have been captured by the Ambassador’s charms.

While walking the streets of Kolkata one morning I came upon this man – alert as a firefighter –sitting inside an Ambassador. He didn’t seem to be awaiting orders from a big sahib. Indeed, the area was rundown with no houses in sight. His expression is slightly confused, as if he is not sure how he ended up in this tight spot inside a car. Had he been sleeping in the car? Whom did the vehicle belong to? Whoever he was, he stared at me in silence. Perhaps the pair had fallen to earth from outer space. They weren’t giving any clues.

In the parking lot of a hotel in Vishakapatnam, I chanced upon these two Ambassadors. With their bowlegs and off-kilter frames, they reminded me of a pair of tough guys, waiting patiently and menacingly outside while their boss conducts (undoubtedly shady) business inside.

There was a time when a scene such as this, shot around Sudder Street, summed up Calcutta. The city was the native sanctuary of the Ambassador and they lazed about the streets like so many napping Bengal tigers.

In my own Ambassador photos, I have certainly tried to follow Singh’s advice: to search for India in unlikely places and things. I don’t think, however, they meet Degas' standard of "doing something different" (and implicitly), better, than Singh’s outstanding original. But that was not my aim. Imitation of the "greats" is not about replicating their masterpieces or style, but using them as a new and fresh way to perceive your own work.

As Clive James acknowledged the part played by those who went before him in developing his voice, I can only bow down before Raghubir Singh and appreciate his massive influence on me and probably hundreds of thousands other photographers.