Portraiture is hard to define because it isn’t just one thing. Still, we know a compelling portrait when we see one. It draws the viewer in, even when the subject is a stranger. It captures something essential about the person: their expression, the light on them, and the setting around them. The portrait centres on the subject, inviting us to see it as art.
A slice of time
A portrait is a slice of time where the photographer’s intentions meet the subject’s reality. The photographer presses the shutter, capturing someone in a split second, and that moment matters enormously.
As photographers, we have real influence over that moment. Are we recording a person simply being themselves, or are we shaping them to express what we want? If we shape them, is the result still honest? Later, a viewer may say, “You really captured a piece of their soul.” But does what we captured truly reflect who they are, or only the most striking version? There may be no single right answer.
Because each portrait captures only a single moment, a person’s portraits can differ markedly.
Two implications
A good portrait often shows something familiar about the subject, something people who know them would recognize.
At the same time, we can’t know the subject’s true inner state at the moment the photo was taken.
Staged portraits and mood
Some portraits are staged. A subject may be happy, yet the photographer can make them look moody through choices such as camera angle, distance, and lighting, and later in post-processing. To that extent, the photographer shapes the subject’s reality in the image. Portraits of one person can convey very different moods. In some, the photographer created that mood; in others, the subject brought it.
The craft
Portraiture is a broad subject. A single image draws on several skills simultaneously:
Lighting: how it shapes the face and sets the mood.
Location: where the person is and what the setting reveals about them.
Personality: who the subject is and how much of that comes through.
Interaction: the connection between the photographer and the subject, which often makes or breaks the moment.
Creativity: the choices that turn a record of someone into an interpretation of them.
No one masters all of these at once, and that’s part of what makes portraiture rewarding.
Keep growing
The best way to improve is to stretch yourself:
Take risks. Try the angle, the light, or the idea you’re not sure will work.
Photograph people you don’t know. Unfamiliar subjects push you to read and connect with them quickly.
Seek out situations you haven’t tried. New settings and challenges reveal what you haven’t yet learned.
Build sound habits. Good practices, from preparation to how you treat your subjects, give you a steady foundation for managing those risks.
My thanks to model Vanessa Juti.
Do them justice
Don’t settle until you’ve done the person and their portrait justice. When someone sits for you, they’re trusting you with something personal. It is an honour when people share part of their soul with you, and the portrait is how you honour that trust in return.
Quote to Consider – ‘I spent a great deal of my life being ignored. I was always very happy that way. Being ignored is a great privilege. That is how I think I learnt to see what others do not see and to react to situations differently. I simply looked at the world, not really prepared for anything (Saul Leiter).’
Reading – ‘Forever Saul Leiter’ by Margit Erb & Michael Parillo.
Listening to ‘Remember Me This Way’ from Steve Martin & Edie Brickell’s album ‘Love Has Come for You’; John Cougar Mellencamp’s ‘Small Town’ and ‘Minutes to Memories’; Martyn Joseph’s ‘Born Too Late’; and Hollywood Park’s ‘Come on Out’ from their album ‘The Airborne Toxic Event.’
Two quotes have shaped how I approach photography, and I’ve spent some time coming to terms with their import. The first, “Art is a wound turned into light.” — attributed to Georges Braque. And the other, “Vocation is the place where your greatest joy meets the world’s greatest need.” — a popular paraphrase of Frederick Buechner, from Wishful Thinking: A Theological ABC (1973).
Where I began
Photography has always been a counterpoint to my work. It let me step beyond the confines of an office, the grind of routine, and the politics of the workplace. It got me outside, physically and mentally, and asked me to pay full attention to what was in front of me. It became a place to breathe and to look.
At first, it was simply a break. Over time, it taught me to be present, and that presence became its own kind of light. Photography wasn’t about documenting my frustration; it was about stepping out of it to see the world again. I’ve come to believe that this kind of attention isn’t an escape from what life hands us. It’s a way of living with it.
What I came to understand
None of us can undo what we have done or what’s been done to us. Loss, injustice, and the small cruelties of ordinary life leave marks we cannot erase. We can choose what we make of them.
Photography offers one answer. It turns our attention outward, towards light, form, and the people and places around us, without asking us to deny what we carry. Our wounds shape how we see: what we notice, what moves us, what we linger over. In making images, we turn that private weight into something others can see and recognize. A photograph need not tell our story directly; it carries the sensibility our story has given us.
In this work, we act rather than merely endure, and acting restores something of our wholeness. Photography — literally “writing with light” — is a fitting place for a wound to become light.
What I have come to understand, Take Two – the Subject
“Art is a wound turned into light.” — attributed to Georges Braque
For years, I assumed that understanding others began with looking at myself first. That assumption led me to misinterpret this quote. The workshop had ended more than a year ago, yet I still didn’t get it.
I thought that if I understood my own battles and wounds, I could create a more authentic portrait of the person in front of my camera. In one of my final psychology classes, many years ago, the guiding idea was: If I understand me, I can understand thee. That idea did help me understand my sitters, to a degree. I was partly on the right track.
But in environmental portraiture, I’ve come to read Braque’s words differently. You’re not just photographing a face; you’re photographing a person within the place or context where their life unfolds. The wound that matters most in that moment isn’t the photographer’s. It’s the subject’s.
Everyone you meet and photograph is carrying something: a loss, a betrayal, a long disappointment, or worse. Recognizing this changes how you approach people. Talking with your subject before and throughout the session lets you walk a short distance in their shoes (and perhaps they in yours). That requires patience and mutual respect.
Approached this way, the subject stops being a prop and becomes a co-creator of the photograph. Perhaps that is where the light comes from.
Where it leads
This is where Buechner comes in. What began as something for myself has become something I can offer others. When what we make meets someone else’s need — to be seen, to remember, to notice beauty they had passed by — a private practice becomes a shared one. For me, that is where joy and need meet.
My thanks to model and stuntman David Burke.
Quotes to Consider/Inspire – (1) “A photograph is just a tiny slice of a subject. A piece of them in a moment. It seems presumptuous to think you can get more than that (Annie Leibovitz).” (2) “Every portrait is a war between the sitter’s vanity and the photographer’s guile (‘Photographing People: The War in Every Portrait,’ Sean Tucker).”
Listening to – Kacey Musgrave’s ‘Too Good to Be True,’ Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Tougher than the Rest,’ Bruce Hornsby & the Range’s ‘Mandolin Rain,’ and Motorhead’s rendition of Bowie’s ‘Heroes.’
“May the nourishment of the earth be yours, May the clarity of light be yours, May the fluent ocean of the unknown call you To go beyond where your eyes can see.”
— John O’Donohue, ‘Beauty: The Invisible Embrace’
A good portrait begins before the camera comes out. It grows from the photographer’s effort to learn the subject’s story: who they are and what matters to them.
Every portrait session is a threshold, a place where two people cross from one way of being together to another. They begin as strangers, each guarded. If the session goes well, they end somewhere closer, and the portrait bears the mark of that crossing.
The connection that makes this crossing possible, built on trust and a genuine bond, is the foundation of an authentic portrait. For the subject, connection makes it possible to move from how they hold themselves privately to how they allow themselves to be seen. For the photographer, it makes it possible to be fully present in what they explore together.
But what exactly is revealed at this threshold, and by whom? To answer that, it helps to look at what happens between the photographer and the subject during the making of a portrait.
A portrait is never simply a record of one person. In Camera Lucida, Roland Barthes observed that the sitter is several people at once: who they believe themselves to be, who they wish others to see, who the photographer takes them to be, and who the photographer needs them to be to make art. Every portrait is a negotiation among these selves. The moment the shutter clicks, that negotiation briefly settles into a single image.
Connection shapes negotiation. Where trust is absent, neither person crosses. The subject holds to the self they wish to present, and the photographer imposes the self they expect to find. The portrait records two people standing apart. Where trust is present, both can loosen their grip. The subject lets more of themselves be seen, and the photographer lets what they see change their assumptions.
Yet the photographer never entirely leaves the frame. What draws them to a face, where they place the light, and the moment they release the shutter each reflect their own history, fascinations, and blind spots. In this sense, every portrait is also a quiet self-portrait. The question is not whether the photographer is present in the image, but whether they are honest about it.
This is where vulnerability runs both ways. To make an authentic portrait, the photographer must cross the threshold too, accepting that they, too, will be revealed alongside the subject. A good portrait reaches beyond what the eye alone can see, towards the person who has chosen to be seen. Because a portrait outlasts the encounter, the photographer bears responsibility for how the subject is received on the other side. A portrait built on genuine connection does not hide this crossing; it holds both people within it and honours the space between them.
My thanks to model Kolby Nepoose, Mahican Iskwew.
Quotes to Inspire
“When we beautify our gaze, the grace of hidden beauty becomes our joy and our sanctuary (Beauty: The Invisible Embrace, John O’Donohue).”
“Many of us have made our world so familiar that we do not see it anymore. An interesting question to ask yourself at night is: ‘What did I really see this day?’ (Anam Cara, John O’Donohue).”
Listening to:
‘A Friend Like You,’ and ‘My Place Among the Stones’ from The Milk Carton Kids’ album, Lost Cause Lover Fool. ‘Silencio,’ from U2’s ‘Carnaval de Luz’ album and Anne Carson’s ‘The Beauty of the Husband.’
There is a gap between photographers who keep moving forward and those who never quite get there. Talent doesn’t explain it. Effort doesn’t explain it. More often than not, the gap comes down to perfectionism — and the quiet, costly way it keeps good work from ever reaching the world.
Perfectionism creates two things: spin and fear. Spin is the endless cycle, the feeling of working hard without getting anywhere. Fear is the worry that what you’ve made won’t measure up — that putting it out there will expose you to judgment, that it won’t resonate, and that people won’t get it. Together, they create a trough that’s easy to fall into and hard to climb out of. The longer you stay, the deeper it gets.
The truth is simple and worth saying plainly: your work will never be perfect. It can’t be. With virtually any photograph ever made, you can find a stronger one somewhere. Perfect is a strange, slippery word, and chasing it leads nowhere useful. More often, it leads to an archive of the ‘almost-done,’ projects that deserved to exist in the world, sitting in folders, waiting for one more pass that never quite comes.
The better approach is to care deeply, build steadily, and know when to call it done. Think it through, then start. Refine as you go — re-shoot, clean up, improve. At some point, say the words: This is good. This is ready. Then put it out and move on to the next story. Some of the greatest leaps in craft come from diving into a project before you feel fully prepared, building skills in real time, and letting the work push you forward. That’s how it works. That’s how it has always worked.
What “Good Enough” Actually Means
Good enough is not a lowering of standards. It’s a calibration — one of the most important things a working photographer can learn to do.
Good enough means good enough for this stage of your development, this story, and this moment in your practice. It is not a fixed ceiling you settle beneath. It is a moving standard that grows alongside you. As your eye sharpens and your craft deepens, what you consider good enough rises with them. Perfection, by contrast, is fixed and unreachable — a point on the horizon that never draws closer, no matter how long you walk toward it. Good enough is where you actually are, and it is enough to begin, finish, and share.
The Work That Gets Done Can Be Shared
This is where the argument moves beyond practice and into something more significant.
Perfectionism is not only a personal obstacle. It is a withholding. The work that never gets finished never enters the world. It never finds its audience. It never joins the larger conversation that photography is always having — about beauty, about truth, and about how the world looks, feels, and means something. A completed project, even one that falls short of some imagined ideal, may matter to someone else. An unfinished one has no chance at all.
There is something genuinely generous about finishing and releasing work. You are making it available. And availability is where resonance, connection, and real influence live.
Once the work is out, it enters someone else’s life and meets something in them you couldn’t have predicted or planned for — something known to them, unknown to you. A photograph you almost didn’t share becomes the image that stops someone mid-scroll and makes them feel seen. A project you nearly abandoned becomes the body of work that moves someone to pick up their own camera. At that point of intersection, the work belongs to the encounter as much as to you. That is where photography becomes something more than a craft.
This also addresses the fear that keeps so much work locked away. The worry is that putting your work out there exposes you to judgment. But the alternative is that the work simply doesn’t exist for anyone but you. Which, in the end, is the greater loss?
The Audience That’s Waiting
Someone out there needs the story you’re sitting on.
Not abstractly — specifically. The person who would have been moved by your work, who would have learned from it, who would have felt a little less alone because of it, never gets that chance when the work remains locked in revision. The withholding carries a human cost that extends well beyond you. Your stories do not belong only to you.
If your camera has been gathering dust, if there’s a project you’ve been circling for months or years, if you keep telling yourself you’ll finish it when the conditions are right — this is what matters: the conditions will never be perfect. But the story still needs to be told. And you are the one who can tell it.
Time Is Your Most Valuable Resource
Perfectionism wastes the one thing you cannot recover: time.
And the waste compounds. Time spent over-refining one project is time not spent starting the next — and often, it’s the next project where the real growth happens. The photographer who finishes and moves on builds a body of work. The photographer who endlessly refines builds an archive of the almost-done.
Progress lives in completion and momentum, not in the final, elusive pass.
Finishing Builds the Confidence to Keep Going
Every completed project does something endless revision cannot: it gives you the lived experience of having done it. Each finished body of work becomes evidence — to yourself — that you can do it again. That you are someone who makes things and puts them into the world.
Paradoxically, perfectionism erodes the very confidence it claims to protect. By never letting you finish, it never lets you prove to yourself that finishing is possible. The doubt grows. The camera gathers more dust.
The best remedy is a completed project. Then another. Then another. That is how a practice is built and how a photographer becomes, over time, the person they were trying to be when they first picked up a camera.
The Work Teaches You
There is one more thing perfectionism costs you, and it may be the most practical of them all.
Releasing a project and observing how it lands — what resonates, what doesn’t, what you would do differently — yields information you cannot get any other way. That feedback, from an audience, from time and distance, and from your own eyes returning to finished work months later, is how a practice grows. The perfectionist never gets that loop. Every project held back is also a lesson withheld.
Finishing is not merely an act of completion. It is a form of learning — and that learning only begins when the work goes out.
Take the Leap
Whether it’s a single image, a project you’ve carried for years, or a portfolio you’ve been afraid to show — don’t let perfectionism keep it from existing in the world. Get a little uncomfortable. Start before you’re ready. Build as you go. Make the call when the work is good, then let it go. The work you finish will always matter more than the work you’re still perfecting. Someone is waiting for it, even if neither of you knows it yet. Put it out. Value your time enough to spend it on the next thing. You may be surprised by what you create — and by how much it resonates with others.
Sources / Further Reading – The initial framework for this article was inspired by a discussion of perfectionism by Dave Brosha in his Storyteller course on the Teachable online learning platform. His framework and concepts served as a foundation from which the ideas in this article were further developed. (https://davebrosha.com/)
Listening to:
An unabridged audiobook performance of ‘A Perfect Spy’ by John Le Carré. I first listened to an abridged version narrated by David Cornwell (John Le Carré) cycling on Edmonton’s River City bike trails way back in 1987. This full version, while autobiographical in many ways for Cornwell, also points to the lives Burgess and Maclean must have led to do what they did all those years ago.
Quotes to Consider (about Perfectionism and Art)
“To demand perfection is to deny your ordinary (and universal) humanity, as though you would be better off without it. Yet this humanity is the ultimate source of your work; your perfectionism denies you the very thing you need to get your work done (Art & Fear: Observations on the Perils (and Rewards) of Artmaking by David Bayles and Ted Orland).”
“Have no fear of perfection, you’ll never reach it (Salvador Dalí).”
“The artist who aims at perfection in everything achieves it in nothing (Eugene Delacroix).”
“Don’t think about making art, just get it done. Let everyone else decide if it’s good or bad, whether they love it or hate it. While they are deciding, make even more art (Andy Warhol).”
Again …
Perfectionism is one of the most common—and paralyzing—hurdles in any creative journey. When we fixate on flawlessness, we often stunt the very experimentation and output required to actually improve.
Growth in photography and art comes from doing, failing, analyzing, and doing it again. Leaving perfectionism behind is the only way to free yourself up to make those necessary, beautiful mistakes.
The camera bag sits in the corner, its leather cool to the touch. Weeks have passed — maybe months, maybe years — since you last heard the shutter click. The battery is dead. The SD card is a graveyard of half-finished ideas. Meanwhile, the smartphone in your pocket vibrates incessantly, a black mirror that demands your attention every waking moment.
Ruth Guest has seen this pattern countless times. A photographer with an MSc in Cyberpsychology, she has spent her career studying how technology shapes our behaviour, identity, and sense of self — and has lived it. “I spent years shooting high-end fashion and portraits across Europe, feeling absolutely nothing,” she says. After a failed tech startup and a bruising corporate job, her DSLR gathered dust for four years.
“Your camera isn’t broken,” she says. “Your relationship with it is. To come back, we have to stop looking at the glass and start looking at the soul.”
1 – The Problem Isn’t Your Eye — It’s Your ‘Why’
When creative momentum stalls, the instinct is to look outward. We ask how to improve, buy a sharper lens, or chase new post-processing techniques. But ‘how’ is a technical question that masks a deeper void. The only question that matters is: “Why did you stop?”
Photography often loses its appeal when it shifts from a practice of love to a performance for validation — shooting for likes or to meet a client’s expectations. When external rewards dry up, the internal engine stalls. The longer the camera sits in the drawer, the harder it becomes to close that gap.
No amount of new gear will fix this. Until you name the real blockers — fear, resentment, exhaustion — you won’t want to shoot again. The problem was never your technique or your eye. You simply lost sight of why you picked up the camera in the first place.
2 – You Are Caught in the ‘Mass Drift.’
Every time you unlock your phone, you are flooded with other people’s visions, aesthetics, and curated lives. In cyberpsychology, this relentless ‘identity performance’ is well documented — and it quietly erodes your sense of self.
Guest calls this the Mass Drift. When your eye is saturated with a billion other images, your unique way of seeing begins to fade. “The algorithm has become your creative director,” she says, “… even though you never hired it.” “It is not neutral — it is,” as she puts it, “… a parasitic creative director reshaping what you think your work and your life should look like.”
The drift isn’t just about taking uninspired photos. It is a drift from yourself. Your visual voice hasn’t vanished; it is buried. The first step toward recovery is a deliberate Media Fast — closing the black mirror long enough to let your own visual hunger return.
3 – Your Camera is a Mirror, Not a Window
We tend to think of photography as looking outward at the world. In reality, the camera points back at us. The subjects you choose, the light you seek, and the themes you return to — all of it reflects your internal landscape: your desires, fears, and values.
Guest discovered this through what she calls an Archive Audit, a process of reviewing her own body of work. She noticed she had been obsessively photographing couples during a painful breakup, then shifted to themes of friendship and coming-of-age when her brother emigrated. She hadn’t consciously chosen these subjects — her subconscious was using the camera to process her life.
She also identifies a related pattern: using the Camera as Armour, placing the lens between yourself and a world that feels too overwhelming to face directly. An honest Emotion Audit — asking what you were feeling when you took your best shots — can transform photography from a passive hobby into a vital, truthful practice.
4 – The ‘Contained Practice:’ Addition by Subtraction
When we feel creatively stagnant, the reflex is to add: a new location, a faster sensor, or a different genre. Guest argues the opposite. The secret to restoring the eye is constraint.
She calls it the Contained Practice, governed by the 1-1-1 Rule: one camera, one lens, one film stock. Strip away the burden of choice, and you eliminate gear fixation, freeing the brain to engage with the world in front of it.
For Guest, this meant selling all her digital equipment and buying a secondhand 1983 Leica without a light meter or backup. “It wasn’t the smart choice,” she admits, “but it was necessary.” That limitation forced her into what she describes as the Three Stages of Seeing — a discipline of noticing the world before even raising the camera.
For those feeling overwhelmed, she offers the 3-30 Rule as a starting point: give yourself three minutes to find a shot within a 30-foot radius, or limit yourself to three frames in 30 minutes. Less equipment, less time, fewer frames — and, paradoxically, more of yourself in every one.
5 – Shooting to ‘Escape Death:’ Finding Your True Philosophy
The deepest reason we take photographs is rarely spoken aloud. We are, Guest argues, trying to escape death — leaving proof that we were here, that we saw things, and that our particular way of seeing was ours and no one else’s.
This is the photography philosophy that outlasts every trend. When you begin to see your body of work as a legacy — a testament to your existence — the pressure to perform for an audience quietly dissolves. The practice ceases to be something you do and becomes an honest extension of how you live.
The Camera Has Waited Long Enough
Returning to photography is not about mastering technical settings. It is about stepping out of the Mass Drift and back into an honest, personal practice — finally deciding that you are done waiting to live the life you truly want.
Your love for the craft is still there, tucked away in that bag with the dead battery and the dusty lens. Before you pick it up again, Guest leaves you with one last, uncomfortable question.
What does your current body of work — or its absence — reveal about who you are right now?
The camera has waited long enough. It is time to see again.
Sources / Further ReadingThis article was inspired by Neale James’s interview with Ruth Guest on the Photowalk podcast. The frameworks and concepts discussed here are drawn from her work; her returning-to-photography workbook is available at ruthguest.com/returning-to-photography-workbook.
Quote to Inspire / Consider: borrowed from the Photowalk because it is relevant within the podcast, to the work of Ruth Guest and for what our photography is about. “What you have caught on film is captured forever. It remembers little things long after you’ve forgotten everything – Aaron Siskind.”
Listening to: Hollow Coves’ ‘Pictures,’ and Roo Panes’ ‘Message to Myself.’
The following started as a conversation about a specific decision — trading unused lenses at a camera store rather than selling them privately. It turned into something more broadly useful. I’m sharing it here so I can return to the thinking, and in case it helps anyone else in the same loop.
The Shape of the Problem
The decision to trade unused lenses at a camera store — rather than sell them privately — appears, on the surface, to be a financial one. In practice, it’s a psychological one. The hesitation stems from two opposing forces: fear of being taken advantage of by the store and guilt over losing the original investment in the gear. Together, they create a kind of paralysis that no amount of spreadsheet math can resolve on its own.
For anyone living outside a major urban centre, the calculus shifts considerably. Online platforms like MPB and KEH Camera don’t operate in Canada. Local buyers are scarce or non-existent. Shipping is a genuine friction point. The camera store becomes not a predator but, as it’s worth framing, a liquidity provider: a business that assumes the risk of time, shelf space, and eventual resale so you don’t have to.
Reframing the Trade-In
The instinct to watch your old gear reappear on the store’s website at a 40–60% markup is understandable, but it’s worth clarifying what that markup actually represents. The store bought your gear at a price that compensates them for the months it might sit in a display case, the staff time spent testing and listing it, the risk it might not sell, and the overhead of running a physical retail operation. That margin is not profit extracted from you — it is the cost of a service you’ve effectively hired them to perform.
Think of it less as “losing money on the trade” and more as paying a commission to an intermediary who handles the work you couldn’t or wouldn’t do yourself. Seen that way, the markup isn’t a sting — it’s a fee receipt.
The Real Value of Unused Gear
A lens sitting in a bag has a functional value of zero. This is the part that overthinking tends to obscure: unused gear is not a savings account. It depreciates whether you use it or not, and keeping it out of a sense of “protecting the investment” is the classic sunk-cost fallacy in photographic form — like holding onto a gym membership you never use because you already paid the sign-up fee.
A more useful way to look at it: take the total amount you feel you’re “losing” and divide it by the number of months you’ve owned the gear. In most cases, you’ll find that you effectively rent those lenses for between $5 and $15 a month. That’s a reasonable rate for the enjoyment they provided while you were using them. The loss isn’t a loss — it’s the final invoice for a rental that quietly ended some time ago.
A Pre-Visit Strategy
Before walking into the store, spend fifteen minutes researching. Check eBay’s “Sold” listings — not the asking prices, but the completed sales — for each piece of gear you’re trading. A reputable shop will typically offer 40–60% of that private-sale resale value. Use that range to set your floor: a number below which you’ll politely decline, and above which you’ll say yes without hesitation and without looking back.
This is important: make the decision before you’re standing at the counter. If you set your threshold in advance, the in-store negotiation becomes a simple binary — acceptable or not — rather than an anxious improvisation.
Once the trade is complete, take a photograph with the new lens the same day. The shift from thinking about assets (what you own) to making art (what you’re doing) is the fastest way to close the mental ledger on the transaction.
A Note on Watching the Aftermath
The single most corrosive thing you can do after a trade-in is monitor the store’s used inventory to see what your old gear sold for. There is no outcome from that exercise that makes you feel better. If it sells quickly for a high price, you’ll feel taken advantage of. If it sat for months at a reduced price, you’ll feel validated but gain nothing. Either way, you’ve spent mental energy on a transaction that is already closed.
A reasonable rule: once the trade is complete, consider those specific model numbers off-limits in your browsing for at least 90 days. By then, the photographs you’ve taken with the new lens will have replaced the memory of the trade-in price.
The Bottom Line
You are trading clutter, stagnation, and the ongoing mental overhead of unused gear for simplicity and a tool you will actually use. In a northern location where time and ease carry a premium, that exchange has real value beyond the dollar figures. The store will make money on your trade. That was always going to be true. The question is whether the clarity and creative momentum you gain in return are worth the commission — and, honestly, in most cases they are.
Set your floor. Make the trade. Go take photographs.
Quote to Inspire: “The logical solution is to sell what you are not using. It’s sitting there depreciating in value, taking up space and gathering dust when it could probably be helping someone else get into photography and capture great images.” — Angela Nicholson, Amateur Photographer Magazine
Listening to: an audiobook about a photographer, ‘Still Life with Bread Crumbs,’ by Anna Quinlan.
Most of us have experienced the quiet tyranny of the ‘masterpiece’ mandate—that exhausting belief that every press of the shutter must produce a perfect hero shot. We work hard to master the first element: the technical control of our cameras, light, and exposure. Then we add the second—a genuine artistic vision, where composition, balance, and the principles of design are applied thoughtfully and deliberately. Yet, even when both are present, something can still be missing. The image might be successful or even beautiful, but it doesn’t quite draw you in. It doesn’t leave a question hanging in the air or push the viewer’s imagination towards a next thought. That elusive quality—call it story, resonance, or simply the third element—is what separates a well-made photograph from one that stays with you. And here’s what I’ve come to believe: it rarely arrives in a single frame. It exists in the series.
Curation in Long-form Visual Storytelling
When images are arranged into a series, something fundamental changes. The individual frame is no longer expected to bear all the weight on its own. In long-form visual storytelling, a modest or quietly beautiful image — one that might seem unremarkable alone — finds its place within the larger rhythm. Its goal isn’t to surprise; it’s to breathe, to pace, to link what came before with what’s to come.
Photo essays showcase this beautifully. Not every shot needs to be a ‘breathtaking’ moment. When a series of photos are carefully arranged, something emerges — a perspective, a feeling, a narrative thread that none of the individual images could create alone. The collection as a whole gains that third element quality. A few quiet moments, gathered with purpose, become something that lingers.
Curation Part I – Culling (Selecting & Excluding)
High-volume shooting is straightforward; high-quality curation is genuinely difficult. You might return from a shoot with thousands of images, narrow them down to one hundred, and still face a challenge. To a viewer, one hundred images aren’t a story — they’re overwhelming. The message gets lost in the volume.
The true craft lies in what some might call the art of the cull. It’s about discovering the unifying element in your work and — this is the challenging part — removing even strong images when they don’t support the larger story. This is the moment your photographic voice begins to emerge. Not only through the colours you select or the contrast you establish during editing, but also in the silence of the frames you omit. What you choose not to show is just as expressive as what you do.
Practical tools like cataloguing and keywording in Lightroom help manage the chaos, but they’re part of a deeper process — the intentional, almost curatorial act of shaping a shoot into a clear path that the viewer can follow and connect with.
Curation Part II – Sequencing & Image Relationships
If culling is about exclusion — determining what is essential — then sequencing concerns relationships. It is the photographer’s deliberate choice of order, and that choice alters everything. The same ten images arranged differently can tell entirely new stories, evoke different emotional journeys, or even lead viewers to different conclusions. Sequencing is where the photographer’s influence is most noticeable.
A key part of good sequencing is understanding that not every strong image advances the story — and not every weak one should be removed. This is perhaps the most counterintuitive lesson in visual storytelling: narrative tension depends on the difficult moment, the frame where things aren’t falling into place, and where the outcome remains genuinely uncertain.
Consider a series of photographs capturing a building fire. Eight striking images of firefighters bringing a blaze under control might be visually compelling — but they don’t tell a story. The photo that truly stands out, the one that makes those final frames feel like a genuine reward, is the one most photographers might overlook: exhausted firefighters, soaked and resting, with the blaze still raging behind them. That moment of apparent failure is what gives the resolution its significance. Without it, the victory lacks its depth.
This principle goes well beyond dramatic events. A wedding, a colleague’s farewell, a school year, a family reunion — any story about people and time benefits from the same honesty. An engaging visual story doesn’t just highlight successes; it also shows what was overcome to reach them. That’s what makes a viewer feel something rather than just see something. Whether the story is dramatic or everyday, the principle still applies.
What Stories to Tell – Uncharted Visual Territory vs. What You Have Around You
There is a tendency in our craft to pursue uncharted visual territory — to believe that impact exists somewhere out there, waiting to be uncovered if only we travel far enough or find the right subject. However, scope doesn’t define meaning. A small patch of ground, approached with genuine curiosity and dedication, can hold as much narrative richness as a cross-continental journey. This could be called the 360 approach — examining a subject from every possible angle, through changing light, challenging weather, and the slow passage of seasons.
Whether you’re documenting a rodeo or watching the light shift across your backyard over a year, the core feeling comes from the same place: the act of return. Again and again, with fresh eyes and an open mind. It is that commitment — not the subject itself — that gives a work its depth.
Cameras as Meaning Makers
This year, I have approached visual storytelling as a practice to genuinely explore — not just to continue. In doing so, I’ve made a quiet discovery: I already do this. I gather a series of images rather than single frames. I revisit subjects over months and seasons. I regularly create slideshows and photobooks, selecting and sequencing images into narratives I want to share with others. What I hadn’t always done was hold onto the difficult frames — the ones where things weren’t working — but I now see how those images can be exactly what a story needs to breathe.
What strikes me most, looking back, is where the meaning has truly existed. It is not found in the pursuit of the masterpiece, but in the act of returning – to the subject, to the work, to the people the story involves. While the technically perfect shot can hold narrative or meaning, it is more often found in a series of photos. Meaning is held in the collaborative experience of watching or viewing a finished narrative together and recognizing something genuine within it. That shared moment of recognition — what might be called collaborative wonderment — may be the closest thing to the third element that I can point to.
Visual storytelling has become something I enjoy, and I imagine many of you are already involved in it too, maybe without even calling it that. I’d love to hear — what visual stories are you creating with your camera, and where are you finding the meaning within them?
Quotes to Inspire/Consider
“Photography for me is not looking, it’s feeling. If you can’t feel what you’re looking at, then you’re never going to get others to feel anything when they look at your pictures (Don McCullin).”
“Photography takes an instant out of time, altering life by holding it still (Dorothea Lange).”
“Photography is a small voice, at best, but sometimes one photograph, or a group of them, can lure our sense of awareness (W. Eugene Smith).”
“If a photographer cares about the people before the lens and is compassionate, much is given. It is the photographer, not the camera, that is the instrument (Eve Arnold).”
“A great photograph is one that fully expresses what one feels, in the deepest sense, about what is being photographed (Ansel Adams).”
Listening to – Hollow Coves’ ‘Pictures,’ Roo Panes’ ‘A Message to Myself,’ Harry Chapin’s ‘W-O-L-D’,’ Van Morrison’s ‘Behind the Ritual,’ Bob Dylan’s ‘Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie,’ and with the passing of Motorhead’s guitarist Phil Campbell, Motorhead’s version of Bowie’s ‘Heroes.’
Last year, I moved within my school jurisdiction to a role as a photographer. Previously, I had been a teacher, an educational assistant, a teacher, an administrator, a teacher again, a home education facilitator, an administrator again, a teacher again, and an inclusive education coordinator — in that order. By June, last year, I was completing my first year as a photographer, where I was responsible for taking students’ school photos using a portable studio, establishing a volume photography platform with the school authority, and teaching Communication Technology courses to senior high students. Much of the studio lighting work was unfamiliar territory for me to master.
I had developed the technical skills. I could manage lighting, composition, editing, and the logistical demands of volume photography. However, as the only staff member in the jurisdiction working with photography, I lacked a collegial base for creative or technical problem-solving. The camaraderie of fellow portrait photographers was absent, and with it, the chance to develop beyond mere technical competence.
When I signed up for a workshop with master photographers Dave Brosha and Wayne Simpson, I was seeking something specific: a path to authenticity. I aimed to learn how to create portraits that revealed the true person in front of my lens, not just a well-composed photograph. What I didn’t anticipate was that the workshop would challenge not only my technical approach but also my entire understanding of what portraiture—and creative work itself—could mean.
Writing this six months later, I see how the workshop sowed seeds that only fully blossomed through subsequent practice. At the time, I understood these concepts intellectually, but their true depth revealed itself through months of doing and learning, learning and doing. Here are the three most meaningful insights that have genuinely transformed my understanding of what it means to be a portrait photographer. I am truly grateful to the inspiring instructors, Wayne and Dave, as well as all the enthusiastic workshop participants who helped me grow.
Your Most Impactful Work Is Personal
A key discovery from the workshop was that 80% of the content on Dave and Wayne’s professional websites is personal work. This isn’t client work; it’s the work they do for themselves, driven by their curiosity and passion, without the stress of money or payment.
Why does personal work resonate so strongly? Because authenticity is unmistakable. When we create from genuine curiosity rather than client requirements, we connect to something universal through the specific. Wayne Simpson’s Miziwezi project exemplifies this principle beautifully.
Miziwezi is an Ojibwe word meaning ‘he is whole,’ a concept that became central to Wayne’s journey. The project started as a personal quest to reconnect with his family and Ojibwe culture, from which he had been separated. Through his aunt, he learnt about his mother, and through community members, including another aunt and the Chief of the Ojiinun First Nation, he began to piece together his heritage.
This journey introduced him to the stories of survivors of the ’60s Scoop, a dark chapter in Canadian history when Indigenous children were forcibly removed from their families, fostering a culture marked by brokenness. By listening to and photographing these accounts of trauma, Wayne created a body of work with a powerful, unmistakable voice—one earned through the complex yet healing process of confronting a deep cultural wound.
Art is a Wound Turned into Light
A key insight from the workshop was conveyed in a quotation by the French painter Georges Braque:
“L’art est une blessure qui devient lumière”—”Art is a wound turned into light.”
This was not presented as mere philosophy but as a practical truth: our most profound creative work often arises from confronting pain and transforming it into something illuminating and universal.
Wayne Simpson’s Miziwezi project exemplifies this, transforming the deep wound of the ’60s Scoop into a testament to resilience and wholeness. This sentiment was echoed in the workshop’s philosophy, which holds that a portrait is an artful reflection of both wounds and wonder, as well as the full spectrum of human emotion. It isn’t about concealing our struggles but about recognizing the beauty, strength, and humanity within them.
Talking to Strangers
Since childhood, we’ve been advised to be cautious around strangers. Although this advice stems from love and a desire to keep us safe, the workshop presented a compelling counterpoint for creatives: engaging with unfamiliar people, learning about them, and making connections can often lead to some of the most rewarding experiences. During the workshop, we worked with local individuals as portrait subjects and created environmental portraits of them.
I realised that developing comfort with strangers isn’t just a pleasant skill—it’s the foundation of portraiture. Each encounter with an unfamiliar subject becomes an opportunity: to move beyond discomfort, to establish genuine connection, to uncover new stories and facets of myself.
Conclusion: Which story will you share?
These lessons go beyond photography. Whether we’re behind a camera, at a keyboard, or pursuing any creative calling, meaningful work comes from the same foundation: the courage to pursue what truly moves us, the vulnerability to turn our wounds into light, and the openness to forge genuine connections—even with strangers.
The technical skills matter, yes. But they’re simply tools for telling the stories that matter. So ask yourself: What story are you avoiding because you’re fixated on the perfect shot? Which wound will you transform into light?
It all started with a simple question from my neighbour about an upcoming ‘Show and Shine.’ As we discussed his classic ‘Cuda and its stubborn engine, my thoughts drifted to the real challenges of photographing such stunning machines. ‘How do you capture the soul of a car and the stories it holds?’This year, with the event moved to a beautiful autumn setting, I decided to go beyond the usual snapshot. I reached out to an AI assistant with a specific prompt, blending modern technology with inspiration from masters like Tim Wallace to find a new perspective on automotive photography. Join me as I share the results of this experiment and reveal some of the tips and tricks I found for capturing the heart and soul of a car show.
A Dynamic, Live, Often Chaotic Arena
An outdoor ‘show and shine’ event represents a profound challenge to the traditional, controlled commercial photoshoot. Unlike the sterile precision of a studio, this environment is a dynamic, live, and often chaotic arena. A fundamental understanding of this chaos is not a suggestion but a necessity, as it is the first step toward transforming a series of liabilities into a wellspring of creative opportunities.
The most immediate problem is the sheer proximity of subjects and the relentless presence of crowds. Vehicles are typically parked tightly together, which leaves very little of what is called “breathing room” in the frame. The constant flow of attendees—owners, enthusiasts, and other photographers—makes capturing a clean, uncluttered shot feel like a rare commodity. This necessitates a strategic, rather than a reactive, approach to composition. The challenge of unfiltered light also defines the environment. Midday sun is a known adversary in outdoor photography, creating harsh, unflattering shadows and distracting specular highlights, or ‘hot spots,’ on a vehicle’s highly reflective surfaces. When the sun is high, a car’s body becomes a mosaic of extreme contrast, and its sculpted form is lost to the tyranny of glare. Finally, the distracting backdrop is an ever-present issue. A prepared photographer typically scouts an ideal location in advance. Still, a show floor is filled with visual clutter—other cars, people, trash, vendor signs, and overhead power lines—all of which act as a constant source of distraction, pulling the viewer’s eye away from the intended subject.
Lenswork … Amid People & Cars
Success at a ‘show and shine’ event is less about reacting to problems as they arise and more about preparing with a deliberate, intentional strategy. This is not a spontaneous endeavour but a tactical operation where every step is pre-visualised and executed with purpose. The most critical, yet deceptively simple, strategy is to arrive as early as possible and remain as late as possible. The hours before and after the main crowds and the most intense midday sun are the prime opportunities for capturing a clean frame. This window allows for shots without the typical distractions, providing a canvas closer to the desired final image.
Within the event itself, patience becomes the most valuable tool in the photographer’s kit. Rather than rushing from one vehicle to the next, the most effective approach is to find a desired angle, set the camera on the tripod, and wait for a momentary lull in the foot traffic. The shot will eventually present itself. This requires a level of perseverance and commitment that distinguishes a professional from a hobbyist. Furthermore, engaging with the exhibitors and vehicle owners with a peer-to-peer approach is not just a courtesy; it is a professional tactic. Exhibitors are deeply proud of their vehicles, having often invested significant time and money. By approaching them with respect and genuine interest, a photographer can earn the courtesy of asking them to close a door or hood for a cleaner composition, or to step away temporarily.
This strategic mindset transforms the event from a series of annoyances into a high-stakes, live-action training ground. The environment’s inherent problems—the crowds, the bad light, the clutter—serve as a strategic challenge. By consciously applying advanced techniques, a photographer can reaffirm their “unconsciously competent” status by producing spectacular results under less-than-ideal conditions. The challenge itself is the creative point. This approach also extends beyond the immediate moment. Networking at a show and shine is an intentional practice of planting seeds that may take months or years to bear fruit. A respectful conversation with an owner about their vehicle, a genuine compliment on their hard work, and a professional demeanour can lead to a future private shoot. That private shoot, conducted under complete creative control, is where a truly conceptual, high-value image can be created. Thus, the show and shine is not merely a shooting opportunity, but a vital business development asset — a deliberate part of the “farming” process of client acquisition.
Composition – Artistic & Strategic Vision
For photographers working at their highest level, recommendations must not only provide a path to success but also delineate the common missteps that separate the professional from the amateur. These are not merely technical errors; they are failures of artistic and strategic vision. The primary failure of a mundane photograph is its lack of soul. The most common errors stem from a fundamental inability to view the vehicle as a character with a personality and to compose in a way that creates an emotional connection.
A major pitfall is shooting at eye level. This is arguably the biggest blunder in automotive photography. People view cars from this perspective every day, so a shot from this angle is instantly forgettable and lacks the impact needed to convey the vehicle’s power or the artistry of its design. The car’s surface is a giant mirror, and unprepared photographers often fail to control the reflections, inadvertently capturing their own image, a distracting light post, or the reflection of a nearby vehicle. Such clutter ruins the clean lines and design, cheapening the final image. Similarly, failing to frame the car correctly—clipping a bumper, a wheel, or an antenna—is a rookie mistake. The vehicle must fit entirely within the frame with enough ‘breathing room’ to convey its full presence.
Another common issue is what can be termed ‘show and tell’ photography. While leaving doors, hoods, and trunks open might be a point of pride for an exhibitor to showcase their hard work, it fundamentally breaks the fluid lines of the car and disrupts its natural stance. A professional understands that a car is most beautiful and its sculptural form is most evident when it is ‘closed up.’ The cool stuff under the hood or inside the cab should be captured in separate, dedicated detail shots.
Thinking It Through – Light, Shadow, Glare, Reflection
Light is not simply a tool for making a subject visible; it is the primary instrument for creating emotion, contrast, and form. A failure to understand its purpose leads to bland, lifeless imagery. The intense, direct light of high noon creates a flat, harsh look with deep, unflattering shadows that eliminate the car’s sculpted form. Similarly, simply pointing a flash at a subject, particularly a reflective one, can create a flat, artificial result that lacks mood and dimension. While a fill flash can be helpful in brightening shadows, it must be used with expert care, often off-camera, to avoid a novice-level outcome. Furthermore, a reliance on HDR (High Dynamic Range) blending, while capable of recovering lost detail, can often lead to an image that appears artificial, unnatural, and soulless. A professional strives to capture the authenticity of a scene, and with a high-end camera, the need for extensive bracketing is significantly reduced.
Many of these common mistakes—shooting at midday, using on-camera flash, and over-editing—stem from a misguided goal: to achieve flat, even lighting. However, the true purpose of lighting is to control contrast and to use shadows to define form and add drama. The genuine ‘mistake’ is therefore not technical but a conceptual misunderstanding of light’s fundamental purpose. An uncluttered shot is not just aesthetically pleasing; it is a strategic move that signals professionalism and enhances the image’s marketability. An editor or client who sees a clean shot, free of bad reflections or distracting crowds, knows that the photographer understands the high standards required for publication. A good shot is not enough; the image must be a ‘safe bet’ that signals to the industry that you can be trusted to deliver.
Slowing Down – Deliberate Work with Camera & Tripod
The tools a professional chooses are not random selections; they are a deliberate extension of their creative vision. For a high-level automotive photographer, a medium-format camera and a heavy-duty tripod, while potentially seen as a burden by others, are a force multiplier for a master of the craft.
Chevrolet Impala
Medium Format – Toward Unconscious Competence
While I did shoot with two other mirrorless cameras – the 16MP Micro Four-Thirds Olympus OM-D E-M5 and the 61MP Sony A7RIV – I also photographed many of these images with a medium-format camera, the Fujifilm GFX 50R. A medium format camera is more than a tool; it is a precision instrument engineered for professional-grade results. Its capabilities directly enhance the specific creative and technical approach required for this kind of work. With a larger sensor and larger pixels, a medium format camera captures an incredible amount of detail and resolution. This capability allows for massive prints and aggressive cropping in post-production. For a photographer who views every line and curve as a critical part of a vehicle’s sculpture, this is an invaluable asset.
The most critical advantage, however, is the camera’s wide dynamic range—up to 15 stops in some cases. This capability is a direct solution to the harsh contrast of a show-and-shine environment, as it allows for the capture of subtle details in deep shadows under the car and bright highlights on a polished fender in a single exposure. This negates the need for exposure bracketing or artificial HDR blending, aligning perfectly with the philosophy of creating the finished image in-camera with minimal post-production. The sensor’s ability to produce a smoother, more ‘analogue,’ and film-like output also creates a distinctive aesthetic that resonates with the emotional, nostalgic feel of classic cars and the conceptual feel of high-end commercial work.
Tripod – Anchoring Level, Height & Intention
The tripod, often perceived as a hindrance in a crowded environment, is the very tool that unlocks advanced and creative techniques. It is a symbol of patience, not passivity. Beyond its primary function of preventing camera shake, its actual value lies in its ability to enable long-exposure photography. This is essential for creating motion blur and, more importantly, for the signature technique of light painting. After dark or during the blue hour, the tripod allows for long exposures where a simple light source can be used to ‘paint’ the car’s body, creating a custom, dramatic look that appears as if it has not been lit at all. This is the ultimate solution to the harsh daytime lighting of a show and shine. The tripod also forces a more deliberate, pre-visualized approach, where the photographer meticulously scouts the angle and waits for the perfect moment, eliminating the tendency to fire off quick, uninspired shots.
Gear, Settings, Application & Thinking
The following table provides a summary of the essential gear and settings, bridging the philosophical and technical aspects of the approach.
Gear/Setting
Rationale
Creative Application
Photographer Philosophy
Source Snippets
Medium Format Camera
High resolution for detail and large prints. Superior dynamic range negates bracketing. Distinctive colour and depth.
Capture intricate details of chrome and patina. Handle extreme contrast in a single shot. Create a film-like aesthetic.
The tool is an extension of vision, enabling the capture of the final image exactly as it was conceived in the mind.
Sturdy Tripod
Essential for long exposures and stability. Enables advanced techniques.
The embodiment of patience and commitment. The tripod requires a deliberate approach to composition.
Circular Polarizer (CPL) Filter
Reduces glare and reflections on paint and glass. Saturates colors.
Remove distracting reflections of crowds or other cars. Deepen the richness of the car’s paint.
My work is about control. The CPL is the first line of defense against an unruly environment.
Light Sources (Flashlights, LED Panel)
Used for light painting and selective lighting.
Create dramatic, custom lighting on the car’s body. Highlight specific design lines and curves at night.
Lighting is a means of controlling contrast and position, not just intensity. Subtlety is key.
Camera Settings
Aperture: f/8 or higher for full sharpness.
ISO: Lowest possible.
Shutter Speed: Varies based on time of day (e.g., 1/200s for static, slower for motion/low light).
Capture maximum detail from front to back. Minimize noise for a clean image. Freeze action or create motion blur.
The final shot is created in-camera through a precise balance of settings, with “very little post-production to do” later on.
Narratives & Personas
The goal is not to merely photograph cars but to capture their essence and personality. A show and shine’s diversity of vehicles means a one-size-fits-all approach is insufficient. Each vehicle type requires a unique visual narrative.
Custom Classics & Vintage Autos – Patina & Chrome
These vehicles serve as a testament to history. Their stories are embedded in their bodywork, and photography should capture this essence. The goal isn’t to make the car look brand new but to preserve its authenticity. This involves highlighting patina, rust spots, worn leather, and period-correct details that narrate a genuine story. The aesthetic prioritizes finding beauty in imperfection, transience, and simplicity – such flaws reflect the passage of time and add character, giving the vehicle its soul. Its natural, weathered look, with dents and scratches, demonstrates its use and is seen as a badge of honour by many enthusiasts. While chrome can create reflections that are difficult to control, it also offers a compelling tool for visual storytelling. A circular polarizer (CPL) filter helps reduce harsh reflections, while subtle lighting techniques can enhance the chrome’s sparkle and set the mood. The professional approach extends beyond full car shots to capturing intimate details that make each vehicle unique, such as original bonnet ornaments, badges, interior stitching, and its worn features (patina, rust, imperfections).
Muscle Cars – Style, Performance & Power
These vehicles are about speed and power. The photography must convey this dynamic nature even when the subject is stationary. Low angles are key to emphasizing the car’s aggressive stance and power. By getting down on one knee or even placing the camera on the ground, the vehicle can be made to look more menacing and powerful. Since the vehicles at a show are stationary, turning the front wheels toward the camera is a small but critical detail that adds a sense of motion, as if the car is “swerving to avoid you,” making the photograph feel dynamic and alive.
Utility Vehicles – Presence, Scale & the Unexpected
The most creative opportunities are often found in the most unexpected subjects. Trucks and large utility vehicles are about presence and sheer scale. Low angles can emphasize their massive size, while a wide-angle lens can give a sense of overwhelming power. Motorcycles are a different kind of machine; their complexity lies in the open view of their mechanical parts. A focus on the intricate details of the engine, the chrome wheels, and the brakes is essential. Unique vehicles, such as vintage campers, require a different approach. The goal is not just the vehicle but the story it tells. The photographer should frame the shot with a narrative in mind—a sense of adventure, nostalgia, or rustic charm.
Vehicle-Specific Shot List & Creative Prompts
The following table provides a quick-reference guide, breaking down the shot list by vehicle type and providing specific creative prompts to encourage a more intentional, high-level approach to the event.
Vehicle Type
Recommended Angles & Shots
Detail-Focused Shots
Creative Prompt / Narrative to Pursue
Source Snippets
Street Rods, Custom Classics & Vintage Automobiles
Front & rear ¾ view (all four wheels visible), full side profile, low-angle shot for stance.
“The Sculpted Machine.” How can you highlight the artistry of the open mechanics?
Unique Vehicles (Campers, Tractors, etc.)
Full profile shots to show scale, wide environmental shots to place it in context.
Interior elements, vintage logos, unique fittings, personal touches added by the owner.
“The Road Less Traveled.” How can you tell a story of adventure, nostalgia, or purpose?
Post-Production Begins At … Visualization –Reverse Engineering the Photo, Then Pressing the Shutter Button
For a professional, the final stage is about the polish. A truly successful shoot is one where the image is so meticulously crafted in-camera that extensive post-production is rendered largely unnecessary. The photograph is “reverse engineered” in the mind before the shutter is even pressed, and the subsequent editing is about refinement, not correction.
Final Polish – The Image Pops, Your Signature Look
The superior dynamic range and colour depth of a medium format camera, combined with a meticulous in-camera process, mean that extensive post-production is largely unnecessary. The heavy lifting is done on location with the careful use of light and position. The editing process is not about fixing mistakes but about subtle enhancements. This includes minor adjustments to highlights and shadows, fine-tuning contrast to make the image ‘pop,’ and cleaning up any remaining distracting reflections that could not be avoided on location. The final stage is about applying a signature look, working with contrast and texture to produce a final image that aligns with the brand’s vision. This is the final, non-contracted “extra bit of value to knock it out of the park” that turns a good photo into a great one.
The Outdoor Show & Shine, An Exercise in Creative Problem-Solving
The outdoor ‘show and shine’ is the antithesis of a controlled, commercial studio shoot, but it is precisely this unpredictability that makes it an invaluable proving ground for an photographer. The event is not a simple collection of vehicles to be documented; it is an exercise in creative problem-solving and strategic business development.
The most critical recommendations for a photographer seeking to excel in this environment are to embrace the chaos with clear, intentional strategies:
Prioritize Patience and Preparation: Arrive early and stay late to work in the prime hours free of crowds and harsh light. The most valuable tool is not the camera but the patience to wait for the perfect, clean shot.
Leverage the Toolset: The medium format camera and a tripod, while perceived as cumbersome, are the keys to unlocking high-level techniques. The camera’s superior dynamic range eliminates the need for extensive post-production, while the tripod enables long-exposure light painting, a powerful technique for creating a dramatic look in low-light conditions.
Master the Narrative: Move beyond the basic snapshot by viewing each vehicle as a distinct persona. Adapt the compositional and lighting approach for each vehicle type, from a classic car’s patina to a modern muscle car’s aggressive stance.
Think Beyond the Shot: The event is a prime opportunity for business development. A genuine, peer-to-peer approach with vehicle owners can lead to private shoots later on, where the controlled environment allows for the creation of truly valuable, high-end conceptual work.
Ultimately, the show and shine is a microcosm of the entire photography journey. The challenge lies in applying a high-end, studio-honed philosophy—the control of light, the manipulation of form, and the art of problem-solving—to an uncontrolled environment. Success is defined not by avoiding the chaos, but by mastering it.
Post Script – Mastering Best Practices
There is a learning pedagogy that often helps photographers stay confident on their journey towards mastering best practices. In the 1970s, Noel Burch introduced the Conscious Competence Learning Model, which describes four stages of acquiring any new skill, each identified by an overarching psychological state: (1) Unconscious Incompetence – ‘You don’t know what you don’t know.’ The photographer is unaware of their skill gap; (2) Conscious Incompetence – ‘You know what you don’t know.’ The photographer recognizes the gap and values learning the new skill; (3) Conscious Competence – ‘You know that you can do it (but you have to think about it);’ the photographer can perform the skill reliably, but it requires focus; and (4) Unconscious Competence (Mastery) – ‘You can do it without thinking about it;’ the skill has become second nature, performed easily and automatically.
In all this, any of us as photographers aim, through time (the 10,000 hours of guided practice and instruction), to evolve to ‘unconscious competence’ with our seeing, our imagination and our cameras.
Quotes to Consider: (1) “A camera does not create a great photograph, the photographer does, 90% of the achievement lies in your imagination of what you want to create.” (2) “In some ways, I view each car as a person that has a personality, and the starting point is to understand what the design and overall purpose is, the challenge then is to use my photography to best get this message across.” (3) “It’s easy to create an ‘acceptable’ image for a quick win, but with real passion, you can make use of the light and design to create a truly inspirational piece of work through careful thought, exposure, and lighting.”
Tim Wallace
Listening to: John Mellencamp’s ‘Grandview,’ Linda McRae’s take on Bowie’s ‘Heroes,’ The Verve’s ‘Bittersweet Symphony,’ William Prince’s ‘Great Wide Open,’ Birdy’s ‘Quietly Yours,’ and Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Used Cars‘ and ‘Open All Night.’
Thanks for reading. Hoping you get out the door with your camera once or twice this week. Take care …
The reason for travel found, I drove southward through Boreal Forest made farmland. Allowing my eye to look and see and using my camera, these are first images of farmsteads and homesteads, now derelict, that hold memories for families whose predecessors built them. For travelers, though, along northern Alberta roads, they serve as mile markers, helping them gauge their progress toward a given destination.
There is a visual narrative to gather – those with a camera, curious with wonder, often stop and photograph. I am one of those. ‘Who lived and worked here?’ ‘How did weather shape Life through each season?’ ‘What were hard times like?’ ‘What were the good times?’ The story is there. With patient wandering, the ‘would-be’ photographer can unearth different parts of that story and make sense of them.
Listening to – #447 – Publish Your First Book, The Photowalk Podcast
Quotes to Inspire / Consider – ‘You give Life to what you give energy to.’ – Gary Williams / Neale James (via The Photowalk Podcast); ‘The energy of the mind is the essence of Life.’ – Aristotle
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