5 Truths Reconnecting You to Photography (and Your Camera)

Best Practices - Photography, Cameras as Meaning Makers, Journaling

Returning to Photography and my Camera Bag.

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 Reading This 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.’

Trading Unused Camera Gear: A Rational Case for Letting Go

Project 365 - Photo-a-day

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.

Getting Out The Door – Summer’s Launch

Best Practices - Photography, Journaling, Leica, Photography & Conceptualizing Beauty, Prime Lens, School, Summer, Vehicle Restoration

Wheels and Deals – High Level, Alberta – 1

Wheels and Deals – High Level, Alberta – 2

Wheels and Deals – High Level, Alberta – 3

Wheels and Deals – High Level, Alberta – 4

Summer is here.

In the first week of summer break, school’s work has lessened—the last report, comprehensive as it was, has been written and submitted. Students’ award photos have been edited and uploaded, and the division’s long-service award images have been edited and delivered by thumb drive to the appropriate person. Next year, I will use Dropbox to move big images over the Internet. That done, I am able to launch into summer’s rest, time to myself with my thoughts, and begin letting go of the year that has been our school year and bridling down my watch for the next necessary thing needing done. It is time to release all that and take-up my own Life, once again. Movies are being watched – older ones, older favorite’s, and ones linked to novels read. An old pattern is there – movie marathon nights help dissociate me from the year that has been, one part of unlocking the door to summer.

The other day, it was a good thing to wake up, gather my wife from her university work and into our truck, and get out for a drive. It set the tone for a summer’s day. That essential premise – get out the door – was lived out. I got out that door again yesterday, recalling with some strength that there should be a ‘Wheels and Deals’ event at the Mirage Hotel in High Level, Alberta, a ‘Show and Shine’ kind of gathering of favored vehicles with the added opportunity of a swap meet – ‘wouldn’t that be something for me to find a late sixties Pontiac, like the one I used to drive during high school?’ I took my Leica M8 with Zeiss ZM Biogon 28mm lens and went to have a look. I had my Fujifilm GFX 50r and Ricoh GR iii as cameras I might use as well.

I shot for the first hour with the M8, focusing with the rangefinder’s viewfinder and focus patch. I moved through the area as people set up. Cars, trucks and motorcycles arrived and were arranged in the hotel’s parking lot. I could move around, talk with vehicle owners, and photograph vehicles. I could shoot according to what I saw compositionally. I could take my time with the M8. Good.

The black-and-white image presented here highlights some elements of visual composition—the Pontiac and the Buick Super Eight cluster in terms of visual weight in the image, and the black-and-white gradient of tone reveals shape, reflection, and vehicle lines (and an era of automobile design). A sense of depth is there as the eye moves from the Buick, past the Pontiac, to the Mercury truck and the hotel’s entryway. While the image was shot and edited primarily in colour, using Silver Efex from the NiK Collection provided an extraordinary, eye-captivating, black-and-white image – an image captured yesterday, in the summer of 2024, that, in terms of variety and proximity among vehicles, black-and-white toning, visual weight, and proportion, could easily have been an image captured in black-and-white during the fifties when these vehicles were first manufactured. In that sense, the image becomes nostalgic. It relates to a time preceding me … just. Other colour images are presented for reference.

Listening to: Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Open All Night,’ ‘Highway Patrolman,’ from the ‘Nebraska’ Album, JD McPherson’s ‘Let the Good Times Roll,’ and most of Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Tunnel of Love’ album, starting with ‘Walk Like a Man.’

Quotes to Consider – Re: Photography …

‘Date your cameras, marry your lenses.’ This quote is new to me, yet highlights a key idea for photographers – that investing in glass (good lenses) is essential while the cameras used over time will change.

‘Innovation comes from people who take joy in their work (W. Edwards Deming).’ The quote was offered in a YouTube video offered by ‘Three Blind Men and An Elephant’ in their video, ‘Leica D-Lux 8 Defies Expectations, Including My Own, (2 July 2024)’ to recognize that Leica, as a company already producing stellar cameras, is one whose employees enjoy innovation and improvement that can be made to their cameras and lenses. On the Adizes’ Curve, Leica has embraced a key dynamic that allows them to remain in the ‘prime’ of organizational/corporate lifecycles.