فوتوشاپ وب

دسته: ترکیب‌بندی

What’s in My Bag?
The right gear matters. I get a dozen emails a month that start with “I know you don’t like to talk about gear, but…” So let me stop you right there. I love talking about gear.

As long as we’re talking about gear in terms of how it allows us to make the photographs we want to make, and doesn’t involve too much pixel-peeping, I can talk about it all day long, or until I get distracted by something interesting to photograph. So once in a very blue moon (it’s been a long time!) I open my camera bag and have a longer discussion about this stuff. This list is current as of March 2025, and it will probably serve to satisfy your curiosity more than it will help you decide what’s best for you.

In 2021 I realized that the focus of most of my work had shifted to wildlife, and the gear (Fujifilm) that I had been using for many years wasn’t up for the challenges of wildlife photography, so I switched to Sony. Keep that in mind as you look at what I use. This is what I currently own and use as a photographer who focuses on wildlife. Clicking any of the images or links below will take you to Amazon for more details. All links are affiliate links which means if you buy something then Jeff Bezos has to personally send me a couple bucks and I’ll put that towards future shenanigans.

I beg you to pay attention to the sections below titled The Honest Talk because it’s not which gear I chose that will be most helpful to you but why I chose it.

Cameras

I shoot on two Sony Alpha 1 bodies for most of my work. They are fast, perform well in low-light, and are built like tanks.

For my remote work I chose a used Sony Alpha 7Riv, because I got a good deal on it (used) and that’s important when you worry it might get knocked into the river by a bear or stepped on by a rhino. It’s slower than my Alpha 1 bodies but great image quality.

And I also have an Alpha 6600 which I also bought as remote camera. It’s not amazing in low-light but it’s a great compact body and the price was right.

Sony Alpha 1

Sony Alpha 7rIV

Sony Alpha 6600

The Honest Talk about Cameras
Let’s not lose sight of what matters here. Cameras are all amazing now. The pixel-peepers will always tell you one is better than another and make it seem like the difference is HUGE. It’s usually not. When I buy a camera I want to know how fast it is (that means focus as well as frame-rate), how durable it is, and yes—how big the sensor is. Too small isn’t appealing to me (less than 24mp) but too large just slows things down. I just don’t need more than 50 or 60 megapixels. For me 24mp was always the sweet spot. The Alpha1 is 51mp which allows me to crop and still have more than enough resolution for what I need. The A7RiV is 61mp, which gives me even more room to crop in if I need to, but it’s slower than the A1.

I want decent low-light performance, so that means a full-size sensor. When I focused on street and travel photography this was less important. I don’t do video so I don’t even consider that.

The most important thing for me, after I’ve ticked the big stuff off my list is this: does it feel right in my hand? Can I get to all the buttons? Does it make sense to me? If you’re buying a camera, get it into your hands. Look through the viewfinder, take it for a spin. How does it feel? For some the Sony bodies are too small for large hands, and that will affect how you handle it. Most of all: know what you need and what you don’t.

A good place to start, because this is probably not your first camera, is this: why are you looking for a new one? What doesn’t your old system do for you? Start there.

Just because I chose the 3 cameras above doesn’t mean they’re the best for you. And it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t choose something different in the future, though the Alpha 1 is about as perfect as a camera gets for my needs and I’d happily shoot with it forever. That’s how much I love it.

Lenses

I have more lenses than I need at any one time. But I’ve found that it’s not so much “which lenses do I own,” it’s why.

I bought the 14mm lens for underwater work. I use it rarely now, but it’s a beautiful lens and if I did astro-photography I’d probably use it more, but I don’t. Gorgeous lens but I don’t remember the last time I used it.

My 16-35/2.8 is my all-time favourite focal length. But the 24-105 is in my bag more often because I have to make choices when I travel and it’s just more versatile. When you can only pack so many lenses, versatility matters and for wider stuff I’m happy to trade the speed of a 16-35/2.8 for a slower but more versatile 24-105/4.0.

I also have a 100-400 I love, but that’s just been replaced in daily use by the 70-200/2.8 and paired with a teleconverter when I need a little more reach. Why? I love (like, I really love) the wider constant aperture of a f/2.8 lens at this focal length, and that combination would be more versatile. Especially when my other lens is more often a 300/2.8 (with or without a 1.4 or 2x).

My big lens is a 600/4.0 which was eye-wateringly expensive (even used, which is how I got mine). It’s a really beautiful lens. But it’s also really heavy. Yes, I can add a 1.4x or 2x to it and extend the reach, but I don’t find myself needing 1200mm very often.

When I got my 600/4.0 there was no 300/2.8 from Sony, but now there is and I would much rather shoot with a 300mm with a 2x, which gives me the same reach (600mm) but at half the cost and probably less than half the weight, which is a big deal when travelling and hand-holding the lens. My 600mm is amazing, but now that I have the 300mm it doesn’t get quite as much use, especially if I’m travelling. This isn’t meant to be a review, but that 300/2.8 lens is astonishing. Incredibly light, fast, and sharp. My favourite long lens. Remember, it’s not only about the quality of the lens but the experience of using it, and what else you’ve got in your bag.

Sony FE 14mm f1.8 GM

Sony FE 16-35mm f2.8 GM II

Sony FE 24-105mm f4.0 G OSS

Sony FE 70-200mm f2.8 GM OSS II

Sony FE 100-400mm f4.5-5.6 GM

Sony FE 2x and 1.4x Teleconverters

Sony FE 300 f2.8 GM

Sony FE 600mm f4.0 GM

The lenses above are the lenses I own and use. All of them are exceptional, but that doesn’t necessarily they are the best choice for you.

The Honest Talk about Lenses

I know someone is going to disagree with me about this, but the Sony engineers (and Nikon, and Canon, etc) are way pickier than I am about lens sharpness. I’ve never had a “bad copy” and I’ve never tested the “edge-to-edge sharpness.” I am not remotely a pixel-peeper, and I don’t read reviews.

I chose my lenses based on focal length needs, versatility, and how fast and bright they are. My advice on lenses is the same as on camera bodies. Know your needs, your tastes, and your limits. You can’t carry it all, and you probably can’t afford it all.

If I were starting all over again, based on what I actually use, I would buy these three lenses:
- 24-105/4.0 (the 16-35/2.8 or 24-70/2.8 would also be good choices in this range)
- 70-200/2.8
- 300/2.8
- 1.4x and 2x teleconverters.
That gives me focal lengths between 24mm and 600mm, and my best shot at working in low light and cleaning up messy backgrounds. Combined with 2 or 3 bodies that combination fits in one bag, and makes it easy to go from one focal length to another with minimal lens changes and fewer lost moments.

Why not just use a 200-600mm zoom? That’s a great question and one I can only answer with a vague shrug of the shoulders and tell you I just didn’t like that lens. It was super versatile, sharp, and the price was excellent. But it was slow and, here’s the intangible part I can’t really describe: I didn’t love the images. Was it the contrast? I don’t know, but I didn’t love working with it, or the resulting images. I know some people that love it.

Ultimately, buying a lens is a matter of balancing your needs—price vs. versatility, quality, and speed—with your preferences. Do you like the look of the image? Do you like working with the lens? These are not insignificant and your choices will differ from mine. On the plus side, your lenses will last longer than your cameras and are a better investment. If I had to choose, I’d spend the money on better lenses.

What About Weather-Sealing?

If my lens is weather-sealed, I’m happy. But I’ve never bought a lens (or camera) because of it and I’ve never not purchased a lens because it didn’t. In fact, I couldn’t tell you which of my gear is or isn’t weather-sealed. Get a rain cover and keep shooting. Carry a small backpacking towel and wipe things down. Some photographers spend more time worrying about their gear than using it for what they bought it for in the first place. I know it can happen but never once has my gear failed me because of weather. The gear available these days is so good it’s hard to go wrong.

Camera Bags

I use camera bags made by GuraGear. I’ve used them for 15 years and have 7 of their Kiboko 30L Bags (all still in use) and 2 of their Chobe bags (one of them now retired). That’s been my go-to travel kit for over 15 years, and they’ve circled the globe with me. All 7 continents.

GuraGear bags are (very) light, comfortable, and incredibly thoughtfully designed. To my eye they’re as sexy as an camera bag has the right to be. In 2025, after 15 years of abusing their bags I asked them if they’d let me be an ambassador because I love really great gear (they said yes). Click the images below to check them out, and if they look as good to you as they do to me, use my last name – DUCHEMIN – at checkout and it’ll give you 10% off. Anything by GuraGear gets my highest confidence, and the customer service is second to none.

There is no such thing as the perfect bag. Only you know your needs. But for me, for my wildlife and travel work, these hit the spot. Check them out by clicking the links below (you’ll save 10% when you do).

GuraGear Kiboko 30L+

GuraGear Chobe 16

GuraGear Et Cetera Pouches

Other Stuff

Lexar SD Cards

Wimberley MH-100 Mono Gimbal Head

CamRanger 2 Camera Trigger

I use Lexar SD cards. These days I’m using 256mb cards at 1667x. They’re big, fast for what I do (stills, not video) and after 15 years or so Lexar cards have never failed me, which is why I use them, not because of any particular brand loyalty. I just use what has always worked. I bring about 4 TB of cards for a one-month assignment, always backed up to 4TB SSD drives. I carry my cards in a GuraGear Tembo wallet.

I use various tripods and monopods, most of them by Gitzo and Really Right Stuff, but I don’t know which models they are. Some are small and some are large. All of them are carbon fibre and topped with various RRS ball heads because they’re built incredibly well, but I don’t know which models. I can tell you that the Wimberley mono-gimbal head shown above is the best $170 I’ve spent on camera gear. It makes shooting off a monopod an incredible experience and I’ve referred this one piece of gear to more photographers than any other. Hate working with a monopod? Me too! This will change that forever.

For my remote camera work I use the Cam Ranger 2. Light, reliable, and decent range when used with an iPad (iPad has a longer antenna and more range than iPhone). You can read more about my remote set-up here.

Anything Else?

Here’s what else you might normally find in my bag:
- When I’m working, my camera bag almost always has a raincoat stuffed inside
- Some gloves to both keep my hands warm but also protected
- A small first aid kit because I’m that guy
- A protein bar or something to munch
- More lens cloths than I need because I’m always losing them (they surface months later in random pockets)
- I usually carry a very small set of tools – multi-tool, some small screw drivers, hex keys for my tripod and my prosthetic leg
- A rocket blower if I remember
- One garbage bag/bin liner
- A very small headlamp
- Extra camera batteries
- A tick removal tool because ticks freak me out like almost nothing else
- Peak Design Leash camera straps. I prefer the so-called leash style because it’s simple and light and I almost never use camera straps. The only time I really use them is in situations I worry I might drop them, like in boats. Or if I’m going to be walking, but then I prefer something like the Cotton Carrier harness.
A Final Reminder

Good gear matters. But how we define “good” is important and it will differ for all of us. Where tools are concerned, it’s important to understand your needs. What is good for one photographer might not be good at all for you. Hell, what’s good for you for years might not be what’s good for you tomorrow if you change what you do. Don’t lose sight of what’s important. The right camera or lens is what you are looking for, not the “best” camera or lens. No one will ever agree on that, and you should be suspicious of those who use that kind of language. For you the right gear might be the lightest, not the fastest (which is never light!). It might be the simplest. Or the least expensive. No matter what you have, you’ll find creative ways to use it and make photographs that are uniquely your own.

Here’s something I’ve noticed. When I look in the bags of my friends, most of them so-called pro photographers, it’s all the same stuff: used and dirty and beaten up gear they’ve used to within an inch of its life. It’s not clever, their bags aren’t filled with gimmicks and nonsense. Some of it is held together with gaffer tape. It’s definitely scratched up. And no two camera bags look the same on the inside.

Whatever you do, don’t buy your gear just because it’s what others use. I once bought an incredibly expensive 85/1.2 lens. It cost $2000 and weighed a kilogram. It was slow as molasses to focus. And I bought it because all the studio portrait photographers said it was a “money lens” and it was “what the pros use.” Nonsense. For my travel work I needed something lighter, and faster to focus. I sold that lens and went back to the cheap 85/1.8 which served me far better. I didn’t look as cool, but my photographs were better. Can’t decide? Rent it for a while.

Buy it because it’s the right tool for you to do what you want to do in the way you want to do it. Then—this is the important part—stop chasing the gear, and start chasing the shot.

I’m going to leave comments open on this post in hopes that you’ll feel welcome to ask questions, maybe even generate some conversation.
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20/04/2025
My Keeper Rate is Getting Worse

I have over 400,000 photographs on my hard drives. Of those, only 2,000 images have been compelling enough over the years to consider them final photographs or “keepers.” I suspect I’d have even fewer if I went through them all now. That’s a so-called keeper rate of 0.5% or less.

After almost 40 years behind a camera, only half of one percent of the images I make become something I’m proud of, something that feels like it does what I wanted it to, something I’d sign my name to.

Most of the 99.5% that I have rejected are sharp; most are exposed “properly.”

Those 398,000 images weren’t excluded from my final choices because they failed technically but for other reasons. The balance didn’t feel right. I missed the moment. The colours didn’t harmonize.

In many cases, the story didn’t work or the mood wasn’t…well, it just wasn’t. And sometimes they just feel too…safe. Or repetitive, like a crappier version of something I’ve already done better but tried to replicate because that’s just easier than risking something new.

And yes, sometimes I’ve tried to do something new with my technique and it didn’t go to plan. But I learned something, and that’s valuable.

Those 398,000 rejected images weren’t failures. They’re my most faithful teachers; I needed them to get me to the 2,000. But they weren’t successes, either. And every now and then, I send a couple thousand of them to the bin so their 1’s and 0’s get recycled into fresh efforts, saving me some much-needed hard drive space.

As I have grown as a photographer, my keeper rate (can we stop calling it that?) has worsened. I return from my trips with more image files and fewer that make the cut. Can you identify with that?

Far from being a bad thing, it might be important that your keeper rate is diminishing. It should be something we strive for.

That it takes more effort to get to an image that really works for you might mean you’re taking more risks and trying new things. If that were the case, you’d probably have more “sketch images”—more photographs that are a swing and miss. They’re important, but that doesn’t mean you’ll be showing them at the next club meeting or adding them to your portfolio.

If you love every photograph you make, you’re probably not trying hard enough—not risking enough.

Fewer keepers might also mean you’re getting pickier, that you’re refining your sense of what works and what does not as you seek to make photographs that express something specific or reflect who you’re becoming as a photographer.

Fewer keepers probably means your tastes are evolving and that you’re getting better at your craft and are less willing to accept the images you would have once been thrilled with. You’re growing, and that should be celebrated.

Photographers who follow their curiosity and ask, “I wonder what would happen if…?” will answer that question by pressing the shutter, then react to the results and try again and again. They are photographers who make a lot of sketch images and follow the process further because they aren’t put off by the stinkers. And because they get so familiar with the so-called failures, they’re photographers who become more courageous and less tentative in their efforts. They know that 99 efforts are a small price to pay for the one image that isn’t just sharp but poignant.

Growing into excellence in this craft is a long game. It begs patience from us—and perseverance.

It takes time to wrap our imaginations around the way the camera sees light, space, and time differently than we do.

It takes time to remember where all the buttons and dials are and get our fingers there without thinking about it.

It takes time to learn who we are as photographers, what we like and don’t like, which subjects we want to focus our efforts on and what we can leave for others.

Yes, it takes time. But what’s the hurry? Isn’t so much of the joy of this found in the process, in the looking, in the playful attempts at something better (or just different) than what we’ve done before? Isn’t so much of the pleasure found in the making, not just in the having made? Isn’t that part of the delight?

Keeper rates are a terrible metric to measure progress. They make us rigid where we should be free and hedge our bets and play it safe. I suspect they also make some very good photographers feel like they’re moving in the wrong direction when, in fact, they’re getting closer to discovering their voice.

Art-making is not measured with rates and ratios. You don’t measure wonder and delight and the thrill of discovery or expression. You feel it.

The goal of art-making is not efficiency. It’s not subject to cost-benefit analyses. It can’t be reduced to “this is what I kept and this is what I discarded” as if the one had nothing to do with the other. The one leads to the others. It’s necessary. It’s not waste; it’s process. It’s the price extracted for wanting to make something more than just good but truly your own. It’s the grease on the wheels of your creativity.

So screw your keeper rate. Make peace with your so-called failures. Celebrate them. Learn from them. And whatever you do, don’t let them make you feel like you’re on the wrong track. My “keeper rate” is getting worse every year. But I’ve never been happier with my photographs.

For the Love of the Photograph,
David

The biggest challenges for most photographers are not technical but creative. They are not so much what goes on in the camera but what goes on in the mind of the person wielding it. Light, Space & Time is a book about thinking and feeling your way through making photographs that are not only good, but truly your own. It would make an amazing gift for the photographer in your life, especially if that’s you. Find out more on Amazon.

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20/04/2025
Over the Shoulders of Giants?

Years ago, I took my battered Land Rover Defender (that’s Jessie in the picture above) to the Racetrack Playa in Death Valley. I’m sure you’ve seen photographs of the playa: rocks sitting on parched earth and cracked mud, long trails behind them as if they’ve moved on their own. This fascinating phenomenon of what are called “sailing stones” is explained by thin sheets of melting ice and powerful winter winds, though that makes it no less mysterious to me. I was there for two nights, taking advantage of that time to feel out the scene, get a sense of the possibilities of the place, and make a photograph or two.

That first evening we were alone, just me and my friend Corwin. Or so we thought. With my tripod set up for an hour or so, I’d found the composition that most intrigued me, and while waiting for twilight, I felt something press against my shoulder. Thinking it was Corwin (and knowing how oblivious I can get to my surroundings when photographing), I turned to say hi. But it wasn’t Corwin; it was a random tourist who’d made the long trek out to the playa and, having no better ideas of his own, rested his camera (I’m not making this up) on my shoulder and pressed the shutter.

Click.

The tourist checked the back of his camera and proudly proclaimed, “This might be the best shot I’ve taken!” Satisfied, he vanished into the dark, and I returned to my work, feeling surreal about the whole thing.

I have admittedly looked over the shoulders of other photographers, though never quite so literally. I have observed them through their social media, online portfolios, and books. I’ve compared myself and my work to theirs. I’ve envied their successes, and on my better days, I’ve celebrated them, learned from them, and become better at what I do because of them.

Others have looked over my shoulder, too, and I feel their breath when I’m shooting. I hear their silent questions when I take a chance with an unconventional choice or creative risk. I wonder if those imaginary people will like what I’m making or understand my choices. Some days, this is all brushed aside so quickly, pushed to the back of my mind as I get into that state of grace when it’s all flowing well. On other days, it’s harder, and I can’t decide which is worse: when the imagined voices chatter loudly or when I can’t hear them at all and wonder, “What if no one cares?”

What if no one cares about the work you are making? What if you never find acclaim or leave a legacy? What if no one ever looks over your shoulder or cares enough to chance it?

When I think about those questions long enough, I find myself surprised by the answers that bubble up: what a relief it would be to work in that silent space without the (perceived) chattering expectations of others. What freedom I would find if I could make my many hundreds of sketch images with no one’s preferences to consider but my own. Would I find myself holding my breath as often? And how much more joy would I find in the process? How much more present and less rigid would I be in the making of this work? And how much better (or at least how much more truly my own) would the work itself be?

One day, I want my work to have a wider audience. I would like it if others found something meaningful in what I made. And once I’m through the complex process of making something so simple as a photograph, how wonderful it would be if others felt the same wonder I did in the presence of wildness. How many others—the size of that audience—is unimportant. Perhaps it’s only you. That would be enough for me. An audience for my work would be nice, but not for my working.

I can only really pay attention to one thing at a time. I can only have interesting perceptions about one thing at a time, and those are hard enough to come by. I can only make photographs about one thing at a time. I don’t have the capacity to simultaneously consider you and what you might think about my work. Hell, I don’t even know what I think of the work yet. How focused can any of us be when we make work in consideration of others before giving our own thoughts and preferences some serious thought and completing all the experimenting it takes to make a single image or a body of work?

Your audience, however small, will one day thrill to see what you make. But you must not make it for them. Not first for them.

You must make your work for yourself, neither looking over the shoulders of others nor paying attention to those looking over yours. When you work, your focus must be on that work. The thoughts. The what-ifs and the speculations about what all your choices might produce. Those are yours alone. And only once you’re unapologetically—and yes, even selfishly—absorbed in those reflections and explorations will you make the work that then deserves its audience.

Audience is a by-product of work that thrills you first, or conjures something from deep within you, or answers to the reasons you picked up the camera in the first place. That’s where your gaze needs to be. When the muse arrives, she needs to find you getting your hands dirty, using the camera to make photographs from the interesting perceptions you’ve had because you’ve been looking at the object of those perceptions, not the people you believe are waiting for what you create.

As you engage in this process, you do not have the bandwidth for me or anyone else to look over your shoulder. Your process is yours alone, and—forgive the pun—you’re not alone if you find photography a more rewarding and productive pursuit when it’s solitary, when it’s quiet and free of distractions such as other people’s opinions.

The creative process, even a single creative thought, is fragile; it needs to be held somewhat gently as it comes into being. It needs to be coaxed out. I’ve only ever found the best of those thoughts shy in the presence of others; they tend to retreat when conflicting tastes and preferences demand our photographs be one thing or another before we’re even sure of what we hope for them.

That the guy looking over my shoulder at Death Valley even happened at all amuses me. If that’s how he needs to make a photograph, then let him have it. But I wasn’t about to ask him his opinion and alter my work because of it, and that’s the danger of having an audience of any size, even an audience of one, that is not yourself first. It’s hard enough to find your way to your vision or voice without others clamouring for it to be this or that, even when that clamouring is only imagined. Maybe especially when those voices are imagined because, unlike Death Valley guy, they rarely give up and take their leave so quickly; they have a persistence that’s hard to ignore. But they must be ignored because caring more about the voices of others than about finding and giving expression to your voice is moving in the wrong direction, away from what makes you and your work truly your own. It dilutes your personality in the final product and steals the joy of discovering that rare, hidden element in the very best of that work: yourself.

For the Love of the Photograph,
David

PS – The essay above is chapter 18 from my latest book, Light, Space & Time. It’s a book about the reality that our greatest challenges as photographers are not primarily technical but creative and human, and it explores the barriers we encounter when endeavouring to make photographs that are not only good but truly our own. It’s a book that will change not only how you make your photographs, but how much you love and enjoy the process. Check it out on Amazon through the link below, or at your favourite bookseller.

The biggest challenges for most photographers are not technical but creative. They are not so much what goes on in the camera but what goes on in the mind of the person wielding it. Light, Space & Time is a book about thinking and feeling your way through making photographs that are not only good, but truly your own. It would make an amazing gift for the photographer in your life, especially if that’s you. Find out more on Amazon.

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19/04/2025
Make It Different, Make it Yours.

One of the great photographic challenges is making a photograph that is different: different from what others are making and different from the images you’ve made so many times before.

Taking the same photograph over and over doesn’t appeal to me. I want to go further, learn more, and get closer and closer to images that feel uniquely my own. I’m betting you do, too.

So how do we do that? It takes a conscious effort. It takes a recognition that the “same old, same old” isn’t scratching the itch it once did. And it also takes some risk. After all, we do the same old, same old because it works. It’s safe. It’s obvious to us. Approaching things a bit more obliquely isn’t obvious—at least not at first. But being in the moment and then thinking, “I need to do things differently!” isn’t much help, either. Which things? Different how? Asking more specific questions and looking for interesting answers has always been my starting point of departure from my norm.

Here are five questions I ask myself to get unstuck and discover new directions.

How Can I Change My Point of View (POV)?

Often, the easiest way to change things is to get the camera into a new place—to go against your first instinct just to raise it to your eye.

I spent my last safari in Kenya bent over the side of the vehicle or shooting low through an open door after removing one of the seats. Two years ago, I finally caved in and bought chest waders so I could get my camera closer to water level. I’ve started playing with putting my camera in places where I can only control it with a remote app on my iPad. I’ve seen some photographers do the same, but with the camera mounted high on a boom pole. Why not get a drone if it can be used without disturbing others? All these efforts began by asking, “How could I change my point of view?”

Moving the position of the camera changes so much in the image, and it’s often just that one change that makes the biggest difference.

How Can I Change My Technique?

We’re such creatures of habit, aren’t we? We can spend all day shooting one way and only later think, “Oh man, I was going to play with some slower shutters and a sense of movement!” It’s hard to pull out of the rut, I know. But a different technique is a great way to mix things up. Could you play with strobes? Could you learn to shoot underwater? Have you ever used a tilt-shift lens? When was the last time you really dove into macro? I like this approach because it can be playful; I enjoy trying new things and playing with new gear.

Part of this change in technique could just be a different lens. If you’re the photographer who is always out there with your 600mm, try using your 70-200mm and forcing yourself into different compositions.

Learning new techniques is risky because it means trying something new, and the “failure rate” is high. I prefer to think of it as a “learning rate,” but either way, you’re not immediately going to succeed at making images you love, so there’s a risk of losing those opportunities. But remember, you set out on this adventure because something about your existing approach left you unfulfilled. Better to swing and miss but learn and get better, no?

How Can I Change the Light?

Maybe what most needs to change are your habits. Could you go out earlier in the day when the light is moodier or stay later at night? Maybe you’ve written off one kind of light as “bad” and decided only one kind of light is “good.” Creative thinking is thinking differently about a problem, so maybe you need more problems, like “How can I shoot in more challenging light?” Maybe you need to learn to shoot in backlight or light that is more dramatic. Soft light is easy, but is it the only light that satisfies you?

Take a look at your best work. Is it all shot in the same kind of light? Maybe it’s time to mix things up a little.

How Can I Change the Story?

This is a big one, but think in terms of choosing different moments or different compositions from what your first instinct tells you to do. Maybe you’re the wildlife photographer who always shoots super-tight portraits of bears, and it’s time to include moments where the animals interact. I found just that one change made my photography more interesting and gave the images a stronger sense of story. Maybe it’s time to play with a greater sense of scale or wait for moments with a greater feeling of energy. Sure, you might miss the shot at first, but that’s the very impulse or worry we’ve got to fight against if we’re ever going to approach our craft differently.

The impulse to get the safe shot over taking the risky shot is the same impulse that keeps you in your rut. You’ve got enough safe shots. Safe shots don’t teach you, and they don’t satisfy.

How Can I Change the Way I Develop My Images?

Lastly, is there a way you can set your images apart by changing how you develop or post-process them? We all have our preferred workflows, but if you’re like me, you developed yours ages ago, and things change. We change, and so should the tools we use if they’re just better tools.

One of the things I like to do is watch one YouTube video a week about something in Lightroom. Pick a tool, go to YouTube, and search for a video about it. “How to use Tone Curve in Lightroom,” for example. Spend 15 or 30 minutes watching the two most popular videos on the subject and learn something new. See how others are solving some of the problems we all face or how they’re using colour. Maybe it’s time to up your game with black-and-white conversions.

One of the most significant changes I made over the last two years is a shift from doing most of my developing work as global adjustments to using masking tools for most of that work. Once very blunt instruments that were hard to use with any real accuracy, the masking tools in Lightroom have become incredibly powerful and make it much easier to now adjust different areas of the image differently and in a much more refined way.

My development in Lightroom is much stronger—and I think my images are becoming stronger—because I’m doing things differently. Not for the sake of being different, but because doing so allows me to get closer to my own voice, my own vision. If you haven’t dug into the new masking tools in Lightroom, I encourage you to do so.

We’ve all got ruts we fall into. Sometimes, they look suspiciously like a creative groove until one day, they aren’t. The easiest way to escape that rut is to take a risk, shake things up, and do things differently.

Learn a new thing and see where it fits. Try putting the camera somewhere else. Use a slower shutter speed or a different lens. Shake your habits up, and get curious.

Stop playing it safe. If, like me, you feel like you don’t need any more safe photographs, it’s time to stop being such a safe photographer.

Safe shots don’t move the heart, and they probably don’t give you the thrill you used to get when things were all a little newer, a little less familiar and certain. So mix things up a little, try a new thing or a new way of doing the old thing, but if you want different images, you’ve got to make them differently.

For the Love of the Photograph,
David

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18/04/2025