Two wolves inside me
A few days ago I had a chat with a friend. I told her I’ve been having a bit of a strange - maybe even difficult - relationship with photography lately. She got worried and asked what’s going on.
I said, there are two wolves inside me.
One wants to take and share nice photos of nice places - visually appealing images which you can consider as pleasantly aestehetic. The other wants to make images that stick, touch, that move something, make people feel.
And in all of this, I’m standing in between, confused, pointing my camera on beach houses’ backdoors and garbage bins.
She paused for a moment and said:
“But you do make beautiful photos of not-so-beautiful places! They do move people.”
That made me think. Honestly, I’d always assumed that rusty vehicles, weathered wooden doors, and forgotten, random objects only spoke to me.
So often, when I stop to take a photo of something like that, people slow down, stare, and try to figure out what I’m doing.
Why, for god’s sake, am I photographing a hole in the wall? A crack on the pavement? A dried-up vine clinging to an old facade?
But I never really thought I could make them care about what I was photographing.
Why take pictures of dumb things
Later that same day, I drove out of my village and wandered around the town.
Parked the car, pulled out my camera, and started taking photos—of nearby bushes, high-voltage lines, a bike path, a bird perched on a trash bin. Just little things. Nothing especially photogenic.
A car coming from the opposite direction slowed down. A man around my age rolled down his window and asked:
”You taking a picture of me?”
I braced myself for the classic “Can you delete that?” request - which wouldn’t have worked anyway, since I was shooting film. Instead, I smiled and said:
“Nope, just photographing those power lines.”
He leaned out of the car, looked at the towers, raised an eyebrow, and laughed.
“I don’t get it,” he said. “Why take pictures of something so dumb?”
This time, I laughed too.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I just... like them.”
“You like them?” He looked surprised - and maybe a little concerned for my sanity. Here we go again.
“Well, the lines are one thing,” I said. “But the light. The light’s just perfect today.”
He stared at the scene I had just framed a few seconds earlier. And then, after a short pause, said something like:
“You know what, you’re right. I would’ve never seen it like that.”
We chatted a bit more. I told him the story of the camera I’ve had in my hands - nearly as old as me. He was surprised it still worked and that anyone still used film.
Trust your gut and Do your thing
Those two short conversations gave me a few things to think about.
Turns out, even the most overlooked objects can stir something in people. Part of photography’s role, I realised, is to shift attention to the things we tend to overlook. This is easy to forget in the age of Instagram bangers.
But when you pick up the camera - you should not think about that too much. Just trust your gut.
If you want to stay authentic and honest, don’t try to capture the world the way it is. Capture it the way you see it.
Focus on what moves you. What makes you stop. Whatever it is.
Really, no one’s ever proven that erupting volcanoes are more beautiful than a pattern of broken pavement tiles, or a golden beam of light falling on messy trash bins on your street.
It all deserves to be photographed.
Even if it feels ridiculous to you - do it.
Be curious. Look for things that make you wonder, that make you pause, that ask questions, rather than giving answers.
Chances are, in time, someone out there get back to you and admit it resonates with them on a deepest level.
I created a guide (well, a mini-course is a better word), which will help you make more compelling, clean pictures.
It includes a little bit of theory, example images and practical tips/exercises.
Do you want to start making minimalistic, clean images that stand out? That guide is for you. And yes, it’s FREE.