I've had many similar conversations about photography.
This is a living document of the common things I say and send people during these conversations. It is framed through my perspective and taste, and some ideas are still coalescing. I may flesh them out over time.
Nothing here is a rule. Just enjoy it.
Please consider that the world is more and more unbounded. You can do more and yet the choice is paralyzing - what do I do with all this power?
For me, going from the world of 1k+ photos per outing to having 1 roll of film feels like an absolute blessing.
Maybe this is not 'artistic' according to some, given that some people I've talked to see art as a complete freedom to express, but if you have unlimited possibilities and no boundaries, how can you say you are pushing them?
However you define limitations for yourself - please have some. Limitations produce creative pressure where you need to think in new ways to satisfy your current level of taste under new constraints.
Some examples of new limitations you can apply:
... etc.
What is fun for me to reflect on is that you can steer your creativity and style by just shaping your limitations. I for example don't spend tons of time messing about in Photoshop and doing things like double exposures, but that's a limitation that I could either remove or replace and suddenly I would produce new and novel things visually.
I found that not all limitations are equal.
Sometimes limiting yourself to 1/15th of a second is fine, but you can always fudge the rules a tiny bit if a shot demands it. And I think that's ok!
However, something interesting happens when you set up limitations that keep you honest. For example, one lens + one camera or film with 36 shots for a whole walk. Another great one is black and white film only.
These constraints don't allow you to cheat and you really need to learn things like pre-visualisation better, in the case of film, or how to move your body, in the case of one lens (that isn't a zoom).
Look out for fun opportunities to play with self-imposing these honest limitations.
Even if you aren't going to seek out new ways to limit yourself at least become aware of the ones you have right now and if you feel stuck creatively, swap some limitations out for new ones, tighten them or remove those blockers and see if it unlocks some creativity.
Gear will not save you.
You might think that a better camera or autofocus will give you that edge. And, to a certain point, it might improve your baseline output. But you will find it hard and expensive to get any returns the deeper you go.
It is probably much wiser to focus on using the camera you already have until it stops getting in your way - make it an extension of your body.
There have been photo walks where someone I was walking with was missing some good shots because they didn't know how to menu to the right setting.
Ultimately nail down the following things if you're starting out:
Remember, for the majority of the 20th century, the great street photographers worked with much less technical latitude than we have now. No matter how the gearhead community on YouTube will try to convince you, that new tweak to the Sony color science will not make you a great photographer.
Don't make it your excuse.
Editing is fine when it completes the photo you knowingly made. Even the greats did things like cropping and copious amounts of work in the darkroom. But if you find yourself trying to tweak knobs and crop just to salvage something - that is a red flag.
The story around 'Behind the Gare Saint-Lazare' by Bresson is that he was shooting through a gap in a plank fence, and the gap was not wide enough for his lens. The resulting frame had to be cropped, unusually for him. That feels different from trying to rescue a weak image afterward: the crop was dealing with a real constraint in a photograph he had already seen.
Cropping and darkroom (or Lightroom nowadays) work are not cheating. But there is a difference between refining a photo you saw and trying to rescue one you missed. If every adjustment is an attempt to invent the image after the fact, be honest with yourself: maybe you didn't get it, or maybe you are making a different photo now.
The camera is, from a technical perspective, a data capture device and it's completely valid to try and shoot for some eventual edit ideas. This is not really what I mean by a salvage operation. This type of shooting is, as of the time of writing, not my interest.
Keep yourself honest.
Intentionality as I see it is greatly exemplified, in part, by the following idea:
What you don't show is as important as what you do.
Often being intentional is choosing what the subject needs around it and what shouldn't be there or you risk weakening the final result.
If you show a girl with a leash but no dog around, you are telling a story. But if you include a Toyota Prius driving by, you are adding an element that is not in any way adding to the overall concept you might be trying to communicate.
You can include that bin next to the girl, or you could move your camera a bit to the left. You can tilt the camera up to show more of her surroundings or just keep it on her.
All of these decisions are up to you in the split second you usually have to get the right shot in the street, and having the ability to be intentional faster comes with a lot of practice, but is incredibly important.
That is intentionality: noticing what strengthens the frame, what weakens it, and making that decision before you release the shutter.
Along with shooting more in that mindset, photo review and being critical about your photos is crucial. When you review your photos with a critical eye, you start to see which compromises you accepted by accident and which ones were worth accepting. Part of that review is being honest about how much you saw before the exposure and how much you invented afterwards.
For example, maybe the bin stays because the gesture, composition or story is strong enough to justify it. That is still an intentional decision. Over time, that review loop reinforces your eye, helps you notice those trade-offs before exposure, and leaves you with fewer salvage missions later.
You have to work a scene. You can't just see a shot, take the first version of it and stop there if you have the opportunity to continue refining an idea.
Maybe the feet of a person are in the 'wrong' place or maybe the light in the corner is distracting - if you have time, fix it.
Maybe nothing you do improves it - that is fine. But you have to try.
If you're in a fast moving situation, learn to anticipate it, that's part of the fun, if you can't - do what you can, but try to get as much out of what's in front of you.
For example, I sometimes find a good frame that lacks a bit of zest and linger until I see someone who looks like they will continue walking just at the right distance to be in the right spot for my image. I try to pre-focus and wait for just the right feet placement to take the shot. Or if you're in a place where people are enjoying some food outdoors and there's a lot of seagulls, anticipating some potential interactions between the birds and people with food could also lead to some good images for you.
You have to absorb the scene, try to work it and anticipate its dynamics.
Often a consistent edit style, subject matter and anything else (even aspect ratio) can give a sense of voice to a body of work. I've had a metric ton of images that I never consider putting out because they are horizontally framed.
It just so happens that I came of age photographically in an Instagram world and when I was starting out I shot for its format requirements. It is no longer a constraint, but I like it enough that I prefer composing my shots vertically as a way to achieve a more narrow and focused composition.
But consistency shouldn't mean 'no change'. Sometimes trying a new output format might allow you to do more horizontal photos, or maybe someone doing a black and white zine that you want to contribute to forces your hand into black and white.
It's all about getting good at something and moving on while still keeping
something you about your work.
If you can't find anything to like in your images, how can you expect others to find something to love in them?
I heard this idea recently which I believe comes from this quote by Ira Glass:
Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know it's normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work.
I remember comparing myself with others and I felt like I was not able to produce anything worthwhile. However, what was important was to keep going. Only through practice can you develop your skills and slowly close the gap until you start to like your own output.
It is your duty to survive this gap.
If I go to an exhibit and I can see the work that the artist put into the art, I'm already on-side. It is not a prerequisite, as sometimes the idea is so great that the work needed is secondary. But if they produce something unique that required them to apply themselves and put their heart and soul into it, it definitely elevates the final result.
Maybe you define the work as walking around more or if you think editing is tedious or if, like me, the whole developing and scanning your film is getting old and kind of tedious. It is OK for it to feel like it pushes you to get off the sofa, to use your spare time on a lunch break to shoot a few shots in the neighborhood or to try and fish in a good spot even it's too cold to hold a camera for long.
Even on a psychological level it is work. You feel insecure. You start to talk yourself down about your work; after all - everyone has a camera in their pocket. You feel like you get stuck in a rut or that you haven't developed a 'style' or some 'voice'. You have to keep pushing and working on it.
Good things don't come for free, or at least you can't always expect them to. Photography is work. Take your camera, get out of the house and take some photos.
There's this concept from Japanese culture called Shuhari. It splits the process of learning a craft into three distinct steps.
Similar to consistency and constraints, emulating skillful artists is a great tool to learn the basics, the whys and why nots and to eventually detach from their techniques and start making your own decisions.
My advice here is to treat emulation as a form of constraint. Trying to emulate someone’s work, either partly or fully, can help you grow because it gives you a clear problem to solve. But eventually you want to loosen the imitation. Emulate someone else, remove some of the constraints, or introduce new ones of your own.
This is a living document, so I will probably come back and update it as my own thinking changes.
For now, the main thread is simple: give yourself something to push against, be honest about what you saw, and keep doing the work.