Explorez tous les épisodes du podcast The Perceptive Photographer

Well, this marks a special episode of the podcast. Today we release our 600th episode of The Perceptive Photographer. I wanted to take a moment to say that it has been a blast to do that many, and at the same time it’s hard to grasp the significance of that number. That is roughly 11½ years of commitment to showing up every week. There are very few things in my life that last that long, so it is pretty cool to have a relationship with this podcast that is as consistent and reliable as it is. In looking back at the past 599 episodes, I feel the more fascinating part isn’t the number of episodes but rather what I’ve learned from the journey of consistently engaging with photography and creativity over such an extended period.

So as I look back over these past 600 weeks thinking solely about the impact of the podcast, I came up with some things that I have learned over the years that I wanted to share. First, I’ve realized that you don’t have to be inspired to create something worthwhile (or at least what I think is worthwhile 😀). There have been more than a few weeks where creativity felt like it was gone, and doubts crept in, but I really wanted to have that podcast every week no matter what. The inspiration was in the showing up. So, I’ve learned that true consistency lies in the willingness to pay attention, dig in and celebrate everything that is in your life that might inspire you, no matter how small, and to show up regardless of inspiration. Second, I’ve come to understand that questions are far more meaningful than answers. Sustaining this podcast has been driven by curiosity for what it means to try and be present for my photography even when I don’t pick up a camera at all. I find that by having to show up every week for my creative practice, I find myself constantly asking myself what I see and what is interesting that might make my photos better or the podcast topic list. Lastly, I’ve discovered that paying attention transforms more than just the photographs; it enriches every aspect of my life.

As we approach the end of this episode, it’s cool to think that 600 isn’t a finish line. There’s always more to explore, and next week, I’ll be digging into episode 601, and no, I have no idea what the topic is yet. Ha ha ha.

Finally, I want to say thanks for joining me on this podcast journey. I hope that for you it continues to inspire you to look, wonder, pay attention and make more meaningful photographs.

As I sit in the studio getting ready to record this podcast, I am finding the irony of the topic to really have a stinging bite to it. As I look across the studio, I see so many things that aren’t done, from putting away images recently returned from the gallery, to still lifes yet unfinished, to the buzz of the hard drive telling me that I haven’t finished the last of the organization of keywords and collections from my travels over the past 6 weeks. 

It has me wondering if getting things finished is the mark of a great artist.  I can’t count the number of conversations I have had with other photographers who, like me, don’t always finish what they start. There’s a certain weight that comes with those ongoing unfinished “projects”.  So in this week’s podcast, we’ll clean up, organize and finish a topic on our relationship with finishing our work. Before we jump in, this is episode 598 of the podcast, and I can’t believe that we are just two weeks away from episode 600 of the weekly episodes. Crazy to think that I have been doing this for 600 weeks. Finishing a podcast every week, I can finish, but that printed folio….I digress.

One of the biggest challenges that I think a lot of us face is when we realize that whatever we didn’t finish becomes just another line on our to-do list of things to finish. As this to-do list grows longer and longer, it can weigh heavily on our creative practice and make us think that we’re not able to successfully create anything at any time of any value. That is the trap of the unfinished; it creates in us a feeling that we aren’t able to accomplish what we set out to do on any given day.

One of the biggest challenges in figuring out the unfinished is that we often finish things that cost us all hours of the night to accomplish our goal, and other things slip by us. 

I think, if we are honest about it and sit down and make a list of the things we don’t finish, it might be somewhat depressing at first. However, in the long run, we might actually find that things we can let go of. You know, the parts of our creative practice that don’t really matter to us, but we are told they should matter to us. And like many things we should do and shouldn’t do, they don’t need to happen to keep us moving forward.

So, what are some of those unfinished projects we face? Everyone is a little different, but the biggest issue is likely the tasks we pursue endlessly with no real outcome. If we take an honest look at our uncompleted tasks, it may start off feeling a little daunting, but upon reflection, we often discover that some of these projects have no real significance anymore. Again, we feel pressured to finish, not because they genuinely resonate with us, but because we think they should. 

One of the interesting aspects of thinking about this for a couple of weeks is realizing the value of having something finished, being able to take it off that to-do list, and marking it as done, for no other reason than getting to have it done. Back in my corporate job, it was a lot easier. I think that to finish things there, there were outside deadlines, outside expectations, people who wanted things done at a certain time, and to get them to be quiet and leave me alone, I would end up just doing it (ha ha), but now I’m working at my own pace, at my own speed. I find that it’s easier for me to get enamored with the new and to get frustrated by the old or what happens to me a lot; I walk out of the studio one day and come in the next and start something new for the day with no thought to yesterday. It’s easy to get discouraged when we think about things that we don’t finish, but in the long run, when we do start to make that shift, I think we end up in a much better place.

I think when we finish things, we end up feeling better. We have a sense of accomplishment; we feel like we’re taking steps forward. In many cases, we now have work. We can share, showcase or look at and say, “I have developed skills that matter, regardless of our ultimate decisions on how we finish.” In many cases, the ends are more important than the means. Like all journeys, we’re not sure which road we may be on, but we do know that once we reach our destination of having something successfully finished, things work out better.

This is one of the hardest things, I think, because for each of us, there’s something different that gets us to finish; each of us is motivated by different things and inspired by different things. Some of us are more apt to finish than others, but one of the important things I mentioned earlier is to go back to that initial to-do list of the things you wish you had finished, and this is where the important part comes in. We have to decide what is actually worth finishing. Working on a project that goes nowhere and offers no value isn’t something that needs to be finished. Often, we start things because we need to try things, learn things, experience and experiment. We don’t have to clean the plate if we don’t like the food. By letting those things go as needing to be finished, we make space and room for other things to happen, and I think for me that’s the big inside. Is it finished? Doesn’t necessarily mean completing it; it just means I’m ready to walk away from it with purpose and with intention, not because of some arbitrary reason of avoidance, insecurity, anger, or whatever else is brewing in me on that day.

For me, the big thing that helped was to grab a couple of highlighters on that list and mark off the ones that mattered, the ones I could let go, the ones that I could do quickly and the ones that would take a long time. Just having that structure helped make a big difference. I also think it allowed me to recognize that there are times and places where other priorities may show up. We can accept that. Now I don’t think that is reflected in that box of things that needed to be moved to the shed that’s been sitting by my studio door for four weeks. That probably could be moved to the studio around the corner in 30 seconds and no longer be on the unfinished list. Still, we have to know what those tasks are. We have to figure those things out. That’s part of our struggle.

So this week I would encourage you to spend a little bit of time thinking about your unfinished list and decide what matters to you and what doesn’t. I think the worst thing that could happen is you might free up some time and free up some headspace, and in the best case, you might find that there are a lot of things you could finish quickly and take a lot of pride in your work if you just gave yourself that last little bit of time to focus in and finish something amazing.

To sum it all up, finishing projects matters because they provide us with clarity, success, and ultimately, a deeper connection to our creative passion. Don’t shy away from what you have on your plate, even if you walk away.  Recognizing which pursuits resonate with you will illuminate the paths that truly inspire and excite you. 

I was recently talking with a friend of mine who is an absolutely incredible salesperson. You can walk into his studio to bring him a cup of coffee, and within five minutes you’ll probably be discussing whether you need a painting or a sculpture. He is good at art, and he is good at selling his art.

And it got me thinking about how often photographers say, “I’m terrible at sales.” But like my friend, maybe we aren’t that bad. Maybe we’ve simply been thinking about the wrong kind of sales.

In this week’s podcast, episode 598, we’ll discuss the right way to think about sales and a sales pitch. Because every time we make a photograph, we are actually making a sales pitch. We are assessing whether what we are seeing, editing, processing, sharing, and printing is worth the cost. In this case, I think cost is equal to attention.
I know that some of you think the word sales is bad, and sales is one of those words that makes a lot of photographers uncomfortable. We often say we aren’t good at selling our work, talking about our photographs, or sharing what we create.

But here’s the thing: photographers are making sales pitches all the time.
We’re just usually selling the photograph to ourselves.

When you’re walking around with your camera, and something catches your attention, you begin a conversation with yourself: There’s something here. You look at the light, color, composition, moment or whatever. You move around. You might change lenses or wait and convince yourself that it is time to press the button.

That’s your first sales pitch to yourself. You sold the making of the photograph.

The second time you make a sales pitch to yourself is when you edit. Out of hundreds of photographs, how do we decide which ones deserve our time and attention? We’re asking again: Is this photograph worth working on? Is there something I can develop here? Again, making the sales pitch.

Now, I am not saying that we always get our sales pitches right. I mean, if you are like me, you have fallen for some bad sales pitches and bought some bad stuff over the years. The photos are no different, but rather than saying I was suckered on a bad deal, I call it useful feedback. 😀

The same thing happens when we share our work. WE are making the pitch again. This time we might consider an external audience, but we have to remember there’s a big difference between “I believe in this photograph, therefore I want to share it” and “People liked this photograph, therefore it must be good.” The first begins with our own conviction. The second gives that conviction to somebody else.

Printing takes the idea even further. When I commit a photograph to paper, I’m saying I believe enough in it to invest my time and materials.
The cost goes up. I have to really do a sales job when I am printing work to have it, or to sell it; the story, value proposition, evidence all have to point to something good, or I end up with a Midnight Home Shopping Network binge buy of a photo on my wall.

Ultimately, we’re not really selling photographs. We’re selling ourselves to our work. We’re deciding what is worth noticing, photographing, selecting, editing, processing, sharing, and printing. The goal isn’t to know which photographs are objectively good. It’s to become better at recognizing which photographs we believe in and when we push our creativity with a hard sell.

Thanks for listening, and I’ll see you in the next episode.

This week we dig into part two of our mini-series with a focus (pun intended) on attention. As photographers, we often find ourselves debating what essential gear we need in our camera bags. Is it the camera itself? A favorite lens? A sturdy tripod? While all of these pieces of equipment hold their own value, I would answer that way myself. In reality, I think one of the most important tools is our attention. Understanding this concept can explain not only your photography but also the way you experience everyday life.

Have you ever noticed that you don’t photograph things that don’t catch your attention? Your photographs are essentially a record of what captures your attention. So, I ask you: what do your portfolio/images say about what you pay attention to? After all, we don’t often point our cameras at things that don’t interest us. But in that catch of attention comes the other side of the coin: the things we don’t notice. I feel that many times the things that we notice become more habit than anything else, and that for us to become better at our craft, we have to learn to shift our attention to the things we might not notice. Shadows over light, color shifts, texture shifts or whatever might be “outside” your comfort zone. 

In today’s world, our attention is constantly being divided. Phones and social media are a big part. Just yesterday on a walk with the dog, we almost got bumped into a half-dozen or so times by people just walking and looking at their phones. It’s no wonder that focusing has become a challenge. However, photography offers us an incredible opportunity to reclaim that attention. By practicing mindfulness, we can sharpen our focus and enhance our craft. Think about the difference between actively searching for photographs versus patiently waiting for them to reveal themselves. Often, when we search too hard, we overlook the moment right in front of us.

Revealing is also something that happens in processing and viewing photographs. We start to see deeper layers of content and meaning in the work by shifting our attention to what is there, what we can see, what we can learn and away from what we “already” know. 

It’s important to remember that a camera is just a tool. It records images but doesn’t have the capacity to notice. That’swhere we come in. It’s our role to see relationships, light, emotion, timing, and storytelling within a scene. Photography is more than just a means to capture images; it’s about becoming someone who truly notices the world around them. The more we practice attention, the richer our experience of life becomes. Consider the beauty of morning light streaming through your kitchen window or the soothing rhythm of rain tapping against your roof. What about the fleeting expressions people make when they think no one is watching? These small moments, often overlooked, become treasures when we allow ourselves to see truly and then photograph.

If your camera were to disappear tomorrow, would you still observe the world the same way? The essence of photography begins long before the shutter clicks. It starts with simply paying attention. We don’t photograph everything we see; we capture what we consciously choose to notice. The most important lesson photography teaches us isn’t merely how to snap better pictures—it’s about how to observe the world around us with greater awareness.

Attention isn’t just a skill for photographers; it’s a way of living.

I’ve been pondering a deceptively simple question: What makes a photograph good as part of my book club this month? But, before diving into that, a couple of quick announcements! I’ve got some new workshops lined up in 2027 at Badlands, Adventures in the Palouse, and the Oregon Coast and Redwoods. Check out the details on my website. Plus, I’ll be teaching a masterclass called “The Landscape is Language” at the Photographic Center Northwest in November 2026.

As for the topic of episode 596, the source of this question comes from re-reading The View from the Studio Door by Ted Orland. In the section Art & Society, Ted comes up with an interesting answer that we will get to at the end of the podcast. Sure, the what is a good photography questionseems like it should have a straightforward answer. We could list out a bunch of qualities: composition, light, color, timing, technical skill, originality, emotion. Maybe a photo resonates because it communicates something important or makes us pause and reflect. So, what are we really talking about when we say a photograph is good?

First off, we need to distinguish between “good” and “beautiful.” A photograph can be stunning without really offering much depth. Gorgeous light, perfect composition, beautiful colors—sure, but does it say anything? Conversely, a photograph can be rough around the edges but still pack an emotional punch. 

First off, we need to distinguish between “good” and “beautiful.” A photograph can be stunning without really offering much depth. Gorgeous light, perfect composition, beautiful colors—sure, but does it say anything? Conversely, a photograph can be rough around the edges but still pack an emotional punch.

Who determines what makes a photograph good? Is it because I like it? A critic? Other photographers? Does it matter if it’s hanging in a museum or selling at auction? Or is it simply about whether the creator feels they achieved what they set out to do? The more I reflect, the more I realize there isn’t a universal standard for art—and maybe that’s just fine.

What if we judged the “goodness” of a photograph by its impact?

– Does it make me stop?

– Does it hold my gaze?

– Does it shift my perspective?

– Does it make me uncomfortable or curious?

– Does it inspire creativity in me?

Suppose I take a photograph that falls flat. You have them too. You know the ones with bad composition, poor lighting, missing the mark entirely. On its own, it might not see the light of day. But what if that photo leads me to create ten better ones? What if it highlights what I don’t want in my work or points me toward an unexpected direction? Does that still make it a bad photograph? Aesthetically, sure. Creatively, it could be invaluable.

It makes me wonder if we’re sometimes asking the wrong questions about art. Instead of “Is this good?” maybe we should be asking, “What did this make possible?”

I feel like photographers can get caught up in the notion that their work is a collection of standalone images. You make a picture, then another, and it’s easy to obsess over which ones are the “good” ones. But that’s not really how creativity works. It is a journey for us to follow, and the most important photographs aren’t necessarily the strongest ones; it might be the one that reshapes everything that follows

Ted Orland has this concept I keep returning to: a piece of work can be deemed good if it helps you move toward the next piece. I love this idea because it eases the pressure on each photograph. It doesn’t have to be the final say; it can be a question, an experiment, or even a failure.

Welcome to episode 595 of the Perceptive Photographer. This week, we are exploring the importance of asking questions about our work—not questions related to critique or the meaning of our completed images, but rather questions we consider before taking the shot.

I hypothesize that the questions we ask play a crucial role in shaping the central theme of the image. If we prioritize technical elements and settings over feelings or storytelling, the final image may feel off in its narrative. This disconnect occurs because we focused on the wrong aspects when creating the photograph.

When we make a photograph, there is a lot happening in our minds. If we concentrate on the wrong elements, that focus may not be conveyed effectively. However, this doesn’t mean that all elements aren’t important; they are. Composition, technique, emotion, and storytelling all matter. Ultimately, it comes down to determining which of these elements you want to prioritize in your work.

In this episode of The Perceptive Photographer (number 594), I return back to dig a little deeper into one of the most common pieces of creative advice: know your audience. Your audience is not your starting point. Your audience is the people who see themselves in the work you made that began with your act of seeing and sharing something more universal than just here is a picture of a thing. The more clearly you understand what you’re exploring through photography, the easier it becomes for the right audience to find and value your work. Finding your audience is about expressing what really matters to you with enough clarity, honesty, sincerity and , lets me honest here, craftsmanship that others recognize something of themselves in your work. The next time you pick up your camera, instead of asking, ‘Will anyone like this photograph?’ ask, ‘What question am I trying to answer?’ You may discover that the audience you’re looking for has been waiting for someone willing to ask that same question.

Just got back from several weeks on the road. the studio is a mess. the dog has to get a tooth pulled that she broke on the road trip, but it was great to see family. All that is to say that things are crazy here at the old studio. but that doesn’t mean we don’t to the podcast. So, in this week’s episode of The Perceptive Photographer, I dig into two big ideas that can impact your photography: who you invite to critique your work, and what it really means to “see” as a photographer.

I have heard this a few times over the past few months so I wanted to talk a little about it this week. That idea is the belief that feedback should come exclusively from those within the same genre. For example, landscape photographers often seek critiques from fellow landscape artists. However, this approach can be limiting. If someone already shares your knowledge and perspective, they may not offer fresh insights. Seeking feedback from diverse art forms can unlock new ideas and perspectives that challenge your usual way of seeing.

Consider, too, those who might not even identify as photographers. Legendary photo editors and publishers often lack a formal photography background yet possess a keen understanding of what makes an impactful image and more than photographers can they are amazing at recognizing the nuances of light, composition, and storytelling. Critiques can be incredibly valuable when they focus on the essence of what resonates in an image rather than genre-specific “guidelines” or “rules”.

The second thing I wanted to talk about was how we approach and talk about the act of “seeing” in photography. for many of us, our initial feelings about an image in the field differ from how we perceive it in post-editing or years later. Seeing isn’t just a one-time event. Seeing is actually an action. It’s something we do. It’s something we engage with. It’s not a passive response.

“Photography is about seeing. And to be a good photographer, we need to be engaged in the act of seeing.”

Starting a new mini-podcast within a podcast this month on the way we see. Episode one is focused on silence. I mean, really, what does silence look like? Can we photograph it? Exploring this can empower you to see with fresh eyes and inspire your artistic practice.
Sure, we might instinctively understand silence as the absence of sound, but photography requires us to think about it. We really have to think about how an image can be silent. Once we get our head around that idea, it is easier to see that some photographs seem to whisper while others seem to yell. That difference has little to do with where they were made and everything to do with how they were seen.
So in this episode of the podcast, I dig into when you live in a world filled with noise, and I don’t just mean audible noise, but visual noise too. How do we overcome the noise to make better images? Practicing mindful observation helps you cut through the clutter and find the quiet in your frame, making your images calmer and more deliberate.
Silence lives in our compositions, and the use of negative space, soft light, and other notions of stillness. Be it a lone tree in morning fog or an empty street before sunrise, the goal is to have nothing fighting for your attention; the photograph lingers.
Working with silence is often less about finding the perfect scene and more about slowing down enough to see. Instead of asking, “What photograph can I make here?” try asking, “What is this place trying to say?” I think one of the greatest aspects of silence is that it teaches patience and restraint. The strongest images are not always the first ones, and sometimes we have to think hard about what to remove from the frame to make a photograph work.
In a world constantly demanding our attention, perhaps the most meaningful photographs are those that encourage us to slow down. Maybe silence isn’t the absence of something at all. Maybe it’s the space where our perception begins.

I am out on the road this week so just a quick note on the podcast. I hope you enjoy it. I have been driving across Montana, Wyoming and South Dakota so seeing lots of plateaus, but I digress from the topic of the week.

A creative plateau is that strange phase where progress feels stagnant. You’re not getting worse, but it feels like you’re also not getting any better. It’s like hiking. There are flat stretches where you can’t see the summit, yet you’re still on your way there, just on a less steep path. so in this episode we dig into those long flat stretches that are in many ways my favorite parts of a hike.

The great part of creative plateau can be valuable because it slows you down, strengthens discipline, reveals repetitive habits, encourages experimentation, and reconnects you with the deeper reasons you enjoy photography, such as curiosity and storytelling. At the same time, plateaus can bring self-doubt, frustration, unnecessary and unhelpful comparisons with others, or a tendency to blame equipment or technique. For some of us, we might even find a temporary loss of excitement, It is important to rememmber that these are a normal part of creative growth. Rather than signaling failure, a plateau is often a sign that your artistic vision is evolving and an opportunity to develop new skills, perspectives, and habits.

Ultimately, creative plateaus are part of your growth as a photographer. Embrace them, and you’ll find new paths to explore.