The Perceptive Photographer

In episode 574 of The Perceptive Photographer, I dig into the idea of the emotional "entry points" that invite viewers into a photograph.

This isn't about leading lines or the rule of thirds. It's about whether someone who knows nothing about you or your story can still feel something when they look at your work.

It's easy to make work that's so personal it becomes a closed loop. It is meaningful to you, opaque to everyone else.

n this episode, I'm joined by Seattle-based fine art photographer Jenny Hansen Das for a conversation about exceptions in photography and working with galleries. Jenny's work blends analog and digital processes, with a focus on everyday moments presented in unexpected ways. She experiments with alternative techniques like cyanotypes and image transfers, creating handcrafted, one-of-a-kind pieces. She's also the founder of The Seattle Light Room, a community darkroom and gallery in Seattle's Seward Park neighborhood. Explore her portfolio at jennyhansendas.com, find her community darkroom at theseattlelightroom.com, and follow her on Instagram at @jennyhansendas and @theseattlelightroom.

Hey there!  I hope you are having a great week. In this week's podcast, I wanted to talk about some of the things that came up for me when I revisited John Berger's essay, "Understanding a Photograph." As I was preparing for a class, this essay got me excited for a podcast discussion about meaning in our work. Berger asks us, at the core of the essay, a few things. One of which is: What really gives a photograph its meaning? 

Before we even get to first off, one of my favorite phrases from Berger is that a photograph is a "meditation of light." Photography is, at its core, about light—how it shapes, reveals, and transforms a scene. Love that idea.

First off, I love that a photograph is the result of a photographer's decision to record a particular moment, event, or object. This is a deceptively simple but powerful notion. As John says, if we photographed everything indiscriminately, no single image would stand out. The act of pressing the shutter is what gives a photograph its weight. It's not just a neutral record; it's a message. When I decide to photograph something, I say, "This time, place, person, thing matters."

Berger also makes a subtle but important distinction: a photograph doesn't celebrate the event or the act of seeing, but rather a focus on the message about the event. The photograph isn't about the photographer's experience or the event's essence. Instead, it's a statement: "This happened, and it was important enough to record." That's a powerful shift in thinking. It shifts the way I want to discuss and analyze work. What was compelling about this moment? Or what is the photographer trying to communicate? When looking at others' work, I may try to step into their shoes. What might have inspired them to press the shutter at that exact moment?

The photograph uses the event it records to explain why it was made. Sometimes, the reason is obvious—a dramatic sunset, a fleeting expression. Other times, it's subtle or even external to the image itself. Before composing, spend a moment just watching how light interacts with your subject. What story does the light tell? Sometimes, the difference between a good photo and a great one is waiting for the right light. Be patient and responsive. Not every photograph will explain itself fully, and that's okay. Sometimes, the meaning is personal or contextual.

Berger challenges the traditional emphasis on composition by comparing photography to painting. Painting is an art of arrangement (again, his words), meaning that every element is deliberately placed. Photography, on the other hand, records events that are inherently mysterious and can't be fully explained by arrangement alone. This doesn't mean composition isn't important, but it's not the whole story. Use composition as a tool to support the significance of the moment, not as an end in itself.  The difference between photographing at one moment or another can change everything. 

He also says that, unlike painting, photography doesn't have its own internal language (not sure I agree here, but we'll give him the benefit of the doubt). We "read" photographs like we read footprints or medical charts. The meaning is tied to the event and to what we think of or know about it, real or otherwise. It isn't just a response to the lines and symbols within the image. Context matters and can matter a lot. When analyzing a photo, think about what's happening outside the frame. What's the story behind the event? 

Berger's essay made me realize how important it is to know why I clicked the shutter at a particular moment. If I can't answer that, I wasn't truly connected to the scene. Sometimes, the best lessons come from the shots that missed, the ones I didn't take, or the moments I missed. 

I can't recommend John Berger's Understanding a Photograph enough. It's a collection of essays that will challenge and inspire you to think more deeply about your photography. 

Don't forget to check out the upcoming chat with Jenny Hansen Das, where we start a great conversation about meeting expectations. 

Thanks for joining me. I hope you have a great week.

In the start of our 11th year, episode 572 of The Perceptive Photographer, I dive back into a often discussed topic that every photographer eventually faces: conflicting critique.

It is bound to happen to all of us. That moment when two thoughtful people look at the same photograph and see completely different things. One person calls it powerful and restrained. Another calls it distant and unresolved. Same image. Same moment. Completely different reactions.

In this episode, I dive into what really makes a great photograph, drawing on quotes from Ansel Adams and Edward Weston. We dig into how composition isn’t just about following rules, it’s about personal growth and expressing how we see the world. I encourage you to focus on your own vision and connection to your subjects, rather than trends or techniques.

In Episode 570 of The Perceptive Photographer, I found myself circling a couple of questions: Is an audience required for meaning, or just for momentum? And if no one ever sees a photograph, does it still matter? (and the difference between sees and seen)

As photographers, we’re surrounded by feedback. Images are shared, measured, ranked, and quickly replaced by the next shot. It’s easy to absorb the idea that a photograph only becomes real once it’s been seen. But when I slow down and think about why I started making photographs in the first place, the audience was originally never part of that conversation (although is sneaks in now at times).

When was the last time a photograph or moment behind the camera lens truly made you stop and catch your breath? Not just a quick “oh, that’s nice,” but a real, lingering moment of connection? Well, that is the topic for the show today, which is episode 569, btw. podcastsIf you think about the images you see every day, there are so many of them. We’re living in an age of visual overload. It can be easy to become distant and sort of numb to the images. We walk past or scroll by without really seeing. I do it all the time.

In this week’s episode, Episode 568 of The Perceptive Photographer, I explore the tension between photographing for validation and photographing for myself. I reflect on how my work changed when I stopped trying to impress, rediscovered curiosity, and allowed more honest, meaningful photographs to emerge.

In this episode of The Perceptive Photographer, I explore why two photographers never see the same scene. Photography isn’t objective; it’s shaped by perception, experience, emotion, and intent. Every choice such as where we stand, what we include, and when we press the shutter reflects how we see the world. Rather than searching for the “right” photograph, this episode encourages photographers to understand their own visual awareness. By paying attention to what draws our attention and why, we can create more personal, intentional images that reflect our unique way of seeing.

In this episode, I explore how photographs are encountered rather than what they depict, focusing on two modes of looking: transitional and relational viewing. Transitional viewing moves the viewer forward, prioritizing speed, clarity, and momentum, often seen in social media, editorial work, and portfolio reviews. Relational viewing asks the viewer to stay, allowing meaning to unfold over time through return, familiarity, and duration. I argue that this distinction matters because viewing is not neutral. As photographers, we shape how our work is experienced. Episode 566 ultimately asks whether your photographs are made for movement, for staying, or somewhere in between.