The Way of The Camera

After months away from film, I picked up my Minolta again — not to build a habit, but out of pure curiosity about a new Ilford stock. What started as research into orthochromatic film turned into a single walk that reminded me what photography is actually for. Three images came out of it: a self-portrait half-lost in the grass, a familiar bike ramp with lens flare that shouldn't work in black-and-white but does, and a white sweater disappearing beside a tree. In this episode, I talk about losing the thread between presence and content-creation, why playfulness got me back to the camera when discipline couldn't, and what it means to keep finding your way back to what feels alive.

This month's episode moves through four pictures — a snail gliding down a basement staircase, a mismatched shadow in London, a stump in Berlin already sprouting new life, and a tree in Kew Gardens after a forest bathing workshop. Together they trace one thread through July: slowing down isn't a mood that arrives on its own, it's a practice you keep choosing. I also share what a threshold exercise taught me about laying down expectations before stepping into something new — and what it might mean for your own journey.

Take a look at the pictures here

The photo of June that I keep coming back to from June isn't the one from the art fair, or the one from the workshop - it's the plant by my own front door. 

No technique behind it. No concept borrowed from somewhere else. Just light moving through leaves, and me, finally looking without trying to gain anything from it. 

I used to think mastering something would make my work matter. Turns out the picture that mattered most this month was the one where I didn't try to master anything at all. 

Take a look at the pictures here.

This May I took four photographs. None of them are remarkable. But each one asked me a question: They had nothing to do with technique, yet and everything to do with choosing. 

One was made in the middle of a London rush-hour crowd. One was a portrait that reminded me why I stopped doing street photography. One was taken in a Zen garden that slowed my mind down enough to hear what I already knew. And one was found two streets from my home, in the most ordinary place imaginable. 

This is not a post about better photography. It's about what happens when you stop accumulating other people's ideas long enough to hear your own. 

Take a look at the pictures here.

I share images, reflections, and small visual resources for people who use photography as a path — not to a better portfolio, but to a quieter mind. If this resonated, I'd love for you to walk alongside for a while

Creating from within has two dimensions. One is to be connected with our inner being. The other is to truly be in the moment — not observing it, but part of it. The photographer and the photograph become one thing. 

Five photographs of April - not all of them worked — and the ones that didn't taught me more than the ones that did. This is a reflection on the difference between capturing a moment and being inside it, and what one woman in a red coat showed me about the way I want to make pictures. 

Reflections on mindfulness, photography, and the practice of presence. 

Take a look at the images here.

Last month, my wife Rafaela said something profound that deeply resonated with me: 

"I want to create my reality from my heart, not from my mind." 

In March I photographed a bench, a cherry plum tree, a canal, a swan disappearing into dark water, and some dried grass that moved like waves. 

Nothing dramatic. Just ordinary moments from an ordinary month. 

But that's what I keep coming back to — beauty doesn't wait for better times. It's already here, asking to be noticed. 

Sometimes all it takes is stopping long enough to look. 

Have a look at the images here.

Embodied presence is the practice of coming home to yourself. 
It serves as a foundation for self-awareness, and the capacity to meet life with clarity and equanimity. 

Through gentle breath awareness and sensory grounding this guided meditation helps you to integrate presence into your creative and personal development journey. 

Use this practice anytime you need to slow down, reset your attention, or reconnect with yourself. 

Why do we photograph?

In February, I went out for three or four walks. I had a camera. I had ideas. And somewhere along the way, I began to notice the difference between arriving at a place -  truly arriving, with empty hands and an open mind - and performing the role of someone taking an interesting picture. 

In this episode, I share four photographs from February and what they revealed to me about presence, safety, and the quiet tension between wanting to be seen and allowing yourself to simply be. 

The photos are in the show notes. I invite you to look at them before, during, or after — and make your own experience with them. 

Take a look at the photos here.

Photography as Zen Practice 

January is over, and with it comes the usual moment to review New Year's resolutions. I create themes for each year, and this year's theme is: 

A commitment to my photography! 

It means coming back to the core of what I'm doing. Figuring out my gift and what to do with it.  

It means understanding that I am enough. It means picking myself 

What is my path forward in photography? 

Not the path I think I should want. The actual one. In this episode, I walk through five photographs I made in January—moments of fresh snow, willow branches like flowing water in frozen time, a canal at sundown, uncomfortable reflections, and sunrise over a frozen river. I photograph intuitively, and in hindsight, these images reveal something. They make me aware of something that was already deep inside of me. 

What if my photography becomes my Zen practice?  

Photography as a mindful practice that allows me to simply see things as they are. A practice that pulls me back into the present moment. 

I invite you to walk with me on this path as it unfolds - not the polished version, but the real one, with all its vulnerability and uncomfortable clarity.  

Have a look at the pictures here.

Zen Camera by David Ulrich

When Imperfection Becomes the Gift 

A December photo assignment with my old Minolta taught me something I'm still processing: what if the courage to share imperfect work matters more than the work itself? 

In this unscheduled episode, I share what happened when I got my film back: images imperfect, where I'm barely in frame

The community's reaction surprised me. They saw magic where I saw mistakes. 

We're living in a world where AI can generate anything on command—perfectly mediocre, zero risk. But there's no adventure in that. No human being making choices, letting go of control, daring to fail. 

This episode is me thinking out loud about serendipity, sharing what scares us, and discovering that depth sometimes happens precisely when we stop trying to manufacture it. 

Short, raw, and intimate. Because some insights can't wait for the regular schedule. 

Have a look at the pictures here.