The Perceptive Photographer

What makes something great in our work?

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.

Let’s explore what happens when things remain unfinished. 

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.

What are things that don’t get finished?

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. 

What would it look like if we did finish things?

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.

So how do we get more finished?

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. 

The Sales Pitch

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.

We buy our own products.

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. 😀

Sharing is sales

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 is really a big sales pitch.

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.

Wrapping it up

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.

The Way We See: Topic Two is Attention

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.

We Photograph What We Notice

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. 

Attention Is a Choice

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. 

The Camera Doesn’t Teach You to See

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.

Wrap it up! I gotta podcast to listen to. 

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.

Asking a simple question

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. 

Good isn’t necessarily beautiful

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 gets to decide?

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?

Can a Bad Photograph Still Be Good?

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?”

We don’t make masterpieces one at a time

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’s key point with the photograph as a stepping stone

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.