It’s been about five years since I truly embraced photography, not just as a hobby, but as a career. It wasn’t a full 180 from fashion design, but close enough to make me question if it was the right choice. Still, photography had always lingered in the background, ever since my mother gave me my first camera when I was seven.. I was a quiet, sensitive child, and hiding behind the lens felt like a safe place to observe and participate in the world. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was already learning to see with intention, feel deeply, and be fully present.

Many of you have asked how to tell if a photo works, and to be honest, it’s a tough question to answer definitively. That’s because every image exists within its own unique context: the light, the subject, the moment, the intent behind the frame. And perhaps most importantly, photography is deeply subjective. What makes a “good” photo can vary widely from one person to the next.

Sure, there are foundational principles, like the rule of thirds, balance, leading lines, and the power of odds, that can guide composition. And yes, technical sharpness and exposure can play a role. But even when an image checks all the “right” boxes, it might not land emotionally or visually for everyone. On the flip side, a blurry, rule-breaking frame might resonate deeply and linger in someone’s memory.

Lately, I’ve been soaking in the quiet joy of spring, the gentle warmth of morning light, the way the sun lingers softly into the evening, and the color slowly unfurling where only bare branches once stood. There’s something deeply hopeful in it, watching blossoms awaken, tender and fragrant, unapologetically alive.

But spring, in all its vibrancy, is also a quiet teacher.

Because what we’re witnessing now — the color, the blossoms, the return of life didn’t appear overnight. These blooms we marvel at have spent the long, quiet winter hidden beneath the surface, germinating in stillness, gathering energy in the dark. Growth was unfolding even when it looked like nothing was happening. That’s the part we often overlook, that true transformation begins in the unseen, quiet spaces where no one is watching.

This post feels a little different from what I usually share, but it comes from what I know to be true. It’s something that’s been with me for a long time—steady and constant—and I know it’s not just in thought, but in a way that feels deeply rooted in who I am. I’ve never been drawn to the technical side of photography. I’ve always followed a different rhythm—one shaped by curiosity, intuition, a sense of wonder, and deep appreciation for beauty. And while I find inspiration in breathtaking landscapes and exotic new travels, the place where I feel most creatively free isn’t always behind the camera.

One thought I’ve often wrestled with—and still do, if I’m being honest—is this: How do you know if you’re a good photographer?

There’s no universal scale, no precise measure. We might compare ourselves to others, but that only leads to a distorted, unfair reflection—one that serves no real purpose and leaves us feeling empty or not good enough. When has comparison ever truly helped us grow? It becomes even harder to gauge our own abilities when we lack a sounding board, when there’s no one to offer thoughtful critique. This is a hard one for me as I’m working at home most of the time and overthinking and self-criticism are right there on either shoulder!

“I’m so over these.”

Have you ever felt that way about your own work? That moment when you're reviewing your website, looking through your hard drives, or scrolling your social media, and suddenly—you just feel bored? You look at the photos you once adored, the ones you considered your best, and now they feel… well, kind of flat and lackluster. Maybe you’re struck by the thought that this is all you’ve got. That you’ve hit a wall. You’re just over your work or style.

I think every photographer, at some point, will face that creeping feeling: "I don’t belong here," "I’m not good enough," or "Who am I to charge what I charge?" Imposter syndrome is real—and, for most of us, it's almost inevitable. It can be a heavy, paralyzing weight that spirals us into self-doubt and low self-esteem. If you don’t have an unshakable sense of entitlement or boundless confidence, imposter syndrome will likely make an appearance.

Happy December! It’s hard to believe how quickly November flew by, and now we’re nearing the end of the year! I spent Thanksgiving in Oregon, and while editing some of my photos, I reflected on how easily a good photo can be turned into a bad one through editing choices.

Editing is, of course, subjective, but certain missteps can detract from a photo’s potential. I’ve certainly made my fair share of these mistakes in my early days, back when I was experimenting and trying to define my style.

At some point as photographers, we will second guess ourselves. We will doubt our abilities, our progress, and our general approach. “Am I even improving?” That is a constant thought I have had fluctuated in and out of my mind over the years. While I think it's best to avoid comparing ourselves to others and their progress at all costs, sometimes we can’t help it. We’re human, And comparison just comes with the territory and is even amplified by social media and likes on Instagram. There were some points along my journey that I lacked an overall feeling of growth or that my photos were improving.

As someone who's entirely self-taught, my photography journey has been anything but linear. It’s been all over the place—disjointed and patched together. Yet, photography has always been there, quietly in the background, evolving with me. Looking back, I often think about what I’d do differently if I had to start again. This is the roadmap I'd take if I had to learn all over again:

The wind is howling outside, roaring through the trees. August is going out with a bang. Winslow is tucked in a blanket next to me, he doesn’t do well with the high winds and rain battering the cottage. It’s a cozy Sunday with lots of tea and time to reflect. One task I’ve been wanting to do is revisit my old photos and organize some files. I couldn’t hold it off any longer as today’s downpour and a raging storm is the perfect opportunity. Going through some files, I’ve realized how much my beliefs have changed since I first began. As we grow and evolve, it’s natural to change your style, your beliefs, and opinions. Photography is something we will have with us throughout our lives, and for me, it’s been a constant companion that has been a source of joy, curiosity, and creativity.

Paris. The City of Lights. This beautiful city is on everyone’s mind these days as the world’s best athletes have been competing in the Olympic games this past week or so. I’ve been so inspired by every athlete, tuning into the games after work to catch up on the replays. Their dedication, discipline, and years of hard work have led up to this very moment. Just one shot. One moment to realize that dream they have viscerally visualized day in and day out. They have just one day, or those who are fortunate enough, have several opportunities to win gold.

When you are just beginning photography and playing with the idea of making it a career or at least investing it in as a hobby, there are countless this you can do or can buy to help you get there. Call me simple but I think most of the techy suggestions or gear bits and bobs are quite useless and a waste of money for a beginner photographer. Simple is best in my mind when it comes to investing in your camera kit.

Not everything is worthy of a photograph. At least to you or me. You have your tastes that are unique to you. I remember when I first began shooting, I would photograph everything and anything without question. While this was just an essential part of the photography journey, it meant that I had so many USD cards with absolutely nothing notable on them. But, maybe when you first began shooting you knew exactly what you were interested in and the stories you wanted to share.

Midsummer solstice has come and gone. Usually, I like to commemorate the day with a small ritual in nature or simply spending the whole day outside, but this year was a little different albeit well spent eating pistachio gelato in Sicily so I think it still counts for something! What I love most about these midsummer days is that they can be both lazy, languorous, and yet equally filled with vitality, a fresh-faced outlook, and joy for life with a renewed sense of purpose and direction. The power of sunlight I suppose. Most mornings I rise before or with the sun, ground my feet in the grass, and soak in the first rays of soft light.

Words have never been my strong point. I’m no writer and I admire anyone whose strength lies in words and language. Words can be a powerful starting point for concept development. As visually driven people, we may initially gravitate towards creating a mood board collecting images for inspiration for an upcoming project or simply to generate some ideas. But what if we started with words first? What if we open up to a blank page and let our ideas flow? I find that pouring my ideas on paper first allows to me go deeper into the actual feeling and essence of the story I want to tell. Just as there is nuance in words, there is nuance in the visual images we use as inspiration.

I’ve been waking earlier and earlier each day thanks to the little birds chirping with the rising sun. Honestly, most mornings I rise at 5 am with the birds but the days are getting longer with the turning of spring to summer. It’s so wonderful to begin your day like this, especially knowing it will be spent in front of a screen. While I’m working at my desk, I love watching the piggy birds feast on the seeds I’ve left them that morning. The reality of being a photographer is that you’ll spend most of the time behind your computer, not your camera.

When I first began shooting, I was under the illusion that if I didn’t shoot in manual mode, it meant I wasn’t a good photographer. So silly, yes but as a beginner, shooting in manual mode seemed like miles away from where I was and what I could technically comprehend. I looked at others thinking they must have radical confidence in their technical ability to flick the dial to M and shoot away without even thinking.

Photographing food was far from my mind when I first picked up my camera. The night sky, my mother’s flower garden, and the lush green hills of my home called me. I would set up my tripod in the middle of the night at -17 F (yes -17 F!) in December when the air was so cold, that your warm breath immediately crystalized in the air. I set a timer anywhere from 15 - 30 minutes to capture the star trails in the inky, velvet wintery sky. Maybe it was the surprise and delight of seeing the star trails in my camera or the rush of it feeling like an adventure with just me and the night sky. I was hooked and even took a local class at my community center on night photography. But what does this all have to do with visual storytelling?

I vastly underestimated the importance of patience when I first picked up the camera. I was all too eager, more than ready to a fault. I just wanted the shot and move on. On to the next site, the next subject, the next town. The next whatever it was. I rarely took the time to actually sit and be present with the scene or subject. I was so focused on getting the shot I wanted and continuing on. But what I’ve realized over time is that while it’s ok to be eager and excited about a newfound location or a secret site, or a new subject, and just frantically snap away, there is something to be said for just being still and present.