Landscape photography in the summer can be frustrating, especially when shooting woodlands and forests. The forest is thick with green foliage, and parts of the bright blue sky shine through the canopy, creating hotspots in your image. But surely landscape photographers don't stow their cameras away for six months every year, so there must be an alternative?
There's a fairly common way to begin a piece about two photographers: describing when they met. This isn't that kind of story. Between Luigi Ghirri and Claude Nori, there's no iconic image shared together, no textbook foundational episode, not even the certainty that they ever needed to truly define their relationship.
A headshot has one job: to make a person look like the best, most confident version of themselves, and to do it in the fraction of a second a viewer spends forming a first impression. That is a narrow target, and it is easy to miss. What helps is that these failures repeat.
Most likely, this won't matter to many people, but I'm writing it and proposing it anyway, also because I'm convinced that there's only one person who will be interested in this piece about an antiquated setup that, in my opinion, still works great today. At least it works for me.
So I finally bought a lens that I really wanted: the Canon EF 40mm f/2.8 STM.
The announcement itself was straightforward enough. On July 2, Hasselblad and Capture One confirmed that Hasselblad's .3FR raw files now open natively in Capture One, with dedicated color profiles for the X2D II 100C, the X2D 100C, and the CFV 100C digital back, and lens profiles covering 19 XCD lenses. Tethered capture is planned for later in 2026.
Speeding down Highway 371, I received a call. The two photographers who knew the way around Bisti Badlands weren't going to show tonight. This was a problem. I had never been there, and it was basically Mother Nature's escape room.
One of the arguments I hear most often against street photography has very little to do with photography itself.
"If you're going to photograph someone, why not just talk to them?"
A portfolio is not a gallery of your favorite photos. It is a sales tool, and its only job is to answer one question in a potential client's mind: can this person deliver the specific thing I need, done well? Most portfolios fail at that job not because the photography is bad, but because of a handful of avoidable mistakes in how the work is chosen, ordered, and presented.
People keep asking me what it's like photographing the anti-ICE protests outside Delaney Hall in Newark.
Every photographer who has thought about photographing a public space knows the low-humming anxiety of the "worst-case scenario." The fear of someone seeing and confronting us remains one of the steepest mental hurdles to actually getting started in street photography. For years, it was mine.
There is a particular kind of expectation that follows you when you say you are in a country hosting a World Cup. It is not always spoken out loud, but it sits there in the background of conversations, in messages, in assumptions that come almost automatically, as if geography alone were enough to place you inside the flow of the event.
You stand in front of something stunning, a valley flooded with evening light, a city skyline at dusk, and you press the shutter sure you have captured it. Then you look at the file and the magic is gone. The colors are flatter, the sky is blown out or the ground is a muddy mess, the mountain that loomed over you looks like a small bump, and the whole thing feels ordinary.
"How you make a picture is much easier to articulate than why you make a picture." I read this statement in a comment under one of my articles here on Fstoppers, and it inspired me to talk about this in more depth.
I've always wondered what goes through someone's mind when they decide to become a hater. Being a hater is a kind of job: you have to create fake accounts, which guarantee anonymity, and then, from those accounts, launch attacks against the object of your hatred.
Landscape photography looks like it should be easy. You find a beautiful place, point the camera at it, and press the shutter. Then you get home, look at the files, and the magic that was right in front of you has somehow drained out of the picture. Almost always, the cause is not your gear or the location. It is a handful of specific, fixable habits that nearly every beginner falls into.
In 2010, I made a decision that didn't make much sense on paper. I sold my Nikon gear and bought the first Olympus Pen E-P1.
It was slow. It was imperfect. Autofocus... lol. It didn't impress anyone who cared about specs.
But it changed how I worked in the street.
There is a belief that follows almost every beginner around: that real photographers shoot in manual mode, and that the semi-automatic modes on the dial are a kind of training-wheels embarrassment you are supposed to outgrow as fast as possible.
You may have noticed that photography lenses are marked in f-numbers, f/1.4, f/2.8, f/8, while cinema lenses are marked in T-numbers, T1.5, T2.9, and wondered whether they mean the same thing. They are closely related, they sit in the same spots on the aperture ring, and a T-number looks just like an f-number with a different letter in front.
There is a peculiar cult operating inside photography. You have seen them: the Autofocus Clergy.
Almost every camera has a shutter, the mechanism that controls how long light hits the sensor, but not all shutters work the same way. Among mechanical shutters, there are two main designs, the leaf shutter and the focal plane shutter, and the difference between them is not trivia.
Red lights blinking on my NAS. Drive failure. Double drive failure. I'm on RAID 6, so the data's still there, but my heart rate has increased. My day is reprioritized — time to work on this.
After years of shooting with various "crappy" cameras, I realized they're not always as bad as many would think.
You frame a landscape with a striking rock in the foreground and mountains on the horizon, you focus on the mountains because that is your subject, and when you get home the foreground rock is soft. Or you focus on the rock, and the mountains go mushy. The scene your eye saw as sharp from front to back will not cooperate.
Pull focus on a video clip from a near subject to a far one and watch the edges of the frame. On many lenses, the image seems to subtly zoom in or out as the focus shifts, as if the lens is quietly inhaling and exhaling. That is focus breathing, and once you have noticed it you cannot unsee it. For photographers it is usually a footnote.
Let's begin with the usual disclaimer:
I am not affiliated with Canon in any way. No sponsorships. No ambassador contract. No free gear raining from heaven. This is simply the perspective of a working photographer who has spent years using multiple systems professionally across documentary, editorial, portrait, and street photography.
And after all that?