Improving at photography isn’t a step-by-step process. It’s a winding, often unpredictable journey shaped by curiosity, creativity, and the kind of images we want to make. So what does growth in photography actually look like?
Rather than following a fixed playbook, most of us move through different phases at different times, chasing what feels interesting or necessary in the moment. Some skills show up early, others much later, and many resurface again when we see them in a new light. Whether it’s learning how to control your camera, experimenting with new techniques, editing with more intention, or finding your artistic voice, each part of the process informs the others in ways that aren’t always easy to predict.
The Photographic Pillars
As we grow in photography, the skills we develop tend to fall into a few broad categories. These groupings aren’t rigid, but they help make sense of how we learn—whether we work through them gradually or move between them as needed. Most of what we pick up along the way can be traced back to one of four pillars.
The Basics
Many photographers start by learning what are commonly considered the basic skills of photography. These include how to create a properly exposed photo by leveraging the exposure triangle, how to adjust camera settings, and how to master focus settings to create a sharp image. Typically building on these, photographers learn "rules" in order to craft well-composed images. These are useful skills, and they tend to make everything else easier. But they don’t need to come all at once, and they don’t necessarily even need to come first. We can explore other areas before having fully formed basic skills by taking advantage of intelligence built into modern cameras, such as the Auto mode.
Photographic Techniques
Beyond the basics, there are techniques that help us create particular styles of photographs. Some of these are encountered early on, such as panning or macro shooting. Other techniques like long exposures or intentional camera movement offer additional ways to make a photo and are often encountered later on. It’s common to first encounter these approaches in the work of others, although it seems equally likely to be through trends or recommended content. The reasons we adopt these are deeply personal and are usually about expressing ourselves in our art—although that expression may or may not have been the driving force behind our adoption of the technique.
Editing
First and foremost, editing in digital photography starts by learning some basic tools in our chosen software. It generally focuses on ways to fix small issues at first—a little brightness here, a crop there. But over time, it becomes a creative tool in its own right. We learn how to shape tone and color with more purpose. Through experience, we eventually begin to shoot with the finished image already in mind.
Artistic Expression
At some point, we start thinking more about what we’re trying to say. Maybe that’s why we picked up a camera in the first place. Maybe it comes later, after we’ve gotten more comfortable with the aspects of the other pillars. Either way, it becomes a thread that runs through everything else, shaping the photos we make and the reasons we keep going.
Weaving Through the Pillars
Photographers often begin with the basics, but that’s just one way in. You might explore expressing yourself through photography before you know all the settings on your camera. Or you might try out different photographic styles while shooting in JPEG to largely avoid editing. These areas don’t follow a set order—they move together, each one pulling the others along.
Techniques often come into play as we explore new ideas. We try a different approach—maybe a long exposure or a new focal length—and that may drive us to learn a basic element of photography or of editing that we had previously ignored. Sometimes we explore an aspect of a pillar that we’ve seen elsewhere, such as online tutorials. Other times, the impulse comes from wanting to express ourselves in a way we haven’t quite figured out yet.
Editing is often deemed a necessary part of photography, and it is—if you shoot raw. Electing to stick with JPEGs can keep this barrier low, potentially freeing you up to explore other pillars first. You could even tackle some basic editing and explore how dodging and burning enhance your images. Eventually, most photographers build up to a fairly robust editing skill set, which can then support more creative expression in photography. Or maybe you’d prefer to be like a local photographer I met, who makes all his in-field and post-processing decisions in order to edit photos in 3 minutes or less.
Self-expression runs through it all, even though it is often seen as the final summit of photography. It can show up earlier, though. For some, it is why they picked up a camera in the first place, and it eventually drives them to learn other photographic pillars. To take a simplistic example, if you choose to shoot in Auto and focus on your artistic expression, there may come a point where you want more control over depth of field, and so you learn more about aperture in service of your vision. For other photographers, this expression develops more slowly as they gain confidence or a deeper artistic understanding of their work. But unlike the other pillars, this is often what becomes the driving force of our photography, regardless of when we start developing it.
The Nature of Photographic Growth
The key takeaway is that there’s no fixed path through photography. We start where we start. What we choose to work on next depends on what we’re drawn to, what challenges us, and how photography fits into the rest of our lives.
As we build experience, each new skill opens up something else. We might figure out how to handle light in post, and that changes how we shoot. We learn to see a stronger composition, and suddenly an old technique clicks into place. Some shifts happen quickly. Others take time. Sometimes we leap forward. Other times, we sit still for a while. That’s part of the rhythm.
Growth in photography often feels more like exploration than instruction—something we navigate using curiosity and repetition. We get excited and energized in those moments when it all suddenly clicks. We learn to expect detours and quiet stretches just as much as breakthroughs. And when we stop worrying about learning it the “right” way, we make more space for what photography can become.
Which part of your photography has grown the most—and how did that shift lead you to new aspects of photography?
23 Comments
My path into and through photography was probably different than most. I had actually worked in Photoshop for about ten years as part of my commercial printing and graphic design business, before seriously picking up a camera. So I valued detail and technically strong images as part of the catalog and brochures that were my business. Probably a lot more than if I had started in the world of art. Not much has changed either for me in the 30 years or more since Photoshop hit the streets. I still value details and technically strong images, although the subjects in front of my camera have changed from commercial to landscape and nature photography, and the occasional still-life picture.
That is an interesting way into photography -- thanks for sharing Ed Kunzelman ! Was it working in Photoshop and with printing that gave you the urge pick up a camera? Or was there something else that played into it?
I'd say I always had an attraction to photography. I collected picture postcards and posters of commercial airliners when I was a kid. I only liked books with pictures. The pictures in Sports Illustrated made me feel like I could be the next Mickey Mantle. And after my mom died in 1993, I brought the family cedar chest full of photos home with me for restoration of old ones and careful preservation. So maybe paper and ink is in my DNA.
The thing that really triggered my own photography though was the digital camera. I had made a few feeble attempts with a 35mm film camera, but the results were disappointing. Nothing looked nearly so good as the slides and 4*5 transparencies that I was getting from professional photographers in my printing business. And I never had a ton of patience. By the time I had gotten the prints back from developing, I had long forgotten my camera settings. But my Olympus E1 DSLR in 2003 changed everything. Some people claim that film photography teaches more deliberate photography and discipline. In my case, I needed the immediate feedback so I could improve on my next photo in two minutes, not two weeks.
To the point of your article though, improving in one's craft... whether it be photography, music, or wood working largely depends on desire and effort. Making exceptional images is a lot of work. Too many novice photographers think it should be easy... that with today's advanced technology, a preset or app for this or that, that it should be easy to make a stunning picture. And technology has made it easier, but autofocus does not tell you where and how to see a picture. Work harder... Get better.
I spent nearly a decade painting and shooting film in my youth, but later moved into design and marketing. Two years ago, I returned to the camera and began relearning everything from scratch.
The biggest shift? Learning to name and describe my own photographs. That one task disrupted my assumptions and forced me to confront the process more deeply. It made everything more complex — sometimes painfully so — but it also became the most important turning point in my growth so far.
Today, that still feels like a milestone.
Can you talk more about naming your photographs? Why you feel it's important? What assumptions? I more or less gave up on giving any sort of imaginative title to them. With nearly 700 pictures on my website, it seemed like a monumental task, so I named them by the obvious and a number.... "Rocky Mountains 40827." At this time, I haven't become convinced that it makes a difference... at least with my type of customers. I'm not trying to sell fine art to collectors though. I sell wall art to interior designers who don't seem to care about titles. Besides, naming my pictures was more time consuming and difficult than the time I was spending in all of post-processing, and not much fun.
In my view, photography on its own is not a sufficient medium. Without context or a title, an image is open to random interpretation.
A title guides the viewer’s perception, makes the artist’s message readable, and helps people focus and truly understand the work. Without a title, the image loses its meaning — it doesn’t create impact.
That’s why I follow a simple rule: if I can’t give a photograph a title and a short description, it probably has no real value, no story behind. And from a commercial point of view — no reason to be bought, because people love to buy stories more than images. As I see “just pretty” isn’t enough anymore.
Even if you’re not selling your work, this helps you stop making aimless images — which, in my opinion, is a good thing.
This is a fascinating topic that you and Ed are discussing.
I think the contrast between what you say here and what Ed said shows that people vary greatly in what is meaningful to them. Some could honestly not care less about a title or a description, it is a distraction to them that detracts from the power of the image. For others, such as yourself, a title and/or description provides great value and gives meaning that would not be appreciated otherwise.
Neither is wrong. The only wrong way to think is to think that only one of these mindsets is correct.
Well put, Tom Reichner ! I also feel that both mindsets can live within the same photographer. For some of my photos, I'd like to sway the interpretation and understanding that a viewer has, so I name them with that in mind. For other photos (easily the majority), I'm happy to leave that interpretation up to the viewer. There are also some photos that gain specific meaning as part of a set or collection, where each influences the interpretation of the others...whether or not they all have titles!
I agree that there are different mindsets when it comes to photography. (And I do have untitled or just numbered images in some of my projects.) But to me, this isn’t about what’s right or wrong — it’s about what might be helpful for the viewer, not just for the photographer.
All viewers may see the same image, but they interpret it differently.
When a photograph is made with clear intent, I feel it’s respectful to offer a hint of that intent. Not to dictate meaning, but to help the viewer connect more deeply. For me, it’s less about mindset — more about care for the viewer’s experience.
Yes, Alvin, I understand what you are saying. In fact, I tend to have your mindset more often than I have the opposing mindset. In fact, when selling my photos, I am often required to include a title and a description.
Recently my local county tourism council licensed several dozen of my wildlife images. They are being used on social media posts, on their website and other online advertising, in print advertising, and also in printed literature and travel planning resources. The descriptions I had to write for each species pictured are actually just as valuable to my client than the images themselves. For many of the birds and some of the mammals, many laypeople would not even know what species is pictured if there were not a title naming the species. And even just the name of the species pictured is not enough.
The goal is to get people from far away to want to come here for outdoor adventure, particularly wildlife viewing and both competitive and recreational birding. So there needs to be enthusiastic commentary telling the viewer just how special or cool each one of the animals and birds are, and at which places one is most likely to see them. And yes, as the photographer, that is MY job, because no one else at the tourism council or the advertising agency that the tourism council uses knows much of anything about the wildlife here. So if I do not write all that stuff, then the photo itself is pretty much useless to my client.
On the other hand, David Bowie was famous for ambiguous, vague, and cryptic lyrics in the songs that he wrote. And when interviewers would ask him what the lyrics meant, or what they were referring to, he would refuse to answer, explaining that he wanted each person to find their own interpretation, and that he didn't really want the song to mean the same thing to each listener that it meant to him. If 10,000 people listened to his song, he wanted them to collectively come away with 10,000 possible meanings for it.
I am sure that is how some photographers feel. They want their photo to mean something unique to each person who views it. They want each viewer to find his/her own meaning in the image, rather than just telling everyone what it means. And I totally get that and think it is a viable way to present an image.
Oh gosh, I wish you hadn't raised the subject of music and lyrics. Now I'll be thinking all afternoon about the many songs for which lyrics made no sense, or at least subject to individual interpretation. And the list since the era of Bob Dylan and the 1960s that I've known is long.
Maybe the influence of LSD on songwriters back then was the backdrop of so many weird lyrics. As was speculated in the song "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds," although John Lennon claimed it was inspired by his child's drawing and not drug induced. Most musicians leave you to guess. I think it's better that way.
Thank you for the reply. I'm not sure that for me personally that titles have much benefit or value. And it's difficult to come up with something unique or imaginative. The old saying applies: "If I were any good with words, I'd be an author instead of a photographer."
But to my earlier point, if I were selling my photographs in a high priced gallery, I'd need to add to the picture, not only the title, but the story of the picture as well as the story of myself... with a heavy emphasis on my biography as the price gets a lot higher. It's all part of the package that gallery owners need in order to create additional value in a work of art and justify their existence. However, the challenges of all that while living in a rural area of the country dissuade me from going in that direction. My particular interior design clients primarily think about which shade of pink in a picture matches the lampshade. Prices are typically lower, but I don't have to give so much thought to words. Maybe I put words to pictures subconsciously, but that's another discussion.
Also... maybe random interpretation is a good thing. Abstract impressionists didn't necessarily tell you what you should see in their paintings. Maybe it's better to let the viewer's imagination take over where the picture itself leaves off? Jackson Pollock used mostly numbers rather than descriptive titles later in his career for that reason.
You are absolutely right! Starting in 1947, Pollock deliberately abandoned titles in favor of numbers. It was a conscious gesture of respect for the viewer — an attempt to free the image from interpretation and let the painting speak for itself, without the burden of words. Seventy-eight years later, much has changed — in how we see, read, and expect meaning. But the question remains: do we still trust the viewer this much?
I feel like understanding the story and inspiration of the artist as a person is always interesting, and sheds light on their work. Students of art history seek to understand an individual piece through the story of the artist and the times and influences of which they lived. The autobiography of Norman Rockwell explains so much about how and why he came to paint the works that he did. And as far as I know, few of his works were titled by himself, while editors created most of the names, and the story stands alone as a picture on the cover of a magazine. A couple of his more famous works, "Saying Grace," 1951, and "Breakfast Table," 1930, are able to conjure all sorts of emotions depending on how you relate to the characters in the painting. But he doesn't tell you how you must respond, interpret the scene, or what to think. He essentially tells you nothing with words. Rockwell has no choice but to trust the viewer then, now, and for as long in the future as his work remains visible. And such a great storyteller he was. Of course I keep going back to 20th century artists, but how much has really changed in the way we consume art, other than the obvious transition of print to digital?
This is the most important question!
What’s changed is the speed at which we consume art. We think less, swipe faster. But when an image comes with a title that doesn’t simply describe what’s obvious, it slows us down. It invites a second look.
If there’s a photo of a forest, most people will swipe past or walk by it in a gallery. But if the caption reads "The Weary Hare", you’ll start scanning the trees, searching for it — even if it’s not there.
Just my logic, of course — no claims attached :)
Yes, agreed! For another example of this, please see the comment I just wrote (above) about David Bowie.
Thanks for sharing Alvin Greis ! Did you start painting again as well? Or maybe you never stopped painting? I'm curious if you do paint, if you name those as well -- and if that is a similar or different experience to naming a photograph?
I’m not painting at the moment, but I do use the camera like a brush and the sensor like a palette (forgive the cliché).
Back when I painted more regularly, I rarely thought about giving titles to my works.
That understanding came later — through a different kind of experience, more closely tied to observing human behavior.
I love that you ended your article with a question - that is such a good way to encourage reader engagement!
Adam Matthews asked:
"Which part of your photography has grown the most—and how did that shift lead you to new aspects of photography?"
Over the past 5 years, most of my growth has been horizontal, not vertical. By that I mean that the quality of my work has somewhat plateaued, but that I have branched out quite a bit and I now shoot a much broader diversity of subject matter than I had for the first 12 years of my photography journey.
I had always photographed big game animals like Bighorn Sheep, Deer, Elk, Moose, etc. And also gamebirds and waterfowl like pheasants, quail, grouse, turkeys, ducks, and geese.
But over the past several years I have branched out to also photograph reptiles, amphibians, as well as songbirds and shorebirds.
Photographing songbirds is utterly and completely different than photographing gamebirds and ducks - very different locations and completely different techniques, as well as different times of the year. Although the gear used is pretty much the same.
Of course reptiles and amphibians are a whole different genre altogether. Not only different parts of the country and different times of year, but altogether different gear - short lenses instead of 600 and 800mm supertelephotos. Controlled lighting instead of only ambient light. Often, nocturnal sessions instead of daytime outings.
So my growth has included learning about completely new types of wildlife - new species and their unique lifecycles. And that has led me to learn a different geography, new venues in which to photograph - the Sonoran Desert, Michigan's Upper Peninsula, the rolling hills of southern Ohio, the beaches of the Atlantic coast, etc.
Going from a specialist to a generalist has pushed me in many ways, and I am thankful for everything I have learned and experienced since I branched out.
That's fascinating Tom Reichner ! Not being much of a wildlife photographer, some of these distinctions are ones I've never considered...or even though much about 🙂 You mentioned the differences in location, techniques, and learning about the new species and their lifecycles as you branched out. Did you find that your compositional style transferred well, or were there differences there too?
And I love that call-out about horizontal growth! It's a really great point that while some facets of our photography might be plateaued, we can still progress in our overall photography.
Adam,
Thanks for replying to my comment.
You asked:
"Did you find that your compositional style transferred well, or were there differences there too?"
There are great differences in the way megafauna, gamebird, and waterfowl photos are composed compared to the way reptile, amphibian, and songbird photos are composed.
Ducks, grouse, deer, moose, etc., are pretty much photographed where I find them. I pretty much never have any control over where they are going to be. I can wait for hours for them to show up at a certain place, but that is still me adjusting my composition to the place where they are instead of me adjusting the place itself. The surroundings and backgrounds with these subjects are almost always "ambient", and if I want to get the surroundgings and backgrounds to appear differently in the photo, then I need to adjust the camera position from which the photo is taken.
With reptile and amphibian photography, one typically picks the subject up and takes it to a hand-picked location. We either take the subject to a piece of habitat that is picture perfect, or we manicure a little area so as to make it picture perfect, then we place the subject there and try to put it into the poses and positions that we think will be most compelling. It is very much like studio work. In fact, it actually IS studio work, using the great outdoors as one's studio, where everything is meticulously set up for the photos.
There is a different kind of reptile and amphibian photography that is not practiced as much, and it is called "in-situ", in which you photograph the subject exactly as you found it, without altering its behavior or position at all. This is very much a purist's form of herpetological photography.
With songbirds, the way one typically goes about getting good photos of them is to bring them in to a spot where you want them to be, using either feed or a playback call. The feeding stations usually only work well at times of year when the birds have trouble finding enough food on their own, which would be winter for most of the US. The playback calls typically only work during courtship and mating season. Because the photographer is choosing a location and often manicuring it the way he wants it to appear in the photo, it is similar to reptile and amphibian photography. The difference lies in the fact that you are physically taking the reptiles and amphibians to the pre-selected places, whereas you are trying to get birds to come to those places on their own.
In either the case of the herps or the songbirds, compositions are mostly set up and manipulated much like a studio environment would be, whereas with the mammals, waterfowl, and gamebirds, the locations and everything about them are ambient and natural, or at least "as found".