The freedom of not knowing
There is something quite enjoyable about not knowing whether I have taken a good photograph. When I am out with a camera, particularly somewhere unfamiliar, it is easy to become absorbed in the moment. I am looking at the light, noticing shapes, colours, reflections, and the relationships between things. Sometimes, I instinctively raise the camera and take a photograph without really knowing why. Something catches my attention, something about the scene feels interesting, and I want to hold on to it. Whether it will eventually become a photograph I really like is another question entirely.
I have become quite comfortable with that uncertainty. I don't necessarily need to know at the moment of taking whether I have captured something worthwhile. Sometimes I have a fairly clear idea of what I am trying to achieve. At other times, I am simply responding to what's in front of me. I think that is part of the enjoyment of photography. There is a freedom in being able to explore a scene without feeling that every frame needs to be successful.
Exploring the possibilities
There is still something to be said for trying to get things right in camera. Thinking carefully about composition, exposure, perspective, and the relationship between elements within a frame. I enjoy that process, and I am certainly not suggesting those decisions don't matter.
But I also think it is perfectly fine to explore multiple possibilities without feeling the need to decide there and then which one is the definitive photograph. Digital photography makes this particularly enjoyable. I can explore a scene, make several different exposures, change my position slightly, experiment with framing, and return to the same subject from different perspectives.
I will often take several photographs of essentially the same thing, not necessarily because I am looking for a technically perfect image, but because each frame might contain something slightly different: a change in perspective, a person moving through the composition, a reflection appearing in the right place, or simply a different relationship between the elements within the frame.
At the time, I might not know which version I prefer. Sometimes I don't even know whether there is a photograph there at all - and that's perfectly fine.
The second part of the process
One of the things I have increasingly come to appreciate is how much of my photographic process happens after I have put the camera away.
Sitting down with Lightroom on my computer and going back through the photographs is an entirely different experience to being out making them. The immediate surroundings have disappeared. I am no longer distracted by the weather, the people, the sounds or the practicalities of being somewhere.
I can spend time looking at the photographs individually, moving between them, comparing different versions and considering what initially attracted me to a particular scene.
Sometimes a photograph that seemed relatively unremarkable at the time starts to reveal something interesting. Perhaps there is a relationship between two shapes that I hadn't noticed, or a particular arrangement of colours that becomes more apparent when I see it on a screen. Occasionally come across something that I barely remember taking.
Other times, the opposite happens. A photograph that I was quite excited about when I took it simply doesn't hold my attention when I return to it. That is part of the process too.
Discovering the photograph through editing
Editing, for me, isn't simply about correcting exposure, adjusting contrast or making colours pop. It's about working out what I was trying to see in the first place.
Cropping is a particularly good example. A photograph might initially contain a much wider view than the image I eventually settle on. As I spend time with it, I might begin to recognise that the more interesting photograph is actually contained within a relatively small section of the original frame.
Removing elements, changing proportions and adjusting the balance of a composition can completely alter how an image feels. Sometimes the photograph I eventually produce is quite different from the one I initially thought I was taking.
I don't see that as somehow making the photograph less authentic. Quite the opposite. It's another part of the creative process. The camera records a moment, but the decisions that follow help establish what that moment means to me visually.
The value of looking again
There is also something quite rewarding about allowing time to pass between taking and editing photographs.
I don't always feel the need to review everything immediately. Sometimes it's days, weeks, or even months before I return to a particular set of images. That distance can be useful. The excitement of being somewhere has faded, and I am looking at the photographs with a slightly different perspective. I am less attached to the experience of taking them and more interested in what the images actually communicate.
Perhaps that's why some photographs become more interesting over time, while others gradually lose their appeal.
I think it is important to recognise that these are two quite separate experiences, but they're also completely intertwined. The first is about being present, walking, observing, noticing things and responding to the world around you. The second is about reflection, looking back, making decisions, refining compositions, and developing an idea that might not have been entirely clear when I first pressed the shutter. Both are enjoyable in their own right.
Two halves of the same process
I am not particularly interested in making every photographic outing a search for a finished image. Sometimes I just want to spend time looking at things differently, to experiment, make mistakes, take photographs that don't work, and occasionally stumble across something unexpected.
Perhaps that is one of the advantages of photography as a creative pursuit. I don't always have to know what I am making while I am making it.
Sometimes the photograph only starts to make sense much later, when I am sat at home, with a warm cup of coffee, looking through a collection of images and discovering something I didn't quite realise was there.
I can move between different frames, reconsider a composition, try a crop I hadn't previously considered, and perhaps find that the photograph I eventually fall in love with - despite the fact it wasn't the one I initially thought was the strongest.
The experience of taking the photograph and the experience of making the photograph are two different things - and I really enjoy both.