Finding My Way Back to Photography
Updated: Oct 3
For most of my life, photography has been there.
Sometimes it was a profession. Sometimes it was art. Sometimes it was simply the thing I did because I couldn't imagine seeing the world without wanting to photograph it.
And then, somewhere along the way, I stopped.
Not completely. Cameras and photographs never disappeared from my life. But the part of photography that had always belonged only to me - the curiosity, the wandering, the freedom to photograph something simply because it caught my attention—slowly moved into the background.
Life got busy. Priorities changed. Creativity competed with all the things adulthood has a remarkable talent for piling on top of us. And if I'm being fair, I was burned out.
I had spent years photographing professionally, including working as a photographer for the military and shooting weddings. When you're responsible for capturing moments that matter deeply to other people, photography carries a different kind of weight.
You have to get the shot.
Eventually, I realized I'd lost touch with the feeling I had when there was no client, no assignment and no expectation attached to the camera. I missed photographing simply because I wanted to see what was there.
So I decided to start again.
Except I've realized something since then:
I'm not really starting over. I'm finding my way back.
Learning to Notice Again
At first, I caught myself looking for photographs that felt important enough to make. Beautiful landscapes. Dramatic light. Something unusual. Something worthy of pulling out the camera.
But photography has never really worked that way for me.
Some of the things I find most interesting aren't grand at all. They're shadows or textures. The surface of an old wall. Light moving through leaves. A single flower growing somewhere you wouldn't expect it. The evidence of time on a building. Tiny details most people walk past without noticing.
Once I stopped waiting for something spectacular to happen, I started seeing photographs everywhere again. And that felt familiar.
I began carrying a camera more often - even when I wasn't going anywhere specifically to photograph. I started giving myself small challenges: look for one color, one texture, reflections, rust, patterns, whatever caught my attention that day.
Not because I needed to produce anything from it. Just to get myself looking again.
Giving Myself Permission to Play
One of the best things about returning to photography has been remembering that I don't have to know what an image is going to become before I make it. I can shoot black and white simply because the light feels right for it. I can change lenses, crawl closer, shoot from an awkward angle or spend far too much time studying a texture that everyone else has already walked past.
I've even pulled out my film cameras again.
There is something wonderfully freeing about experimenting when there isn't an assignment attached to it. Some ideas work. Some absolutely do not. And that's okay.
Not every photograph needs to become a print.
Not every photograph needs to be shown.
Not every photograph needs to be flawless.
Sometimes the purpose of taking a photograph is simply taking the photograph.
And for the record: Photoshop is NOT a verb. It's one of the tools in the bag. It was never meant to replace seeing in the first place.
Letting Go of the Perfect Photograph
This may be the hardest lesson to relearn. After years of professional photography—and years of being an artist - it's very easy to become your own worst critic.
Is it sharp enough?
Is the composition strong enough?
Is the light right?
Would anyone else think this is interesting?
And sometimes those questions matter. But sometimes they get in the way.
A photograph can be slightly blurred, imperfectly exposed or technically unconventional and still say exactly what it needs to say. Sometimes an image captures a feeling that technical perfection would actually diminish.
So I've been reminding myself of something very simple:
Just take the picture.
Decide what it means later.
Coming Back Different
The interesting thing about returning to something you once loved is that you don't return as the same person who left it.
I've changed.
My life has changed.
And inevitably, the way I see has changed too.
I'm looking more closely now.
I'm more interested in details, layers and traces of time. I'm fascinated by what happens when scale changes - when something familiar becomes almost unrecognizable simply because you get close enough to really look at it.
I'm still drawn to abandoned places and landscapes. I'm still fascinated by light and movement. I'm still perfectly capable of standing in one place far longer than any reasonable person should while waiting for something to happen. Some things apparently don't change.
But I'm also discovering new subjects and revisiting photographs I made years - even decades - ago with completely different eyes. And perhaps that's the part of this return I hadn't expected.
I'm not trying to become the photographer I used to be. I'm discovering the photographer I am now.
Photography is giving me something I didn't realize how much I'd missed: a reason to slow down, observe, wander, experiment and be curious.
It helps me find my center.
So this isn't really a fresh start. It's a continuation.
And I'm curious to see where it goes.
Until next time - keep finding the beauty in the details.
Next: Why Photography?
All images Copyright © Janet Davis. All rights reserved. Artwork may not be reproduced or resold without the express permission of the artist.
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