In this episode of The Perceptive Photographer, I sit down with Jenny Hansen Das a great friend and Seattle-based fine art photographer whose work has always amazed me as it finds intersections of beauty, absurdity, and deep emotional connection and notions of everyday life. Jenny’s photography centers on the simplicity of the everyday but presents it in unexpected ways, combining analog and digital modes and prioritizing the creative process over where an image originates.

Her experimentation with alternative processes including chromoskedasic sabatier, image transfers, and cyanotypes reflect a deep interest in pushing the boundaries of photographic expression, often resulting in handcrafted, one-of-a-kind works that cannot be reproduced.

We dive into a rich conversation about exceptions in photography .You know those happy accidents, rule-breaks, and process surprises that lead to the most compelling work, as well as the realities of working with galleries and navigating the fine art world as a practicing photographer.

Just a little about her, she completed the Certificate in Fine Art Photography at the Photographic Center Northwest in 2023, and is also the founder of The Seattle Light Room, a community darkroom and gallery in the Seward Park neighborhood of Seattle. As you will hear, this is a space dedicated to keeping analog photographic traditions alive and accessible and hosting interesting and relevant photographic art shows in the gallery.

You can explore her photography portfolio at jennyhansendas.com and follow her work on Instagram at @jennyhansendas. For The Seattle Light Room, visit theseattlelightroom.com or follow @theseattlelightroom on Instagram.

Hey there! I hope you are having a great week. In this week’s podcast, I wanted to talk about some of the things that came up for me when I revisited John Berger’s essay, “Understanding a Photograph.” As I was preparing for a class, this essay got me excited for a podcast discussion about meaning in our work. Berger asks us, at the core of the essay, a few things. One of which is: What really gives a photograph its meaning?

Before we even get to first off, one of my favorite phrases from Berger is that a photograph is a “meditation of light.” Photography is, at its core, about light—how it shapes, reveals, and transforms a scene. Love that idea.

First off, I love that a photograph is the result of a photographer’s decision to record a particular moment, event, or object. This is a deceptively simple but powerful notion. As John says, if we photographed everything indiscriminately, no single image would stand out. The act of pressing the shutter is what gives a photograph its weight. It’s not just a neutral record; it’s a message. When I decide to photograph something, I say, “This time, place, person, thing matters.”

Berger also makes a subtle but important distinction: a photograph doesn’t celebrate the event or the act of seeing, but rather a focus on the message about the event. The photograph isn’t about the photographer’s experience or the event’s essence. Instead, it’s a statement: “This happened, and it was important enough to record.” That’s a powerful shift in thinking. It shifts the way I want to discuss and analyze work. What was compelling about this moment? Or what is the photographer trying to communicate? When looking at others’ work, I may try to step into their shoes. What might have inspired them to press the shutter at that exact moment?

The photograph uses the event it records to explain why it was made. Sometimes, the reason is obvious—a dramatic sunset, a fleeting expression. Other times, it’s subtle or even external to the image itself. Before composing, spend a moment just watching how light interacts with your subject. What story does the light tell? Sometimes, the difference between a good photo and a great one is waiting for the right light. Be patient and responsive. Not every photograph will explain itself fully, and that’s okay. Sometimes, the meaning is personal or contextual.

Berger challenges the traditional emphasis on composition by comparing photography to painting. Painting is an art of arrangement (again, his words), meaning that every element is deliberately placed. Photography, on the other hand, records events that are inherently mysterious and can’t be fully explained by arrangement alone. This doesn’t mean composition isn’t important, but it’s not the whole story. Use composition as a tool to support the significance of the moment, not as an end in itself. The difference between photographing at one moment or another can change everything.

He also says that, unlike painting, photography doesn’t have its own internal language (not sure I agree here, but we’ll give him the benefit of the doubt). We “read” photographs like we read footprints or medical charts. The meaning is tied to the event and to what we think of or know about it, real or otherwise. It isn’t just a response to the lines and symbols within the image. Context matters and can matter a lot. When analyzing a photo, think about what’s happening outside the frame. What’s the story behind the event?

Berger’s essay made me realize how important it is to know why I clicked the shutter at a particular moment. If I can’t answer that, I wasn’t truly connected to the scene. Sometimes, the best lessons come from the shots that missed, the ones I didn’t take, or the moments I missed.

I can’t recommend John Berger’s Understanding a Photograph enough. It’s a collection of essays that will challenge and inspire you to think more deeply about your photography.

Don’t forget to check out the upcoming chat with Jenny Hansen Das, where we start a great conversation about meeting expectations.

Thanks for joining me. I hope you have a great week.

In the start of our 11th year, episode 572 of The Perceptive Photographer, I dive back into a often discussed topic that every photographer eventually faces: conflicting critique.

It is bound to happen to all of us. That moment when two thoughtful people look at the same photograph and see completely different things. One person calls it powerful and restrained. Another calls it distant and unresolved. Same image. Same moment. Completely different reactions.

When that happens, it can shake your confidence. So I thought we might try to unpack why critique in a slightly different way and remind everyone at the start of this 11th year that not all feedback lives at the same level. Some comments are about taste. Others are about craft. And sometimes the disagreement reveals something deeper about seeing in the image. After all meaning isn’t owned solely by the photographer. It’s created in the encounter between the image and the viewer.

My goal this week was to share a simple framework to help you filter critique: How does it relate to your original intent? Is it about structure or preference? Does it resonate when you sit quietly with your work? Most importantly, I explore how you can separate your identity from your photographs so that feedback becomes useful instead of personal.

If you’re navigating disagreement in your own work or with feedback from more than one source, I hope that you can think about critique not as contradiction, but as clarity emerging through differences. After all the goal isn’t consensus, It’s understanding.