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.

I hope you are having a great week and thanks for tuning into this week’s episode of the Perceptive Photographer. The just happens to be episode 571 and we still have one week of the Winter Olympics left. Woo H00!. This week, we’re diving deep into the art of photographic composition and what truly makes a photograph great based on the inspiration of two quotes. One by Ansel Adams and the other by Edward Weston.

Ansel Adams once said, “A great photograph is a full expression of what one feels about what is being photographed in the deepest sense.” This means that a photograph isn’t just a picture; it’s a reflection of your emotions and worldview. Edward Weston’s perspective that “Good composition is only the strongest way of seeing the subject. It cannot be taught because, like all creative efforts, it is a matter of personal growth” It’s about developing your unique vision and expressing it through your photography.

The got me thinking that, while learning compositional rules is helpful, the essence of great photography really doe lie in personal connection and authentic expression. Your best work will come from a place of self-awareness and growth. Our great photographs are more than visual records; they are stories of our life told through our unique perspective. They reflect our values, emotions, and experiences.

Couple of reminder about some upcoming fun things to do:

• Foundations of Photoshop Virtual Summit: Starting next Monday, February 23rd, through the 27th. It’s a fantastic opportunity to get a free week of training on Photoshop fundamentals. Don’t miss my classes on printing, troubleshooting, canvas, and image size. Sign up for a free pass from the homepage. .
• Adventures in the Palouse Workshop: Join me for a five-day immersive experience in a beautiful location. It’s perfect for photographers looking to deepen their craft and connect with others. Check out the details under the workshop tab above.

I hope these insights inspire you to approach your photography with renewed passion and authenticity. Remember, your growth as a person and an artist is inseparable from your growth as a photographer. Thank you for being a part of this journey with me. Have a wonderfully creative week, and I look forward to our next episode together.

In Episode 570 of The Perceptive Photographer, I found myself circling a couple of questions: Is an audience required for meaning, or just for momentum? And if no one ever sees a photograph, does it still matter? (and the difference between sees and seen)

As photographers, we’re surrounded by feedback. Images are shared, measured, ranked, and quickly replaced by the next shot. It’s easy to absorb the idea that a photograph only becomes real once it’s been seen. But when I slow down and think about why I started making photographs in the first place, the audience was originally never part of that conversation (although is sneaks in now at times).

For me, meaning starts in photography at the moment of noticing. The act of seeing and recognizing something worth paying attention to is already enough to give a photograph value. Some of the most important images I’ve made were never shared. They exist as points of understanding, memory, or emotional clarity. In those moments, the photograph did its job without ever leaving my camera.

An audience, however, does provide something else: momentum. Being seen can encourage us to keep going. It can create energy, dialogue, and a sense of connection. But it can also quietly influence what we choose to photograph, nudging us toward what’s expected or rewarded. When that happens, meaning can become secondary to reaction.

So maybe the question isn’t whether photographs need an audience, but what role we want that audience to play. If no one ever saw my photographs again, which ones would I still make? Episode 570 is my attempt to sit with that question—and invite you to do the same.

When was the last time a photograph or moment behind the camera lens truly made you stop and catch your breath? Not just a quick “oh, that’s nice,” but a real, lingering moment of connection? Well, that is the topic for the show today, which is episode 569, btw. podcasts

If you think about the images you see every day, there are so many of them. We’re living in an age of visual overload. It can be easy to become distant and sort of numb to the images. We walk past or scroll by without really seeing. I do it all the time.

But here’s the thing: photography, at its best, isn’t about quantity. It’s about the quality of attention. The images that stick with us. The ones that make us pause. The ones that invite us to be present, to really see, are the ones we want to have in our lives.

Ultimately, great photography changes us. It expands our awareness, opens us up, and shifts how we see the world. Those moments that make us stop and catch our breath. They’re rare, but they’re worth seeking out, both as creators and viewers.

Next time you pick up your camera, or even scroll through social feeds, slow down. Be present and breathe.

Thanks for joining me and ahvr a great week

In this week’s episode, Episode 568 of The Perceptive Photographer, I spend some time reflecting on a tension many photographers experience, whether we admit it or not: the pull between photographing for ourselves and photographing for validation.

At some point, often without realizing it, we start making images with an audience in mind. We think about what will be liked, shared, or understood rather than what genuinely holds our attention. Validation isn’t inherently bad. It can be encouraging and even motivating, but when it becomes our north star, so to speak, when we make photographs, it quietly starts to shape our choices. Subjects become safer, risks become fewer, and curiosity gives way to performance.

This comes up again and again in my work. I have it course-corrected, but a subtle change shifts it back off track. There will be periods when I am/was/will be clearly trying to impress—chasing responses rather than experiences. The camera shifted from exploration to results. Over time, that approach gets a little exhausting.

I also know that when I stopped trying to impress and started paying closer attention to what actually interested me. The work became quieter. The subjects became simpler. It becomes a meaningful body of work. And while the external responses might not be immediate or loud or what I hoped for, the photographs felt more honest and more meaningful.

This isn’t about rejecting social media or avoiding sharing work. It’s about recognizing who you’re really making photographs for and what happens when you allow your own curiosity to lead. I invite listeners to consider what they would photograph if no one else ever saw the image—and why those photographs might matter more than we think.

In this episode of The Perceptive Photographer, I’m exploring why photography is never truly objective. I mean, why is it that two photographers standing in the same place, at the same time, will always see something different? This has always been one of the things that has always fascinated me about photography.

Same moment.

Different photographs.

That difference has very little to do with gear or technical skill and everything to do with perception and intention.

It’s easy to think of photography as a record of reality. After all, the camera captures what’s in front of it. But the camera doesn’t decide where to stand, what to include, or when the moment matters.

Those decisions belong to the photographer.

Every photograph is shaped by our choices, such as what we notice, what we ignore, and what we respond to. We are not recording the world as it is. We’re always interpreting and reinterpreting it.

Over time, we learn to recognize specific patterns of light, gesture, shape, or mood. And those things that begin to stand out to us, we repeat again and again. Our emotional state plays a role as well. When I’m calm and present, I tend to notice quieter moments. When I’m rushed or distracted, my images often reflect that.

In the end, I think we eventually learn that we don’t photograph what’s there. We photograph what we notice.

Once we accept that there’s no “right” way to see a scene, the pressure to match someone else’s image or expectation disappears.

The next time you’re out photographing, pause before you raise the camera. Notice what’s pulling your attention and what you’re leaving behind. You might be surprised by what you find in the viewfinder.