I didn’t plan this series when I sat down to write the first part. I thought I had one post in me about why I bother with a camera at all, and then I kept finding more questions underneath that one. Seven parts later, here’s roughly what I’ve landed on, plus what surprised me about writing it down in the first place.

The question I started with, why photograph at all, turned out not to have one answer. Some days it’s about keeping a record. Some days it’s closer to therapy, a way of getting out of my own head for an hour. Writing that part made me notice how much the reason shifts depending on my mood before I’ve even picked up the camera, which I hadn’t really clocked until I tried to explain it to someone else.

The emotional side surprised me more than I expected. I went into that post thinking I’d talk about composition and technique, and instead ended up telling a story about an A-level music essay and a teacher tearing my taste in Glenn Miller to shreds. Photography and music turned out to be doing the same job for me: reciting the text and then letting go of what anyone makes of it.

Storytelling was the one I found easiest to write, probably because I already think in contact sheets, whole rolls rather than single frames. Identity was the hardest. Writing about whether a camera reveals who you are meant admitting things I don’t love admitting, like the fact I’ve picked up more from YouTube than from thirty years of just going out and shooting. Connection reminded me how much of this supposedly solitary hobby actually happens because of other people: my kids as reluctant first models, a Nantes meet-up where I brought the smallest camera in the group, a photography collective that’s shown me the same streets through completely different eyes.

And impermanence, the last one before this, is probably the part I think about most now, weeks after writing it. Every photo is proof that a moment is already gone. I used to find that a bit bleak. Somewhere in writing it out I stopped finding it bleak and started finding it more like the whole point.

So, what’s actually changed for me, having written all this down? Not much on the surface. I still go out with the same cameras, still get annoyed at the same mistakes. But I think I’m a bit more honest with myself now about why I press the shutter when I do, and a bit less bothered when the reason doesn’t sound impressive.

If any of this made you think about your own reasons for picking up a camera, good. I’m not expecting anyone to agree with all seven parts, I don’t think I fully agree with all seven parts. If you want to tell me where you think I’ve got it wrong, the comments are open, and I mean that as a genuine invitation rather than a polite sign-off. I’ll read them properly.

Also in this series: Part I — An Introduction  ·  Part II — Why Do We Photograph?  ·  Part III — The Emotions of Photography  ·  Part IV — The Art of Storytelling  ·  Part V — Identity & Self-Expression  ·  Part VI — Connection Through Photography  ·  Part VII — The Philosophy of Impermanence  ·  Conclusion