Conclusion: Reflecting on the Philosophy of Photography


As we reach the end of A Photography Philosophy Series, I hope this journey has been as rewarding for you as it has been for me. Through these articles, we’ve explored the philosophy behind why we photograph—going beyond equipment and technique to dig into the heart of what makes photography so meaningful. Each theme in the series has shed light on a unique layer of photography, from capturing emotions to telling stories, reflecting identity, building connections, and even embracing impermanence.

We began with Why Do We Photograph?—a question that sits at the root of every image we capture. For some, photography is about preserving memories; for others, it’s about self-expression, documenting moments, or sharing perspectives. Over time, our reasons for photographing often shift and evolve, bringing more layers to our work as we grow. This first article set the tone for the series by reminding us that photography is a deeply personal journey, and our motivations shape each image we create.

Then we delved into The Emotions of Photography, exploring how images can carry feelings, from joy and nostalgia to solitude and contemplation. Photography allows us to express emotions that words often fail to capture, communicating through light, composition, and mood. Each photograph holds the potential to resonate with viewers in a way that feels both personal and universal, offering a window into the photographer’s emotional landscape.

The Art of Storytelling in Photography came next, where we looked at how images can create narratives—small windows into people, places, or moments that form part of a larger story. Photography has a remarkable way of capturing both detail and the bigger picture, allowing us to document stories that speak to shared experiences or unique perspectives. In a world full of words, photographs can often tell a story with a quiet eloquence.

In Identity and Self-Expression, we explored how photography offers a chance to express who we are and what we see. Our images inevitably reflect parts of ourselves—our backgrounds, our worldview, and our personal journey. For many, photography is as much a journey of self-discovery as it is a creative practice, helping us find our own voice and share it with others. Photography encourages us to see ourselves more clearly and to reveal something of that to the world.

Then came Connection Through Photography, a theme close to my heart. Photography, as we’ve seen, can forge connections—between photographer and subject, among fellow photographers, or with viewers who see something of themselves in the image. These connections remind us that we’re not alone in this world; they foster a sense of community, shared understanding, and empathy that goes beyond language. Photography has a unique power to unite us, even if only for a moment.

Lastly, we explored The Philosophy of Impermanence, where we reflected on the fleeting nature of each photograph. Every image captures a moment that can never be repeated, lending photography its unique poignancy. Impermanence reminds us to treasure the moment and see beauty in the transient. Photography, like life itself, is filled with unexpected moments, and it’s often the imperfections or mistakes that give images their authenticity and depth.

As we close, I invite you to reflect on your own photographic journey. What drives you to take photographs? Which themes resonate most with you—capturing emotions, telling stories, connecting with others, or perhaps embracing impermanence? These reflections aren’t just theoretical ideas; they form the personal philosophy that shapes how each of us approaches photography.

Ultimately, photography is about connecting with the world and each other through shared moments and meanings. If this series has encouraged you to think more deeply about your motivations, experiences, and the meaning behind your work, then I hope you’ll carry those reflections forward. Photography gives us a way to see, to understand, and to share in ways that words alone can’t.

Thank you for joining me on this exploration. I’d love to hear about your own experiences—what drives you, what connects you, and how photography shapes your view of the world. Let’s keep the conversation going and continue building a community of thoughtful photographers, one image at a time.

The UK Chronicles, Part V: Rothbury to Hepple


Do you have a place, be it real or imaginary, that just haunts your mind?  You think of it, and you are transported there instantly.  The smells of the grass, the sounds of the river, and the odd car driving past you wondering what the heck you are doing?  Hepple is my special place.  It is a place where I feel at peace and that all is right with the world.

I’m thinking back to an article I wrote a couple of years ago called Hepple for Photos, Not Gin. I was with my father and had my Canon 6D Mark II with the 16-35mm F4.0 lens and the 70-300mm zoom lens. This year, however, I had my X100F with just the 35mm f2.0 equivalent lens, and I was with Killian, who, surprisingly, was a little tired and decided to curl up on the back seat for a snooze. His loss…

This is the place, this stretch of road, that I have been looking forward to for 2 years. The weather was clement, and I can assure you that the place is still as beautiful as ever. I wasn’t going to have the choice of lenses this time; I would have to see the scene in 35mm and make do with it. No zooming, no switching lenses—just a little constraint. And you know what? I was fine with that!

The lack of zooming and my sleeping son allowed me to walk around the area a little more, exploring under the tree at the end of the road and at the bottom of the hill.  These were views that I had not seen before.  It only goes to show that we might think we know a place, even in our memories, but it still has so much more to offer us.

I parked just before the bridge, as I usually do. Everything was still in place: the stiles, the trees, the river—just as I had pictured it in my mind. It’s when looking at the countryside like this that I am convinced there is a creator behind all this creation. The beauty of it didn’t just happen by chance.

The noises were made by the flowing of the river and the breeze in the trees.  I had this feeling of calm.  I could take photos of that place every day and not get tired of it all.  I might even go so far as to say I could have died here and died a happy death.  I had found my peace.

Killian had found his peace too and was still asleep in the car.  A micro sieste, he said.  He might be 25, but he reminded me of the small boy who was once my son. 

I can’t be the only person on this earth to feel this?