Sometimes getting better has nothing to do with doing more of what you’re already good at.
I’m not much of a landscape photographer. That’s not some false-humility thing. I just don’t naturally see that way. Give me people, surf, streets, little moments, weird signs, a parking lot, something moving, something happening, and I usually know what to do with that. Put me in front of some giant canyon or endless desert and suddenly I’m standing there thinking, okay… now what?
That happened a lot on a recent road trip from California to Colorado. There were ridiculous landscapes everywhere. Mountains, desert, open roads, rock formations, huge skies. The kind of shit landscape photographers probably dream about. And I kept finding myself in places I normally wouldn’t know how to photograph.
The Petrified Forest was probably the biggest example. It was wide open, quiet, strange, and nothing about it felt like the kind of photography I usually make. Which was exactly why I needed to shoot it.
The Easy Move Is to Stay in Your Lane
There’s something comfortable about knowing what you’re good at. You know what lens to grab. You know what kind of light you like. You know what compositions work for you. You know what you’re looking for. That feels good, but it can also get dangerous.
Eventually, you can start photographing on autopilot. You stop solving problems. You stop asking questions. You just repeat what already works. I’ve definitely done that. You recognize a scene that fits your style and make the photograph you already know how to make.
There’s nothing wrong with that. But there’s not always much growth in it either.
At the Petrified Forest, I didn’t really have a playbook. There wasn’t a person to follow. No surfer dropping into a wave. No little street moment unfolding in front of me. Just space. A lot of it.
I had to think differently. Where does the frame start? Where does it stop? How much sky do I want? Do I make this thing feel huge? Do I focus on the little details instead? What the hell am I actually photographing here?
Those questions made me uncomfortable.
Good.
That probably meant I was paying attention.
Being Bad at Something Is Useful
One of the best things about trying a type of photography you don’t normally shoot is that you’re allowed to suck at it. Actually, you probably should. You’re not supposed to know everything. You’re not supposed to nail every frame. You’re definitely not supposed to suddenly become Ansel Adams because you spent an afternoon in the desert.
You’re learning.
That takes some pressure off.
I wasn’t trying to become a landscape photographer on this trip. I was just trying to figure out what I saw. That distinction matters, because when you’re not trying to prove you’re good at something, you start experimenting again. You make weird compositions. You shoot things you might normally ignore. You take a frame just to see what happens.
Sometimes it works. Sometimes it absolutely doesn’t.
Either way, you learn something.
Your Style Shouldn’t Become a Cage
I talk a lot about finding your style, and that’s probably useful. But I think there’s a point where protecting your style can start getting in the way.
You stop photographing certain things because they “don’t fit.” You stop trying different approaches because they don’t look like your previous work. You start editing yourself before you even take the photograph.
That feels backwards.
Your style should come from the way you see the world. It shouldn’t tell you what parts of the world you’re allowed to look at.
I don’t want to become so attached to being a certain kind of photographer that I stop being curious. If a giant desert landscape makes me uncomfortable, maybe I should photograph more giant desert landscapes. If portraits make you nervous, shoot portraits. If you only shoot street, go stand somewhere quiet. If you’re always chasing perfect light, shoot at noon.
Do the thing you don’t know how to do yet.
That’s usually where something new starts.
The Point Wasn’t the Landscape
Looking back, I don’t think the real lesson from that road trip had much to do with landscape photography. It was about being willing to feel a little lost.
There’s value in not knowing what photograph you’re supposed to make. There’s value in having to slow down and figure it out. There’s value in making frames that don’t look like anything else you’ve made.
Maybe they’ll become part of your work. Maybe they won’t. Who cares.
You tried something. You stretched your eye a little. You made yourself uncomfortable.
That’s probably good for you.
I’m still not a landscape photographer, and I’m not sure I want to be. But the next time I’m standing in front of some massive stretch of desert with no idea what the hell to do with it, I’m not putting the camera away.
I’m shooting it.
— Brendan
