From Photojournalism to Landscape Photography: Finding My Voice
Longs Peak View (2014)
Transitioning from photojournalism to landscape photography was a profound adjustment, demanding a complete shift in mindset and approach. In my photojournalism days, I captured dynamic, fast-moving subjects under varied lighting conditions—everything from Power 5 Division 1 athletes to elementary school students in parades. The work was reactive and fast-paced, requiring me to work with the scene at hand and deliver compelling results on tight deadlines. My best compositions didn’t rely on formal rules; they were driven by raw emotion and the stories I aimed to tell.
Waterfall and Stone (2015)
In contrast, landscape photography thrives on patience and meticulous planning—something I struggled with at first. In photojournalism, coming back without a usable photo was unthinkable. As a landscape photographer, however, empty-handed trips are not uncommon. Many art photographers produce just a handful of portfolio-worthy images each year—sometimes only one or two. For someone accustomed to publishing daily, this slower pace felt alien.
Standing before my first landscapes, I felt like a fish out of water. I loved the subjects but wasn’t yet comfortable with the deliberate, painstaking process required. Waiting an hour for the perfect light? Spending a two-week trip photographing just three locations? Scouring weather reports and refining compositions to the smallest detail? It was a dramatic departure from my previous workflow.
To learn the craft, I turned to the work of established masters like Ansel Adams and Edward Weston. For years, I tried to mimic their iconic styles, but these efforts fell flat. Instead of studying their artistic principles, I was unintentionally copying their work. Frustrated, I began questioning whether I could ever succeed as a landscape photographer.
Everything changed when I stumbled upon an interview with a contemporary photographer who posed two powerful questions: “Is this something I haven’t seen before?” and “How do I convey the emotion, rather than just the subject?”
Painted Wall (2018)
That insight transformed my perspective. Despite my background, I realized I had been breaking both rules. I was so focused on recreating the work of others that I had lost my own artistic voice. Why try to emulate Ansel Adams? His images had already immortalized those landscapes. Worse, my work had devolved into “look at this pretty location” photography, devoid of emotional resonance.
From that day forward, I approached landscapes through a storytelling lens, much like my photojournalism roots. I shifted focus from capturing “hero shots” to documenting emotions, crafting narratives that extend beyond the final image. It was no longer about the place itself but about the emotional and intellectual experience it could evoke in viewers.
I also made a commitment: I would not follow trends or create work to chase likes on social media. My integrity as an artist now lies in producing images that are deeply meaningful, grounded in emotional storytelling.
This epiphany led me to conceptualize collections instead of standalone images. These collections explore shared themes or artistic statements, allowing me to create work with deeper impact and cohesion.
If you’d like to explore more about my artistic philosophy, stay tuned for my next post.