In just under two hours, I came home with around 120 photos.

A few nice frames of the restaurants on the coast, the first real beach day of the year and some reflection compositions I was trying out.

Unfortunately, of those 120, I maybe liked 10.

A strike rate under 10%.

Now, we all have these days. And it’s not like I was being reckless with memory space. I guess there was just something missing.

So that week, I took the leap I’d been circling for a while and bought a film camera.

This is what one roll taught me, and what it did to that strike rate.

Let’s dive in.

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Why Film?

Entering the film game has been a back-and-forth battle for a while now.

I’ve shot my fair share of disposables and rolls over the years.

But the thing that kept stalling my deep dive into the medium was that I needed to do it properly, to the point where it could sit comfortably alongside my commercial work.

A Kodak disposable wasn’t fit for that. So I knew it needed to be a real step up.

The camera I landed on was an affordable point-and-shoot, the Nikon L35 AF2.

I saw it as a small first move into film, not necessarily the destination.

The thinking here was to ease myself in, learn how I actually shoot on film, and keep the remaining allocated budget for the things that would help get better photos: trips, film stocks, and experimenting with different labs.

The hope is that this is the start of something and that down the line, I can upgrade into better glass and a proper film body once I know it’s for me.

Fast-forward to this Thursday, after a weekend of shooting in La Costa Brava, my first roll came back.

My initial reactions: shocked, impressed, confused & ecstatic (simultaneously, btw).

Why were photos shot on a camera that’s over 40 years old and a fraction of the cost of any digital camera I’ve owned, evoking such emotions?

Honestly, I’m still working out. But here’s what I found.

The ‘Limitations’ Did the Work

I’m a big believer in creative limitations. It’s how I approach a lot of my work.

But being limited by the sheer number of photos you can take is a different kind of force toward intentionality. Something I’ve spoken about a lot on this Substack.

36 shots. €14 for a roll of Kodak Gold, and about €25 to develop. That put me at just over €1 a photo.

Not outrageous in the grand scheme of things, but compared to that Saturday with my Fujifilm…

The 120 frames I fired off would have cost me roughly €130 on film. That’s a bill far harder to sit with than a memory card you’ve already paid for.

So I was forced to consider every shot.

Although I should be doing that anyway, this unwelcome financial incentive made it impossible to ignore.

I had compositions framed up and chose not to press the shutter because of the light. I saw frames I loved, but knew the dynamic range was too much to hold. Rather than fight a backlit shot, I’d move to bring the light in from the side.

The ongoing cost in my head resulted in a much stronger filter for what got captured.

And as a result, the photos I came home with had a much bigger impact on me.

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The Fear Was Real

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have reservations about relying on a 40-year-old camera.

Will they be in focus? Did this thing even load correctly? Should I have brought a digital backup?

I committed anyway, to the point where I left my Fujifilm at home. I shot a few stills on my Sony for comparison, but this was a film trip.

And honestly, I didn’t enjoy that part.

Checking focus, framing, and cropping, with no screen to reassure me while we visited such beautiful locations… it made the trip a bit nervy.

But I guess there’s something in that, though. Maybe I’ve been relying too much on the security of an EVF.

Those fears quickly subsided the moment the roll came back.

Of the 36 frames, only three let me down (One out of focus, one accidental repeat, and one self-timer mishap I still can’t explain).

A few others simply didn’t land, leaving me with around 30, which I was genuinely happy with!

Strike rate: 83%

Post-Production Felt Different

It might seem unnecessary, but I did bring the keepers into Lightroom for some finer adjustments.

I’d paid for higher-quality scans from a very good lab here in the city, which gave me the room.

White balance, the odd crop, and some finer skin-tone work.

But the more I did, the more I wanted to stop.

It felt like I was overdoing it. Getting in the way. And that was refreshing.

In the past, editing has felt like bringing a photo to life with digital work.

This time, it felt like preserving the life that was already there.

When you only capture the frames you truly meant to take, there’s far less to fix later.

Wrapping Up

I went looking for a better strike rate, but instead I gained so much more.

On digital, I’d kept 10 frames out of 120. On film, I kept around 30 out of 36. Roughly 8% against more than 80%, on a camera that costs a fraction of the price and is older than I am.

It took an old camera and a small purchase to remind me of something I already knew, and already preach. Slow down. Be selective. Focus on light.

I’m still figuring out where this fits alongside the commercial work. One roll isn’t enough to know, and the L35 probably isn’t the last film camera I’ll own.

But for the first time in a while, I came home with photos that felt like mine. And almost none I needed to throw away.

Happy shooting,

Matty.

We met for a coffee, and while I met his new girlfriend, we reminisced about the adventures we’d shared over the years. Enough of them to give her a pretty good idea of the kind of friendship we have.

It was on those adventures that I captured some of the most influential photos of my early photography journey.

Travel work, beautiful Mediterranean locations, and the kind of frames that inspired my eventual relocation.

It also led me into something the day after.

A deep dive through my archives.

And it got me thinking… this has become a ritual for me. One I think you might enjoy too.

I call it an Archive Dive.

Let’s dive in.

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A Reminder of Progress

There are a few reasons I treat an archive edit as a ritual.

But the most prominent one is simply this:

A reminder.

A reminder of progress, of memories, or even of who I used to be behind the camera.

Now, I’m not suggesting you sit in Lightroom scrolling through your old work for hours!

New work will always remain the best way to improve.

But every now and then, revisiting the old stuff sparks something.

For me, it’s often: pride, satisfaction, confusion and a feeling of oh damn, I’ve actually changed a lot.

And oftentimes, if you’re growing a lot, like me, you might start even questioning your old decisions:

• Why did I use that lens?

• Why did I edit it like that?

• Why didn’t I capture that?

These are great questions to be asking yourself, because they highlight your progress.

They clearly weren’t the questions you were asking yourself when clicking the shutter.

It’s rare I open an old catalogue and think: “Oh yeah, this is perfect. I was killing it back then.” It’s more like: “okay, I see what I was going for… but I wouldn’t do that now.”

That’s an important shift to notice… because it’s easy to get caught up in the work and never see how far you’ve come.

A trap I consistently find myself navigating away from.

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Fresh Eyes (and Skills)

Following this new appreciation for your progress, an Archive Dive means going back through your old work with fresh eyes and fresh skills.

In my case, I noticed a lot of my older travel work was vibrant and colourful.

Something I’m genuinely proud of, but not something I really love right now.

Go back and watch any of my Lightroom tutorials on YouTube, and you’ll hear me say: “Bump the vibrance to at least +20” — a phrase I wouldn’t be heard saying today.

But that creative decision reflected the journey I was on at the time.

I was travelling, experiencing these beautiful places for the first time... vibrance was my way of sharing that feeling.

These days, I aim to push my work in a different direction.

More elevated, more neutral, more emotion.

Work that implies (actually reflects) I photograph these places a lot.

And with the techniques I’ve picked up since those early travel days, experimenting with some of those old photos showed me something useful.

Most of them were shot well. They were just edited in a way I no longer love.

I also noticed that too many of my shots, alongside my taste today, were wides.

Not wide shots where I was close to my subject with a unique perspective.

Wides where I was only chasing that classic postcard frame to send home (the reality).

I didn’t prioritise the details (how I shoot now), because the classic frame was all I knew.

Seeing that across old galleries reminded me why close-ups, crops and details matter so much now for building a thoughtful image.

Much like the reminder of progress, an archive dive helps you clearly see the gaps your older work used to have, simply because you’re not the same person who took them.

You’re further along.

More knowledge, more skill, higher standards.

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How I Run an Archive Dive

So that’s been the why. Here’s how.

There’s no real system to it. But there is a process.

I’ll pick an afternoon when the work’s done and choose one catalogue to sit with. A project, a trip, something with enough in it to spend a few hours inside.

I don’t go in looking for anything specific. I just scroll through the set and see what catches my eye.

From there, I’ll check the History tab in Lightroom to see where I left off.

Next, I look at the camera settings and lens choice (all the fun stuff).

Then I let the patterns start to show up on their own:

• the postcard shots I kept taking

• the colours I leaned on too hard

• the frame I almost nailed but didn’t quite

You only notice those things when you stop looking frame by frame and let the work blur together a little.

Then, if something pulls at me, I’ll make a virtual copy and edit it like I would today.

Not to fix the past. Just to see the distance.

And then I close it.

That last part matters more than it sounds.

The Trap

I touched on this above, but try to be cautious of falling into the trap of constantly revisiting old work.

I’d liken it to the saying parable of not digging up a seed to check if it’s growing.

Archives are archives for a reason.

They’re from a previous chapter of your creative journey.

Because when you constantly go back to re-edit and re-export, you’re delaying the only thing that actually moves you forward…

Shooting more.

More time behind the camera will always outdo an archive dive.

And more time behind the camera simply means you’ll have more of an archive to enjoy down the line.

Wrapping Up

That coffee with an old friend reminded me that the archives aren’t just files.

They’re the proof of the adventures, the experiments, the version of me who was still figuring it out.

Visit them now and then. Let them remind you how far you’ve come.

Then close the catalogue and go shoot.

Happy shooting,

Matty.

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The kind of day that doesn’t really suggest writing a Substack from home is the right play.

And for the last few weeks, I’ve gone fairly deep here.

Creativity, perspectives, the philosophy of a creative life. I love writing those posts, but today isn’t really shaping up to be a look-inward, unpack-something kind of day.

So this week I thought I’d lean lighter.

Five things I’m simply enjoying right now. Let’s make it a seasonal edition.

Let’s dive in.

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theLab

A photographer friend put me onto this new piece of software from photographer Caleb Salvatori called theLab. It’s built to bring your digital edits closer to film.

I’ve been experimenting with the free version for a few weeks now and really enjoying the process. It links up cleanly with Lightroom and lets you play with different film stocks without much fuss.

There’s something quietly fun about seeing independent creators build these kinds of tools. It adds a bit of joy back into the editing process that I didn’t realise I was missing.

My favourite part is being able to add grain to the shadows, midtones, or highlights individually. I’ve only seen that done well in one other place, and here it’s even better.

I’ve linked theLab here if you want to give it a go.

Analogue inspirations

I’ve been noticing something happening the more I lean into real-life inspiration rather than the digital kind.

There’s a postcard I use as a bookmark, and the photo on it just makes me smile every time I pick up my book.

Here in the city, whenever I pass a gallery or an art shop, I like to step in and see what other people are making.

It might sound simple, but these little encounters are doing far more for my creativity than any moodboard on my laptop ever has.

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Claude Code

This one might be a little controversial, but I’ve been taking an embracing approach to AI lately.

I’m still undecided on how I see it fitting into my workflow long-term (and I’d caution you not to take anyone’s word as guarantees yet). But for the tedious tasks, the ones that take a bit more effort than they’re really worth, Claude Code has quietly become a help.

A few of my favourite use cases:

• Organisation. Since linking Claude Code to my desktop folder, I’ve been sorting exported images far more easily. No more scrolling through a long list of file names. With a few prompts, it’s helped me organise photos, work trip receipts, business expenses, and even cleared out my downloads folder.

• My website. It might come as a shock, but my updated site was actually vibe-coded. Trust me, I don’t really know what that means either, but essentially, I used Claude Code to help build it. It took some time, some extra credits, and a lot of experimentation, but after a couple of days, I had a new site live, free from the stress I experienced when building V1 on Framer.

• Synthesising ideas. No surprise here, but most of us are already using AI as a kind of whiteboard. A place to drop all the thoughts and questions before they become anything. I often do this when I have a newsletter idea. I’ll write for about thirty minutes, then ask Claude to find my through-line and unpack the junk I’ve just splurted out.

When you take a proactive approach with it, I’ve been enjoying it.

Although I feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface of it’s capabilities.

Mythos, by Stephen Fry

If you’re anything like me, it’s easy to get sucked into the world of constant improvement, especially with the books we consume.

That’s why, for my most recent read, I decided to lean towards interest rather than education.

Funnily enough, that interest led me back to my Greek roots, through Stephen Fry’s retelling of the Greek gods.

The familiar names, the small ah-ha moments, the rhythm of a proper story.

It’s made reading feel enjoyable again, rather than the listicle-style books I’d caught myself consuming earlier this year.

If I could recommend one thing, it’d be adding an interest book to your rotation rather than another educational one.

The load tends to feel a little lighter when you do.

YouTube videos worth watching this weekend

A handful of videos that have made it into my weekly rotation:

• Ulysses Aoki, “If I could buy 1 camera today, it would be this” A really cool perspective on street photography + expensive cameras. His videos are calm, and I love the approach.

• Samuel Elkins, “What I Wish I Knew Sooner”. I’ve followed Sam for a long time, but this one was exactly the watch I needed earlier this week.

• The Life of Riza, “Learning A Language In My 20s”. A great watch, and one that spoke to me as someone trying to improve my Spanish every day. Exposure therapy was the theme. Something I feel I’m living daily.

• Matt D’Avella, “I tried Zone 2 training for 30 days (what I learned)”. I love how Matt brings a documentary feel to YouTube. And I’ve been wanting to get my Zone 2 training off zero anyway.

Wrapping up

That’s it for this week. A lighter edition, but the kind I think every creative needs every now and then.

That’s where I’m at today. And now, I’ll be heading outside.

Catch you next week,

Matty.

Looking back at these images, there’s a sense of pride that comes with them because they came from a road trip with friends, no commission, no brief or client waiting on the other end.

It was just friends in a car, a rough list of places we wanted to be at the right time of day and the goal of simply capturing some shots.

Now some of those photos have gone on to help me do real work like - sit in decks, sell presets, help land new clients - but these were never the reasons we went.

Instead, it was just the idea that we wanted to go create something.

Let’s dive in.'

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Photography puts your body in the room

The thing about photography is that the medium itself forces you to be the one experiencing the scene before you capture it.

If you want to paint a mountain, you can pull up a reference and start working from the comfort of your living room.

If you want to photograph that same mountain, you’ve actually got to get out and hike the thing.

There’s no version of this craft (short of AI) where you can outsource the process.

The photo only exists because you were there to press the shutter, in that specific spot, at that specific moment, with whatever light you happened to find.

Now this may sound obvious when you say it out loud, but it’s actually a unique element of photography that many creative pursuits don’t share. Writers can write from memory. Painters can work from references. Filmmakers can build the world they need on a set. Photographers — at least the ones doing the kind of work that tends to interest me — have to physically put themselves in the room before anything else happens at all.

And when you look at it like that, it helps show you that amazing photos will always stem from amazing experiences.

The Illusion of Amazing Experiences

Now you might be saying okay Matty, great… but those amazing experiences are reserved only for the ‘cool kids’.

Well, let me push back here.

Instagram often makes amazing experiences look like they're handed out.

You might scroll past a photographer in some impossible location and your mind jumps to the obvious explanations — they must have a client behind them, their network is extensive, or their family gave them the lucky introductions that opened the door. And to be fair, those things genuinely do exist, and they do play a real role for some people.

But what I’d caution you against is assuming that’s the whole picture, because more often than not it isn’t. A lot of what looks like being handed an opportunity is actually the result of years of unpaid investment — trips no one paid for, countless coffee meetups where only one turned into something or the simple fact they were available and on a plane somewhere when most people weren’t.

The photographers I’ve come to respect most all share something I’d describe as a motor.

They’re not sitting around waiting for the gig to land in their inbox; they’re already out making the work (at whatever level they can manage) and the opportunities tend to catch up to them eventually.

Not because they were chasing opportunities, but because they were chasing the work itself.

Opportunities aren’t given. They’re there for the taking.

Once you start to see it this way, the whole thing actually flips into something far cooler (and manageable if you ask me).

If amazing photos (and experiences) were only handed out — by clients, by networks, by who-you-know — then most of us would never get a real shot at making them. The craft would belong to a small group of well-connected people, and that would be that. But that’s not actually how it works.

The opportunities aren’t being given out. They’re sitting there, waiting for you to go and take them.

You just have to go. And if you go often enough, on your own time and your own money, without asking anyone for permission, the work eventually starts to speak for itself.

That isn’t luck or network — instead, it’s the investment in amazing experiences that leads to amazing photos, and oftentimes the by-product is luck and network.

Wrapping up

When I look back at those Italy images, that’s the lesson they keep pointing me to.

A few friends, a car, the goal of being there with the camera, and not much else behind it.

Most of those frames have no real commercial value, but that wasn’t the goal in the first place.

The photos were the point, and the only way the photos came to exist was because we made the call to go and chase them.

If there’s anything in this week’s newsletter for you, I think it’s this: the experiences you want, the access you’re trying to earn, the rooms you’re hoping to find yourself inside… those things tend to become available to the people who started showing up before anyone asked them to.

Nobody’s going to give you amazing photos. That turns out to be the best part.

Happy shooting,

Matty.

“It’s going to be another 40 minutes before we get up in the air.”

Now I had to laugh at the idea of traffic in the air, however at 10 pm, I was just ready to be home.

I sat there thinking about the four days that had just passed. My first tourism campaign. Done.

Those 40 minutes were the first time I’d stopped in four days, and I guess it was all I needed to begin reflecting.

That’s when it started.

I realised I wasn’t actually “exhausted” (which is usually how I feel after a big shoot). Instead, I had a feeling I hadn’t felt in a while after a shoot:

Energy.

And that, I think, is something worth talking about.

Let’s dive in.

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Energy Is a Compass

You probably already know this, but not every shoot feels the same.

Some projects are simply ordinary. You show up, you do the work, you get paid, you move on. Nothing wrong with that.

But now and then, there’s a shoot that does something different.

One that doesn’t drain you, and instead fills you up. One you’re still thinking about when you’re driving (or on the plane) home.

That feeling isn’t a coincidence.

I think it’s telling you something.

It’s pointing at the kind of work you’re supposed to be doing more of.

What Gave Me Energy on This Shoot

When I actually sat with it, it wasn’t complicated. Four things kept coming up:

• Creative freedom

• Travel

• A beautiful location

• Genuine people

That’s it. Those four things made this shoot feel energising and not exhausting.

Not a destination wedding. Not a brand collaboration. Not a product shoot in a studio.

This.

And I want to be clear: I’m not saying these other projects are wrong, or opportunities I don’t appreciate or welcome.

In fact, they might be the very things that bring you energy, which I completely support.

For me, though? These four elements are the direction my compass is pointing at this stage of my creative career.

What’s Yours?

Take a moment this weekend and genuinely think about the last shoot that gave you that feeling.

The one you drove home from still buzzing.

The one you’d do again tomorrow.

The one that you find yourself re-editing.

Was it a wedding? An editorial project? Street photography? A commercial job that just clicked?

Whatever it was, pay attention to why it felt that way, get specific about it and try to list out what elements made your cup so full.

Because that specificity is something I’m discovering is very useful. It’s not just a nice feeling… it’s information.

Beware of Using Money as a Compass

This is the part I think often gets misinterpreted, and something I’ve fumbled with before.

You can make good money doing all types of creative work, however if it’s not your creative work, it has the potential to slowly drain you.

Plenty of photographers and creators have a mentality tuned more for business than for what they actually want.

And for a while, it works.

Their businesses grow.

Their teams expand.

And they continue to do the projects that brought them that monetary success.

I was once the same.

Attracting clients for work I didn’t necessarily like and building outwardly for the sake of more money, at the cost of my creative career.

What I learned was that creative burnout is real.

And it’s a reality that tends to creep up quietly.

Shoot by shoot, project by project, until all of a sudden you find yourself not really wanting to pick up the camera anymore.

Here’s my perspective on following the wrong direction of your compass:

Money chases excellence. And the work that gives you energy is the work you’ll put the most into, get the best at, and ultimately build something meaningful from.

The business success follows; it just takes a little patience.

People Have a Compass Too

The same logic applies to the people you share your creative journey with.

Yesterday I caught up with a friend for a coffee.

He’d been working in Korea for the last six months on some really incredible projects.

We spent an hour just talking about our work: where things were, where they were heading, and I left that coffee feeling genuinely energised.

That’s not a small thing.

The perspectives, motivation and commitment of the people around you will impact your direction more than you might realise.

During the moment I suggested you take this weekend, ask yourself:

• Who motivates me?.

• Who inspires me?

• Who actually replies to my questions?

• Who leaves you feeling better about the work after a conversation, not worse?

Those are the people worth building towards.

Bringing it All Together

Not every project will give you energy, that’s a fact.

But every project will give you information on your compass.

Plenty of projects have drained me in the past, and some still do.

But the more you pay attention to what lights you up and the more you make small decisions to move towards it, the more momentum you build in the right direction.

This tourism campaign was just one shoot.

But it reminded me clearly what I’m about and what I enjoy doing. And it’s genuinely special to find that.

So the next time a project leaves you buzzing on the tarmac at 10 pm, exhausted and not wanting it to end.

Listen to it.

That’s your compass.

Happy shooting,

Matty.

This was the only thought on my mind on the flight here to Slovenia.

I’m writing this after our first full day of shooting, and honestly — I’m grateful for the prep I put in beforehand. And so, that’s exactly what I want to get into today.

“the lead up to a shoot”

Let’s dive in.

The treatment isn’t just for the client

After the excitement of landing a new project, a lot begins to move at once.

Contracts, dates, availability. All the critical things, right away.

But the thing I’d recommend starting with, at least on the bigger shoots, is a treatment.

I’m not doing this for every project. Honestly, I’ve only begun prioritising it as I’m quickly realising it’s more of a help to me than my clients.

I’d also recommend checking out Nur Niaz on YouTube. He’s worth following if treatments are new to you, and the layout I use is based on his.

For most work, a solid brief is all you need, and I’ll get to that. But when there are a lot of contacts involved, when the stakes feel higher, or when you want everyone genuinely clear before day one, the treatment earns its place.

It’s your vision on paper (or PDF). What you plan to shoot, how you plan to shoot it, and why it looks the way it does.

I build mine in Canva, one page per section. Here’s how it looks:

The core idea is usually a version of what you pitched, or what the client brought to you. It sets the intention for the whole project. What this is actually about, in a few clear sentences.

Visuals is where it gets interesting. Shot types, camera movement, frame rate and focal lengths if relevant. A sentence or two on lighting helps clarify the schedule too. By the end of this section, someone should be able to read it and picture roughly how the footage is going to feel.

Equipment is a specific list, not a general one. The lenses, the body and the extra kit I’m planning to bring.

Colour direction is about the edit. The grade, the palette and the overall mood I’m aiming for in post. It closes the loop between the raw footage and the finished piece.

Now, all of this may seem like overkill for some projects. And honestly, it might be.

But remember the heading: the treatment isn’t just for the client.

It’s for you, too.

Sure, when someone new gets added to the project, it’ll fill them in quickly. But after just one day of shooting, I’ve already looked back on it a handful of times.

The brief is what you open at 6 am

For most shoots, I’d start with the brief, not the treatment.

And honestly, it’s worth building one regardless of the scale of the job.

A travel shoot, a commercial project, a personal project with some loose structure.

Build one.

If you went in with a treatment first, the brief follows on from that.

Either way, it needs to exist.

The brief is where the practical stuff lives:

• Contact details

• Addresses

• Locations

• Schedules and even a

• Moodboard.

The moodboard especially. It looks lightweight but does a lot of work.

It gets you aligned on the visual direction, with yourself and with whoever you’re working with, before a single frame gets shot.

The brief becomes the thing you actually reach for on the morning of the shoot.

When you can’t quite remember where you’re supposed to be, or you need to remind yourself what you’re going for.

It’s what you open.

Gear comes last, and that’s the point

This is the step you might be inclined to lean towards first.

I get it. Your kit is your kit. You know what you’re bringing.

But saving it until after the treatment and brief changes how you think about it.

By the time I get to gear, I know what I actually need, not just what I own.

On this project, I knew there was a specific shot I wanted. One that needed a SmallRig magic arm that I didn’t have.

An investment I wouldn’t have thought to make if I hadn’t taken the time to create a treatment (or brief) - to get all my ideas together.

That’s what I’m finding is the real value of the professional processes I’m trying to integrate everywhere.

It’s not just organisation. It’s clarity.

Wrapping up

Day one is done. It went well. Honestly, I’m feeling relieved.

There were plenty of unknowns coming in — it’s been that kind of project.

Things on location you can’t really anticipate until you’re here.

But I knew what I needed to do.

I had a clear vision, the right gear, and the people around me understood the direction.

That confidence came from work done weeks ago. Not on Wednesday night, packing my camera bag.

Going through this process helps turn a project that could feel chaotic into something you can actually execute on.

Do the work before the work.

Happy shooting,

Matty.

It’s usually filled with things you’ve been meaning to order but just haven’t got around to.

Harmless at first, but over time, the delays start to compound.

That quiet “I can manage without it” turns into “why don’t I have what I need?” and suddenly you’re upgrading everything at once in a mild panic.

So today, I want to talk about the power of tiny upgrades.

Let’s dive in.

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What I did this week

Earlier this week I placed an Amazon order. Nothing crazy — about €75 all in. I picked up:

• A new battery charger for my Sony batteries

• A spare Fujifilm battery

• New ND step-up filters

• A fresh camera strap, and

• A tiny shutter button for my X-E4

All things I could’ve ordered a year ago.

None of these items have arrived just yet.

But something shifted the moment I hit purchase.

The decision is the thing

I’ve been trying to work out why it felt so good to finally tick off these purchases, and no, it wasn’t retail therapy.

I think it comes down to this: small, manageable upgrades that quietly give something back to your creative work.

Because for months, every time I went to shoot, some part of my brain was quietly managing the friction I’d introduced by delaying these purchases.

Consistently dealing with an uncomfortable shutter feel.

Accepting the dodgy LED on my battery charger, and just hoping one was fully charged. Always thinking, “yep, I’ll sort that when the next invoice comes through.”

These small things kept getting pushed aside, marked as future Matty’s problem.

Clicking purchase was just... stopping that.

Not fixing the problem, but deciding to stop tolerating it.

And for me, that was the shift.

“I can manage without” is a leak

You might read that phrase and think it sounds responsible.

And honestly, sometimes it is.

But I’ve started noticing when I use it as a cover for inertia, for not wanting to spend or invest in my craft.

I certainly didn’t need any of these things.

I’d been managing fine.

But at what cost? Financial, for sure, but more than that: convenience and creative energy.

When something never feels quite urgent enough to sort, it just lives in the background.

Quietly taxing you every time you pick up a camera.

Every small friction you carry is a little toll on every shoot, every project.

And over time, that adds up quietly.

The upgrades worth making

Here’s what I didn’t expect: the small upgrades are actually harder to justify than the big ones.

A new camera is an event.

You think it over, save for it, and build an internal case to justify it.

There’s a logic to it.

But €15 on a thumb button? €20 on a spare battery? It feels almost too trivial to bother with.

Which is exactly why it never gets done.

I’d say the same about non-gear decisions.

I’d been running out of Claude’s free usage and just... stopping.

Finding workarounds. Managing (again).

After one too many usage limit notifications, I upgraded - €18 to buy back more time and stop working around a tool that’s genuinely been helping me run this one-person show.

This week alone I rebuilt my entire website, sorted my brand voice, and cleared through a pile of things I’d been putting off for months.

The AI did a lot of the heavy lifting (that’s for sure), but it’s still just a tool.

Removing the friction meant I could actually show up to do the work.

That’s the pattern.

The upgrades that matter most to your creativity aren’t usually the ones on your wishlist.

They’re the ones that give back your time, your joy, or your energy.

And it’s only after sitting in the friction long enough that you feel how much it was actually costing you.

Where to start?

It doesn’t take much, but start with looking at your own list.

Is there a subscription that would make your editing less painful?

A piece of kit you’ve been eyeing for months?

A small fix that would remove something you’re consistently working around?

I’m not pitching a shopping spree. But tiny upgrades have a way of doing heavy lifting that bigger ones don’t.

Sometimes the upgrade isn’t about the object.

It’s about deciding your work is worth a little less friction.

Happy shooting,

Matty.

I’d just sent out a broadcast about Shoot Edit Grow, a new workshop I’ve been working on, and a long-time subscriber wrote back to say he’d be sitting this one out.

Not because he wasn’t interested, but because he was genuinely content.

Content with shooting on his Fuji XT2, improving his vacation photos and keeping photography exactly where it was:

A hobby he loved.

This got me thinking about hobbies in general, and why they’re harder to hold onto than they used to be.

Let’s dive in.

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Having a Hobby in 2026

Right now, hobbies can feel like a bit of a luxury.

Between work, responsibilities, keeping up with relationships, and just getting through the week, the things we do purely for enjoyment have a way of not being prioritised.

I’ve noticed this in myself recently.

My girlfriend and I sat at the kitchen bench last night, and both agreed we spend more time at the supermarket and running errands than doing things we actually enjoy.

And I’ve quickly started to realise that hobbies should have an equal place in your routine.

Because there’s something valuable in protecting a thing you do that exists in your life for no other reason than it brings you joy.

And photography, I think, is one of the best examples of that.

The Power of Hobbies

Photography is one of those hobbies that gives back in ways you don’t really expect.

A few you might not appreciate:

• It gets you outside

• It trains your eye

• It lets you work with your hands

• It encourages you to document your life

• It offers a unique creative outlet

But for me, the best part is that you never really finish.

There’s always more to learn, and that’s kind of the whole point.

It reminds me a lot of learning Spanish.

At first it’s frustrating. The words don’t arrive when you want them to. You feel embarrassed expressing yourself. Then, once you make a bit of progress and get some confidence back, you realise there’s still a lifetime of learning ahead of you.

But here’s what that process gives you, for any kind of hobby:

• The chance to be a beginner again

• The opportunity to connect with new people

• The pride that comes from facing a challenge

• The humility to accept you’re not fully developed yet

These are all valuable things to experience.

Now I’m fairly confident my Spanish won’t become a career, but that wasn’t the case with photography.

The moment you start treating a hobby like a job, everything changes.

What Happens When You Monetise One

Photography started as a hobby for me too.

When I realised that writing tweets and making graphics as a marketing coordinator wasn’t the path for me, photography became the way out.

A hobby I could actually build something from.

And it worked.

But I’d be lying if I said that didn’t change my relationship with the camera.

Because all of a sudden, the thing that exclusively brought me joy was now bringing me an income, and with that came another hobby killer: pressure.

The clearest example I can give is when I’m travelling.

I might be walking through an old city and come across a beautiful little restaurant, and naturally, I’ll capture it.

The light, the food, the atmosphere, everything I love to photograph.

When photography was purely a hobby, that was the end of the story.

But now, almost immediately, my creator brain kicks in:

• “I could use this in a pitch deck”

• “I should tag the restaurant if I post this”

• “This would look great in that new deck I’m working on”

It’s no longer just a nice photo. It’s a potential product.

And although this can certainly be seen as a positive thing, the shift is very real.

So I’d caution you with this:

Once you start monetising your photography, the joy of simply taking photos can lose its punch.

For me, joy in photography now finds me in different ways:

• Collaborating on projects with talented people

• Being asked to showcase my work through commissions or video

• Writing to you about photography

Which brings me to why I think this is bigger than just photography.

The Monetise Everything Myth

We’re living in a time that tells you every skill is an opportunity waiting to be unlocked.

You’ll see it constantly.

“You’re good at this? Here’s how to turn it into a business.”

And as someone who did exactly that with photography, I want to be straight with you: it’s not as simple or as glamorous as it looks.

There’s a reason I keep doing it, and I’m not saying don’t build something if that’s what you want.

But the pressure to turn every passion into a product is worth pushing back on.

Not everything needs a revenue stream.

Not every hobby needs an audience (like my Spanish for example).

Some things are just allowed to be yours.

And I think my reader understood that better than most.

Keep It Yours

The reader who emailed me isn’t behind, nor is he missing out.

He got a Fuji XT2, he’s been shooting for years, his photos have improved, but most importantly, he’s content.

Content with photography remaining a hobby.

That’s a pretty intentional choice, and honestly, I respect it.

If photography is your hobby, protect it.

The sunrises you get up early for. The golden hours you hang around waiting for. The shots you take for no particular reason and show nobody.

That isn’t nothing. That might actually be everything.

Happy shooting,

Matty.

And when you realise it simply isn’t the case, your priorities start to shift.

Let’s dive in.

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The ‘Rule’ We Keep Hearing

“Build your brand.”

“It’s the only way to succeed in this era of photography.”

“If you want opportunities flowing to you, brand creation should be your number one priority.”

It’s a harsh take, but an easy one to blindly accept — especially when you see coaches, creators and industry voices championing it. And even easier when you watch photographers with a large personal brand landing the opportunities you’re quietly craving.

The rhetoric often sounds like:

• Post Reels consistently, or don’t bother at all.

• Engage with other photographers’ work, but do it genuinely.

• Share your process and personality online; it’s the only way to stand out.

Miss a week, and it’s hard not to feel slightly behind.

Here’s Why It Feels True

Craving certainty is nothing new. And when we’re handed a formula for success, it’s tempting to take it as the only way through.

And look, it holds up logically:

More followers → more attention → more inbounds → more shoots → more money, more opportunities.

There’s a reason it gets championed.

I get it.

I’ve personally seen the benefits of building a brand.

Working with product and content partnerships, I’ve noticed that brands don’t just want photography anymore. They want the audience that comes with it.

The brand matters. I’m not here to tell you it doesn’t.

But one of the most important things to recognise, something the majority of world-class photographers understand, is that your art and your content are always two different things.

Your photography is your craft.

Your brand is your presence.

Conflating the two is where the trap lives.

What the Top Photographers Actually Have in Common

Since beginning my photography journey, I’ve had the privilege of connecting with a lot of talented artists.

A handful who shoot for major hospitality brands, others in the international wedding scene and some who sell presets and fund a life of travel.

Each one of those conversations reinforced the same thing:

There’s no single path to success in photography.

We’re all heading somewhere different, and that’s natural.

But the one thing that remained consistent across every single one of them?

Quality.

The top photographers aren’t consumed by brand, because the work speaks before they do.

Referrals, reputation, word of mouth.

These travel in circles that ‘content’ doesn’t always reach.

And the honest part: most of them spent years, sometimes decades, building that quality and equity.

The brand didn’t come first.

The craft did.

And because the brand was built on something real, it lasted.

Brands Built on Quality Last

Personal branding isn’t useless. Far from it.

It’s genuinely valuable for collaborations, product partnerships, selling presets and running workshops.

Done well, it opens doors that cold outreach never could.

I’ve experienced that firsthand.

But personal branding amplifies. It doesn’t substitute.

When the brand outpaces the quality, there’s nothing solid underneath it.

You can have the audience, the aesthetic, the consistent posting and still feel like the work isn’t where you want it to be.

That gap is normal.

It’s honestly somewhere I find myself sometimes.

But it’s a gap worth paying attention to.

What Does This Mean for You?

Here’s where I’ve landed, still figuring it out as I go:

You don’t have to be on the content hamster wheel.

Sharing your process, growing an audience and showing up consistently are all elements of brand building.

But they work best when they’re a byproduct of genuinely great work, not a substitute for it.

The photographers I admire most aren’t thinking about brand strategy when they pick up their camera.

They’re thinking about the light, the moment, the frame.

The brand follows naturally, because the work keeps earning it.

So the question worth sitting with isn’t “how do I grow faster?”

It’s more: “How do I get better?”

• At seeing.

• At editing.

• At pitching.

That’s the foundation worth building on.

Everything else, the followers, the inbounds, the opportunities all tend to follow those just genuinely obsessed with getting better.

Want to Build on the Right Foundation?

This is exactly the thinking behind something I’ve been quietly putting together.

Shoot, Edit, Grow would be a small cohort with ten people max, built around the three things that actually move the needle:

How you shoot, how you edit, and how you grow.

If that sounds like something you’d want to be part of, join the waitlist below:

Shoot, Edit, Grow - Waitlist

Catch you next week,

Matty.

I arrived with my stills camera, video camera, gimbal, tripod, and everything else I could think of.

The girl at reception looked genuinely surprised.

I think she was expecting an iPhone and a few aesthetic snaps, but on this occasion, not quite.

I was there with a shot list, a model booked, and shooting times planned around the light.

I was treating it like a €2,000 job, and funnily enough, that number eventually came back to me.

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Why free shoots still make sense

Let me be clear: I will always advocate for photographers getting paid.

Brands, hotels, clients, they’re all making money, and so should you.

But there are specific moments where shooting for free is genuinely strategic, not just something you have to settle for.

For me, that moment came when I was making the jump into hospitality.

Hotels weren’t my background, nor did I have the portfolio or connections to walk into a property and command a fee.

But I had the desire, the eye, and the goal to produce something I was proud of.

When you’re entering a new niche, landing in a new city, or branching into a new medium, shooting for free opens doors that a conversation about rates might close.

And although this isn’t ideal, there are a handful of pros you get back:

• You get to be selective about the projects you take on

• There’s an immediate drop in pressure/expectations, and

• You get to build something real in a space that still feels new.

That’s when it makes sense.

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Treat every free shoot like it’s paid

This is perhaps the most important thing I can tell you.

When I walked into that hotel, I wasn’t thinking “this is a favour” or “I’m giving them too much”. I was thinking: “This is a €2,000 shoot.”

I had a model. I had a shot list. I’d planned the whole day around the light. I was taking this sh*t seriously!

From the outside, it probably looked like overkill for something unpaid.

But how you do one thing is how you do everything, so this project warranted my attention.

The mentality you bring to a free shoot becomes the standard you hold yourself to on paid ones.

If you go in thinking, “it doesn’t matter if I don’t get those shots, there’s no money,” you’re teaching yourself that your work isn’t worth going that extra hour for.

That’s a habit that’s very hard to shake.

After the shoot, post-production went the same. Dedicated time to edits, a personalised website with web and full-size images available.

The client… well, they were stoked.

And honestly, so was I.

My portfolio got an update. I proved to myself I could shoot in this space, and I finally had the gallery I’d been craving for so long.

A few months later, the same hotel called me back for their new menu shoot and paid me €700.

A few months after that, this same gallery I’d been craving helped land me my first European hotel commission. €2,000.

The number I’d been imagining came back, exactly as I’d pictured it.

Choose your free clients carefully

Here’s something that doesn’t get talked about enough.

The art of shooting for free isn’t just about how you show up; it’s about who you show up for.

If your goal is interiors and hospitality, a free shoot for a startup with no direction isn’t moving you forward.

If you want to break into fashion editorials, a hotel shoot with no model won’t help either.

You need to be intentional about the who.

In the creative space, there’s no shortage of people with grand ideas: the startup promising exposure, the “new brand” that wants your creative vision for nothing, in exchange for something they haven’t built yet.

Conversely, when someone is paying you, these kinds of conversations make sense.

You’re both putting something on the table, so naturally, you can listen to their extensive ideas.

But when they expect you to work for free? You get to be ruthless.

A free shoot with people who have nothing to offer and nowhere to grow is just battery drain.

They’re using you.

And if you’re the one working for free, you should be the one walking away with the most value.

Trust your gut when these people come knocking.

Your free work should tick at least two of these:

• portfolio value,

• genuine enjoyment, or

• exposure that actually reaches the right people.

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Document it like a paid shoot

Here’s the part most people skip, and honestly, the part I’ve underused myself this year.

A free shoot is a personal project. And personal projects give you something paid shoots often don’t: creative freedom.

Use it.

Bring a friend. Set up unique camera angles. Capture the behind-the-scenes. Document yourself working.

The content that shows you shooting, the process, the craft, the environment, is some of the most valuable marketing material you can produce right now.

What I’ve seen working for photographers lately is: a single (side-on) shot of them with their camera, shooting, directing or on location.

That single clip then becomes the bones of a very strong piece of content.

A reel. A story with a swipe-up automation. A screenshot in an email. A carousel post with trending audio or accompanying images.

You went in for free. You’re walking out with a portfolio gallery, content for the next two weeks, and a visual proof point for future clients.

That’s not a free shoot. That’s a well-invested one.

Wrapping it up

There will always be people who want something for nothing.

They’ll dress it up as “exposure”, “experience”, or “an exciting opportunity.”

And sometimes, when it’s the right project, the right client, the right timing, working for free is a smart move.

But the decision should always be yours, not theirs.

When you do elect to shoot for free, do it like a professional:

Show up with the same energy as a €2,000 shoot. Choose clients and projects that move you forward. And squeeze every drop of non-monetary value out of the experience.

Walk away with images you’re proud of, content that builds your brand, and connections in a niche you actually want to be in.

Flip the equation. You should be the one gaining the most.

Happy shooting.

Matty.

Fair warning: this isn’t a technical breakdown.

One size doesn’t fit all, and I’m not going to pretend otherwise. But if you follow my work, enjoy what I do, and have been thinking about getting into photography properly, here’s what I would do.

Let’s dive in.

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The trap most beginners fall into

Gear paralysis.

Ever heard the saying “All the gear and no idea”?.

It extends beyond photography into any new hobby we may find ourselves trying.

Buying too much, too soon and spending more time researching cameras than actually shooting with them.

I’ve seen it everywhere, and honestly, it makes sense.

So here’s how I’d cut through it: one camera, one lens and a handful of accessories.

But most importantly, choose equipment that lets you grow into it.

It may feel overwhelming at first, but investing too little will make you want to upgrade fast and investing too much will overwhelm you and overdo it.

That’s why I’d recommend starting with a level of ‘compound mentality’ - you will get better at shooting, so don’t let your gear stop that growth.

Also, I’m going to assume you’re not a total beginner and that you have a bit of money actually to invest in photography. However, if you’re starting from zero, the same logic applies; just adjust the budget accordingly.

Start with philosophy, not specs

Before we talk about any specific camera, I want to give you the framework I’d use if I was making this decision today.

Buy for where you want to go, not where you are.

The gear you invest in should reflect the type of photography you actually want to make.

What do you want to shoot? What kind of work excites you? Who do you follow and admire?

That’s your north star,

For me, I always come back to two things when choosing any new piece of gear (especially cameras): vision and vibe.

Your camera should speak to the kind of work you want to create.

If you’re drawn to sports photography, a slow, film-inspired mirrorless probably isn’t your best starting point.

But if you’re into travel, street, lifestyle and everyday life photography, then style, size, and feel matter just as much as specs.

Buy what fits your life, your budget and YOU.

The Actual Kit

Alright. Here’s what I’d actually buy:

The camera

Your first decision is between an interchangeable lens camera and a fixed lens camera.

I’d go Interchangeable every time, especially at the start.

A fixed lens camera locks you into one focal length before you even know what focal lengths mean to you.

The camera itself doesn’t have to be brand new; second-hand is completely fine, but try to keep it within the last five to seven years.

Here’s why: older cameras are cheap for a reason. The connectivity, the features and the image quality can all start to feel a bit dated beyond five to seven years.

In 2026, you’re used to seeing high-quality images directly from an iPhone, so ideally, you want your camera to hold its own.

Keep it small, light, and stylish. Something you’ll actually carry.

If you’re asking me directly, I’d look at the Fujifilm X system.

There are genuinely great entry points in that lineup, and they give you amazing quality without much editing.

Alternatively, something in the lower-end Sony Alpha range is a solid starting place too.

For a full breakdown, check out my 2026 Camera Buying Guide here.

The lens

This may be a controversial take, but when starting out, I would pick one prime lens.

A prime lens is a ‘fixed-focal length’, meaning this lens won’t be able to zoom.

If it’s a 35mm prime lens (only says 35mm), then that’s its focal length - whereas a zoom like 24-70 can capture images at focal lengths between the range.

So why would I recommend a ‘prime’ when a ‘zoom’ can essentially get ‘more’ variety,

Here’s why: a zoom lens lets you be lazy. You zoom in, you zoom out, you never really learn composition.

A prime, on the other hand, forces you to move.

To think about where you’re standing, how close you are and what’s in the frame.

It’s one of the best creative constraints you can give yourself early on in photography

For the exact focal length, I’d aim for something around the 35mm full-frame equivalent.

• Fujifilm: the 23mm f/2 is a great starting point

• Sony crop sensor: look at the Sigma 16 or 23mm

• Full frame: just get a 35mm, and you’re set.

The accessories that actually matter

Although this is the slightly unglamorous part, it does genuinely matter.

Extra batteries. Always buy from the manufacturer.

Fujifilm batteries if you’re shooting Fujifilm. Sony batteries if you’re on Sony. Do not cheap out on third-party options. I’ve had bad experiences; most people have. It’s a small investment that saves a lot of frustration.

A Good Strap. You’re going to be carrying this thing everywhere. Get something comfortable that you actually want to wear.

I’d recommend a full-body strap over a wrist strap since a wrist strap implies shooting, whereas a body strap leaves it for what you like and often can be seen as an accessory for you.

That’s genuinely it to start.

No tripods, no filters, no bags you don’t need yet. Those come later, when you actually know what you need them for.

Unless you plan to shoot video with your camera, then I’d recommend a Neutral-density filter that fits whichever lens you pick up.

The stuff nobody tells you to buy

This is where I’d actually put some real thought (and money).

A photography course or resource that challenges how you see, not just how you shoot (currently working on this - drop a comment / reply if you’re keen).

And at least one photobook from a photographer whose work moves you.

Personally, I found looking at great photography that’s printed, will do more for your eye than any gear upgrade.

The goal isn’t to have better equipment. The goal is to become someone who sees better.

So investing in the intangibles really does add up.

Lastly, when it comes to editing, I’m not going to say go out and subscribe to LR or capture one, but consider a solid free option like LR mobile to help you get started.

Once you’re ready to go deeper on your editing style and develop a look that’s actually yours, that’s something I’m working on as part of my photography workshop.

If that sounds interesting, reply and let me know.

Wrapping Up

The goal isn’t to have better equipment.

The goal is to become someone who sees better.

The best camera is the one you’ll actually carry.

So buy something reasonable that excites you, put a prime lens on it, and go outside.

Everything else figures itself out from there.

Using the same presets, watching the same tutorials, sharing the same stuff.

And what’s actually setting people apart now is taste.

The frustrating part? You can’t go and get it. You can’t buy it or build it on your laptop in one weekend.

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Everyone Looks the Same Right Now

One of the reasons everything looks the same is that the promise of value from creators has always been sharing their approach.

Look at my content as an example.

I share my editing style, my process, my feedback. Consistently.

It’s useful, but it can be replicated.

Applied to someone else’s work. Copied if you bought my presets back in the day.

That’s not a criticism of tutorials, including my own. It’s just the reality of where we are.

Taste is the Thing That Can’t Be Copied

When you look at photographers and artists you genuinely admire, the through-line is always their decisions.

Why did they frame it this way and not that way?

Why did they travel here and not there?

Why did they work with this client and not that one?

Those are decisions of taste, shaped over years of experience, interests, and paths that nobody else has followed in the same order.

And it doesn’t have to be elitist or out of reach.

Take my girlfriend and her colleagues.

They all work in fashion, and every time we catch up, I notice it immediately.

How they layer their clothes, how they match colours, how they accessorise.

It’s not about the brands or the labels.

It’s the ability to pull together a look day after day with what they have.

That’s taste.

And it’s completely effortless because it comes from years of genuine interest, not imitation.

You Already Have the Foundation

When I moved to Canada, my whole group was obsessed with camping.

They had the right gear, the right shoes, the right layers, the right everything.

And I had no idea what was going on.

I grew up in a family that didn’t camp, so that taste just wasn’t there yet.

Now flip it to travelling with a camera.

I know what to pack, which lenses to bring, the right bag, the locations worth going to and the times of year to go.

That knowledge wasn’t bought.

It was built over years of travel, curiosity and just doing it repeatedly.

That’s the thing about taste.

It develops through experience, not effort.

There will always be areas where you don’t have it yet, and that’s fine.

It comes with time and genuine interest, not with trying harder.

So, How Do You Get There?

The truth is, you stop trying to get there.

Instead of asking “how do I develop my taste,” start asking “what actually interests me right now.”

I’m still figuring this out myself. But I think when you start approaching your interests honestly, you naturally start forming:

• Opinions

• Perspectives

• A point of view that’s actually yours

And that's really all taste is.

A point of view, built up slowly through genuine curiosity, that starts to show up in everything you do.

What This Looks Like in Photography

Taste shows up in the small decisions.

The location you choose.

The brief you turn down.

The composition you trust even when you’re not sure why.

The client you decide isn’t the right fit.

None of those decisions comes from a tutorial.

They come from knowing yourself, your interests and your work well enough to make a call.

And when that starts to happen consistently, something shifts.

Your work starts to feel like yours. Not a version of someone else’s, not a style you borrowed.

Yours.

Wrapping Up

In a world where everything can be copied, taste is the one thing that can’t.

• Cultivate it slowly

• Follow what interests you

• Trust your point of view

Your work will thank you for it.

It’s something I’ve been experiencing lately, and I have a feeling I’m not alone in it.

Today, I want to talk about how bringing joy back to your craft might be exactly what it needs.

Let’s dive in.

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Joy Isn’t a Side Effect of Good Work (It’s What Makes It)

I’m seeing a consistent theme across high performers, both creatives and athletes.

I saw it most recently in the coverage (content) from the Winter Olympics.

Athletes across sports spoke about the role of fun in their preparation.

Not fun as a benefit or privilege from their successes, but fun as an intentional practice they’d integrated into their process.

It struck me because lately I’ve noticed how I haven’t been prioritising fun in my workflow.

You’ve probably felt it too, but the shoots, the edits or even the calls can start to feel a bit empty because there’s no real enjoyment behind them.

Joy isn't a reward for doing good work. It's what produces it.

The Trap of Wanting to Improve

There’s no shortage of reasons why you aren’t where you should be, and even less of a shortage of people claiming to have the roadmap out.

When you’re so focused on growth, it’s easy to approach every shoot, project, or meeting with expectations.

You go out with a camera, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re thinking:

• Is this location worth exploring?

• Is a photo like this worth taking?

• Would this work for a client?

• I should record some bts from this moment.

Those questions automatically take away the fun.

That internal dialogue takes you out of the experience.

And ironically, it’s the experience, the state you’re in when you’re creating, where some of your best work comes from.

I feel this a lot on commercial shoots.

The ones that went the best were the ones where I was just genuinely enjoying myself.

Working with the team, coming up with ideas together, following the light, producing shots that excited everyone on set - including the staff!

This same mentality can be seen in the world of Content Creation.

Some of my highest-performing videos - the ones that led to new experiences, connections and opportunities - were made from a place of not needing them to improve my current position.

They were made from a place of genuine curiosity, excitement, and no real expectation of what they needed to be.

That success came from the fun, not the other way around.

When you chase the outcomes that came from joy, without the joy, you’re going about it backwards

How to Actually Bring More Joy In

Here's how to actually bring more of it into your practice.

Some of these are small shifts, but in my experience, small shifts in the right direction tend to compound.

Change your environment.

Like most creatives nowadays, I spend a lot of time at my desk.

On the days I don’t get out and at least go for a walk, the evenings aren’t great. They’re over-reflective and judgmental about that previous day’s output.

An unhealthy cycle for sure.

But even heading to a cafe, going to the gym with a friend, or picking up fresh food to cook for dinner shifts something.

You put yourself in an environment that gives you a bit of fun, and that’s often what’s needed.

It doesn’t need to be big, but oftentimes a tiny change of scenery can bring back a spark which you can carry into your creative work.

If you’re feeling stuck, start there.

Shoot with no expectation.

Leave the house with your camera and let the photos find you.

I don’t mean shoot with no creative intention.

I mean, separate yourself from the results. Accept that whatever comes of it, comes of it.

I used to do this a lot when I was travelling, walking around, documenting everything I saw.

That work was the purest form of fun. Shoot, share, move on.

Nothing else was attached to it.

When you’re not worried about what it’s going to be, why does it matter how perfect it goes?

Give yourself a session like that. See what comes out of it.

Talk to other photographers, not just to learn.

I’ve been voice-noting a few photographers lately, sharing ideas, asking how they approach things.

Not trying to necessarily learn anything, just sharing ideas and talking about the work.

That kind of conversation is energising in a way that YouTube tutorials cannot compete with.

There’s a real difference between learning to improve and connecting over something you love.

Having a lighter, more human approach to it, rather than a systematic, business-first one, has helped a lot.

Try it with someone whose work you admire. You might be surprised where it goes.

The Shift You’ll Notice

There’s a shift you start to notice when you approach photography from a place of joy.

You stop thinking about what you need to do to get better, earn more money, or find better clients.

In doing so, you begin to become someone who naturally attracts all of those things.

The steps might look the same on the surface:

• You work with the same clients

• Your editing style doesn’t change too much

• You stay active on socials

But your relationship with all of it feels completely different.

It’s less about following a process and more about becoming the kind of person who shows up curious, present, and genuinely enjoying what they’re doing.

That changes the outcomes:

• You create something totally new for a consistent client

• You find better ways to elevate your editing

• Your posts feel more alive because you actually enjoyed making them

I’m not saying ignore your systems or stop caring about growth.

I’m saying that underneath all of it, you have two choices.

You can approach this from a place of stress and pressure.

Or you can approach it from a place of joy.

Similar energy. Very different experience.

Catch you next week,

Matty 📷

If you’re new here, feel free to browse the catalogue of posts from 2026 HERE.

Run-and-gun style. Multiple locations, quick framing, and a focus on quantity over quality.

It was a good match for my travel era and the limited time I had in beautiful locations.

But lately I’ve been slowing down, accepting the fact that these places aren’t going anywhere. And as a result, it’s changing my work in ways I didn’t expect.

Today I want to share the 4 lessons I’ve learned, and why you might want to start shooting slow too.

Let’s dive in.

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The Context

Last weekend I was in the Catalan countryside, just outside Girona.

We stayed in an old country home, full of quirky furniture, creepy paintings and plenty of spots to photograph.

The kind of place that has decades of character baked into it, but the sort that would divide the interior design industry.

The light was soft all day. There was no golden hour panic and no pressure to be anywhere.

For the first time in a while, I found myself genuinely willing to slow down and just shoot. Actually taking the time to compose, watch how the light moved through the rooms, using manual focus and sitting with a scene until I was happy with the shot.

It might be because I’m approaching 30, but I’ve been enjoying this change of pace, and it’s starting to show up in the work.

Lesson 1: Read the light before you find the shot

This is perhaps the biggest shift I’ve made, and the most useful one I can pass on.

Instead of walking into a space and immediately hunting for the composition you saw on Instagram the week before, try this: walk around first and read the light.

Where is it coming from? How strong is it? How long is left?

Direction, intensity, shadows.

Those three things tell you where to put your focus before you’ve even raised the camera.

Take the photo below from the house. I noticed light bouncing off a wicker basket the owners had left there.

I took a step back and framed the subject using the archway of the door. With an HDR exposure, I could account for the range of highlights and shadows, and I walked away with that shot.

I wouldn’t have seen that composition if I were moving fast.

Nor would I have been there at the right moment, with the right exposure.

When you find the light first, the compositions usually reveal themselves.

Lesson 2: Editing goes from correcting to enhancing

I’ve said it for a while, but it’s sometimes difficult to follow your own advice.

Editing is a process of enhancing your work, nothing more. Short of manipulation and graphic design, what happens in Lightroom should be a reflection of what you captured on location.

When you rush the shoot, the editing extends.

Blown highlights, awkward crops, presets that almost work but don’t quite sit right. It turns into damage control.

But when you slow down and nail the exposure in-camera, something shifts.

Suddenly, you’re not fixing anymore, you’re finishing. The base file is clean, presets land better and your highlights can be adjusted with ease.

So next time, before you shoot, ask yourself: “Would I be happy editing this exactly as it is?” If the answer is no, adjust before you press the shutter.

Lesson 3: Unique compositions become easier to find

I touched on this in lesson one, but when you’re rushing, you default to the obvious frame. The one you saw on Instagram, the one that looks the same as your last shoot, the easy, safe one.

And while there’s nothing wrong with that, growing as a photographer comes from pushing yourself and experimenting a little.

Slowing down lets you start to see the second and third options you would’ve missed entirely.

The reflection you’d have walked past, the line that only appears if you go two steps left and crouch down, the frame-within-a-frame hiding in plain sight.

Unique shots aren’t always hard to find.

Sometimes you just need to stand still long enough to see them.

Next time you’re out shooting, try staying in one location for more than five minutes. A café, a new spot to catch sunset, anywhere.

Just be there and be still, not actively looking for photos.

Let the shots come to you.

Lesson 4: You stop feeling pressured by your environment

This one is hard to put into words. But when you’re shooting fast, your location has a kind of control over you.

You’re reacting instead of responding, chasing the light instead of working with it.

Over the years, I’ve worked with some extremely talented photographers and filmmakers, and a common thread I see in all of them is calmness.

New locations don’t rattle them, difficult lighting is embraced and they’re never in a rush.

Shoot times matter, of course, but they never feel out of control.

That calmness is often built from years of experience, but it’s also backed by their pace.

That afternoon in Girona was similar for me.

No golden hour pressure, no urgent shot list.

I played with manual focus, chased reflections and took my time with every frame.

Some of my favourite work in months came out of that afternoon, simply from permitting myself to slow down.

That feeling is available to you on any shoot. You just have to let yourself access it.

How to apply this

I don’t want you to close this and feel like you need to change how you shoot entirely.

I still shoot run-and-gun; certain situations simply call for it.

But I’ll be bringing this slower, more intentional approach into my work wherever I can.

Think of it as adding more intention to however you already shoot.

Read the light before you reach for the camera. Give yourself five minutes to just look. Ask whether the frame is worth taking before you take it.

Catch you next week,

Matty 📷

If you’re new here, feel free to browse the catalogue of posts from 2026 HERE.

A lot of travel work. Personal projects. Content. Behind the scenes.

But commercially, there’s a level of photo and video I want to get to.

But here’s the thing: that’s not a gap. That’s just where the journey is at right now.

And the path forward doesn’t start by scrapping everything that got you here. It starts by embracing it.

Which got me thinking about how often photographers treat their own approach as something to fix, rather than something to build from.

So this week, let’s talk about that.

Let’s dive in.

Your Approach Got You Here

Every photographer has a version of this.

Maybe travel led you into photography and shaped everything since (like me).

Maybe you’ve spent years building a portrait portfolio and commercial work feels like the next right step.

Maybe content has become a big part of what you do, but the business side hasn’t kept up yet.

None of that means something went wrong.

It means you’ve been moving in a direction.

And direction is valuable, even when it doesn’t look exactly like the journey of the photographers you admire online.

The mistake is assuming their journey is the benchmark for yours.

It isn’t.

Their approach grew from their background, their access, their city, their early breaks and their specific set of experiences.

Just like yours have.

That’s not a limitation. That’s the whole point.

Comparison Will Cost You

There’s a version of scrolling through incredible work that motivates you.

But there’s also a version that somehow convinces you you’re behind.

The second one is the one to watch out for.

Because when you’re deep in someone else’s portfolio, it’s easy to forget that you’re only seeing the output. Not the decade of:

• decisions

• detours, and

• specific circumstances that produced it.

They didn’t get there by following someone else’s path exactly. They got there by following theirs.

Comparison at its worst doesn’t just steal your peace.

It pulls you away from the thing that actually moves you forward: your approach.

The photographers who end up where they want to be aren’t the ones who found the perfect blueprint online, or recieved the ‘perfect’ system thanks to a ManyChat automation.

They’re the ones who absorbed valuable information along the way, and most importantly, stayed aligned to their own approach long enough to see where it led.

The Gaps You’re Seeing

When you look at your work honestly, you’ll probably find something that feels underdeveloped.

A style you haven’t fully explored. A genre you want to break into. A level of quality you’re not quite at yet.

That gap is real. It’s worth paying attention to.

If a new space is the next step, the answer isn’t to start over. It’s to bring your perspective into that space and build from there.

A personal project. A test shoot. A collaboration with someone whose work pushes you.

You don’t need the perfect opportunity to start closing the gap.

You just need to point your existing approach in that new direction.

Bringing Your Approach with You

This leads me here...

There’s a temptation, when moving into a new space, to start from scratch.

To study what’s already working there and replicate it.

To change your editing style, to stop sharing what you used to, even tone down what makes your work yours, just to fit in.

It feels logical. Like you’re meeting the space where it is.

That same instinct came up while rebuilding my website.

I felt the pull to cut the travel work, tidy it up and make it look more “commercial.” But removing those pieces wouldn’t have made it stronger. It would have made it someone else’s.

The photographers who make an impression in a new space aren’t usually the ones who blend in. They’re the ones who showed up with a clear point of view and applied it somewhere new.

Your travel background changes how you shoot on location. Your content experience changes how you think about story. Your portrait background changes how you capture people.

Those aren’t things to leave behind when you step into new territory.

They’re the things that make your version of that work different from everyone else’s.

So when the next opportunity comes, don’t ask how to become what that space needs (too much).

Ask how your approach can bring something to it that isn’t already there.

That’s where the interesting work usually lives.

How to Apply This...

Get clear on what your approach actually is. Look at your best work and ask what it has in common. That thread is your foundation, and more useful than any framework you’ll find online.

Name the Next Thing. Not a full rebrand. Just one area you want to develop. Naming it makes it easier to move toward.

Create for The Gap. Don’t wait for the right brief or the right opportunity. Shoot it yourself. The portfolio you want is mostly built before anyone asks for it.

You’ve Already Got Motion

You don’t need to know every step between here and where you’re going.

You just need to trust that the approach you’ve built is worth developing, not abandoning.

The level you want to reach, whether it be commercially, creatively, or technically, is reachable.

But it won’t come from copying someone else’s path.

It’ll come from doubling down on yours.

Catch you next week,

Matty 📷 🚀

It usually starts with something like:

“Matty, the algorithm doesn’t share my work.”

And then it slowly evolves into:

“I’m going to keep posting my photos and try to grow like that.”

And while that can work (I even have friends who do exactly this), it always makes me think about why photographers get trapped in this loop in the first place.

So this week, I want to break down something that’s been helpful for me.

Let’s dive in.

A Simple Reminder

Your photography is not content. That’s the first thing to get clear.

Your photography is your art.

It’s the images, the prints, the edits, the short films… the moments that didn’t exist until you pressed the shutter.

Content, on the other hand, is different.

Content is a tool, something that helps amplify and build the story around the art.

Things like behind-the-scenes, POV clips, and day-in-the-life vlogs.

Content exists to amplify your photography, not replace it.

The two will always be very different.

And once you see it that way, everything feels lighter.

A Helpful Example

Think about comedians who host podcasts.

For a comedian, their stand-up, jokes, and live sets are their art.

But their podcasts… that’s their content.

Podcasts let them show personality, promote shows, test ideas, stay consistent, and most importantly, connect with their audience.

They’re not posting the same polished joke on Instagram three times a day, hoping it hits.

They’re sharing the world around their art using content.

Writers do this with tweets. Painters do this with time-lapses.

But photography is one of the few places where the ‘art’ and ‘content’ use the same medium:

Photos and videos.

That’s where things get messy.

Why Photographers Get Stuck

We get trapped in the online world of social media because the thing we create is the same thing the algorithm feeds on...

So when a post flops, it feels like our work flopped.

And when a reel pops off, it feels like our work is validated.

However, this is a dangerous way to move online, especially as we head into 2026.

And the first step out is being honest about what your goal actually is.

Different Goals = Different Outcomes

Your photography on social media can serve different purposes:

1. A place to share your love of photography and see where it goes

2. A professional portfolio you can send to clients

3. A place to grow an audience and make photography a bigger part of your life

4. A place to grow an audience so you can eventually fund that life

All of these are valid. And all of them are seasons I’ve been in.

What matters is knowing which season you’re in and understanding that part of the journey.

Actually accepting your current objective brings a lot of relief and joy back to the game of photography.

If you’re in portfolio mode, your best photo might not grow your audience, but it might land you a dream client.

If you’re in audience-building mode, your friends might not care about your BTS reels, but the people who will care are waiting on the other side of your first ten attempts.

Being clear about your season takes the weight off your shoulders when things aren’t working how you’d like them to.

Combining the Objectives

Here are a few formats that blend photography and content really well:

Carousels with text

A perfect bridge. You share your photos while giving context, story, or background without needing to film anything.

They’ve also been cool lately when paired with music.

Consistent stories

Your photography becomes more interesting when people like the person behind it.

Being open and honest in your stories, in a documentary style, is one of the easiest forms of content you can make.

Meme-style reels

More niche but very effective. When someone jokes about the photography world, you instantly relate.

These formats let you share your work, build a portfolio, and grow an audience simultaneously.

Be Careful of This Trap

There’s a group of creators whose art is content.

There’s nothing wrong with that. Some of them are great.

But they’re business-first creators whose content exists to sell the dream of content, not to showcase an art form like photography.

They grow fast because people want “the hack.”

But remember:

Their art is content.

It’s a different objective.

Yours might not be the same, and that’s fine, but it’s important to recognise the difference before buying into their ‘content framework’.

The Great Equaliser

Everything I’ve mentioned can be pushed aside if you are sharing one thing:

Incredible photography.

Some photographers have an eye that draws you in effortlessly.

No content frameworks. No hooks. No posting daily. No optimising schedules

They can post a 10-photo carousel and stop you mid-scroll.

That’s something worth remembering.

Content helps. Strategy helps. Formats help.

But the real magic?

That comes from putting the work into the work.

Show up online however you choose, but keep sharpening the thing that matters most:

Your photography.

​

Catch you next week,

Matty 📷 🚀

And the one that stands out to me the most is AI.

Particularly, how AI is starting to impact our creative work, what we can do to prepare, and how I’m personally attempting to embrace what feels inevitable.

Let’s dive in!

The Feeling Right Now

We’ve all seen it pop up in our feeds, an AI creator calmly explaining how we’re about to be left behind, and how we need to act now to avoid becoming obsolete.

Images that look incredible.

Video that feels like it was produced in a studio with a massive team.

It’s becoming harder to tell what’s real and what isn’t.

And look, it’s easy to fall down the rabbit hole these creators build for you, but slightly easier to avoid when you remember that, ultimately, they’re often trying to sell you a sense of safety.

A prompt package.

The perfect node system.

A framework for creating “consistent” brand imagery.

Now, I don’t doubt that these tools are genuinely useful for specific people.

I know creators using them with clients right now.

But does that mean the rest of us are falling behind?

Who knows.

Because if AI really is as smart as we’re told, at some point, won’t prompt engineering, node systems, and even human input start to feel obsolete too?

Where AI Has Already Infiltrated

One of the first brand videos I worked on was for Adobe Photoshop’s new AI image generation model.

At the time, it felt exciting because it was new.

It was something we hadn’t really seen before.

But looking back now, it already feels surprisingly simple.

It’s wild how quickly we adapt.

AI spot removal has become so normal that it now comes in base iPhones, built in to help people clean up their summer Instagram posts.

Wedding photographers are already happily using AI to cull their galleries, letting a system decide which images are worthy of editing time and which aren’t.

The line between AI assisting and AI replacing is still there, but it’s starting to blur in subtle ways.

The Real Shift is How Images Are Valued

In the past, professional images were valued largely on quality.

Lighting.

Colour.

Attention to detail.

Resolution.

For both photographers and clients, these were the markers of a high-value image.

But things feel different now.

Each of these elements can be generated, prompted, or artificially enhanced, which raises the question of where value actually sits.

Personally, I don’t think the desire for high-impact imagery disappears. I think the parameters simply change.

Instead of value being tied purely to technical execution, it may start to live in the process, the people involved, and the context around the work.

The behind-the-scenes moments.

The story of how something was made.

Almost an aura around the production rather than the final image alone.

I noticed this recently in an Adidas commercial on YouTube.

The imagery was high quality, some of it likely AI-assisted, but it was layered with behind-the-scenes footage, creators talking, people playing football, moments that clearly existed in the real world.

At least for now, those moments still feel hard to fake.

That’s where the value seemed to live.

The Part That Still Feels Human

You may have heard the term “AI slop.”

It’s used to describe high-volume AI content that technically works, but feels empty or careless.

Not because it’s bad, but because it exists without intention.

Just because something can be created doesn’t mean it should be.

Choosing what to shoot, what to create, and what to leave alone still comes back to taste.

And I have a feeling taste will become one of the most sought-after skills in photography and video moving forward.

Where I Still Feel Useful

It’s easy to get caught up in future-thinking and worst-case scenarios, but that pulls us away from the present.

So I find it more helpful to ask where I still feel useful as a photographer right now.

From a professional perspective, documenting real events, people, and moments remains largely untouched. Weddings, sports, launches, personal projects, these things happen in the real world and need to be experienced to be captured.

Making decisions under pressure. Reading light. Responding to people. These are all skills that still feel very human.

From a hobby perspective, it comes back to travel photography and documentation.

Photography, at its core, is about freezing moments that will never happen again. That feeling hasn’t gone anywhere.

Where to Focus Now

The obvious question is, can we position ourselves to stay “safe” from the wave of AI?

The honest answer is that we’re probably not.

And neither is anyone else.

This shift is happening across every industry, and very few people truly know where it leads.

Here’s how I’m choosing to approach it:

1. Adoption

Using AI tools that remove friction from my workflow without letting them make creative decisions for me.

2. Thinking beyond single images

Working in series, collections, and video, and building a wider world around my photography rather than relying on one image to do all the work.

3. Community

Continuing to prioritise people, access, and projects rooted in real life.

Final Thoughts

Maybe I’m writing this as much for myself as anyone else.

I’d love to tell you I know exactly how this all plays out, but I don’t.

What I do know is that this afternoon I can still take my camera out, look for some interesting light, and make a photograph that makes me happy.

And for now, that feels like enough.

Catch you next week,

Matty 📷 🚀

You arrive somewhere new: a city you’ve never shot, a landscape you’ve only seen on someone else’s feed and suddenly your mind goes blank.

Where do you start? Which angle? Which light? Which shot?

Here’s what I want you to do first: drop all of that.

If you’re travelling this year and you’re already mentally scrolling through a list of “must-get” shots before you’ve even landed, let that mentality go.

Take the pressure off.

Let yourself be in the location.

When you stop chasing viral locations, the right compositions have a way of simply finding you.

That said, if you want a bit of structure to fall back on when you’re a few Spritzes in, here’s the routine I use every time I step into somewhere new.

Let’s dive in.

Start with Light - Everything Else Comes After

Light isn’t just one of the things to think about.

It’s the foundation everything else is built on.

And I’m not going to give you the usual “shoot in golden hour” line, because as a Captured reader, you probably already know that.

What matters more is understanding three things: direction, intensity and how much light you have left.

In a location you know well, this often comes so naturally.

You know roughly where the sun will sit at 7 am, you know which street turns golden at sunset and you know where to position yourself.

But in a new place? You’re starting from scratch.

This is where weather apps earn their place in your kit. Before you even arrive, you can understand where the sun will rise and set, how it’ll track across the scene and when the light will be at its best for the specific spot you’re heading to.

And even without digital help, once you’ve arrived at a new location, look to lock in those three variables: direction, intensity and time remaining.

Once you’ve got them, work with them and embrace them.

Because you can’t out-edit a poorly lit shot.

Lighting will make or break your photos, so I find it best to start here.

Routine 1: Framing

When I arrive somewhere new, framing is one of the first compositional tools I reach for.

Framing is the process of looking for natural frames within the scene.

Doorways. Archways. A gap between buildings. Trees that form a natural layer. Foreground elements that invite your viewers to look through. Anything that creates layers and depth is what I look for.

Here’s why it matters in a new location specifically: it’s easy to take the “classic” shot.

Every tourist does.

You’ve seen the same angle of the same landmark ten thousand times on Instagram and if you replicate it, you’ll get exactly that… a copy.

Framing, on the other hand, forces you to slow down, move around, and look for the version of a scene that most people walk straight past.

It won’t always be there.

But when you’re looking for it, you’ll find it…you’ll likely leave that location with something different.

In other words… an original.

Routine 2: Details

This one gets skipped more than any other, and I get why (because I often forget too). You arrive somewhere beautiful and your brain wants the hero shot. The wide, classic, stock-standard shot that says “I was here.”

But if you’re building a carousel, a collection, or a set of images that tells a complete story of a place, you’re going to need more than heroes (Batman shots). You need details (Robin shots).

Think of it in three layers:

Wide: the establishing shots that show the ‘location’ in general.

Mid: where framing, leading lines and other compositional techniques belong.

Details: the zoomed-in frames. Things like textures, signs and unique light hitting a surface.

At the time, detail shots can feel like throwaways when you’re out in the field.

You might feel silly photographing a market sign while everyone else is shooting the sunset.

But when you’re back home in Lightroom pulling a full set together, the detail shots are what elevate everything around them.

They add context.

And they make it feel like a complete story rather than a collection of nice photos.

Don’t skip them. Batman needs Robin at times.

Routine 3: Story

This is probably the trickiest part of shooting a new location, but it’s always in the back of my mind.

I’ve spoken about it many times before, but stories need characters.

And the best way I’ve found to add ‘story’ to my shots is by capturing characters performing actions.

It doesn’t have to be the main focus, but a human element adds story to your shots - it could be a server working at a cafe (above) or someone hiking in the distance…one shows the energy of a location and the other may show the scale of a location.

Whatever their action is, these characters are providing an element of ‘story‘.

Now I understand you won’t always have this luxury.

Sometimes the timing isn’t right, the location is empty, or you just don’t have the access.

That’s fine (and honestly more often the case).

But keeping ‘story’ in your routine means you’re looking for it, and looking is half the battle.

Bringing it Together

So next time you step off a plane or arrive at a new location with your camera, here’s the simple framework to fall back on:

Light first. Understand your parameters before you shoot a single frame.

Then frame. Look for a version of your scene that most people won’t find.

Shoot details. They may seem small, but now you know they’re not.

Look for Story. Add the human layer wherever you can (tastefully, of course).

And beneath all of this structure, let yourself relax into it. The best shots from a new location usually come when you stop trying to recreate something you’ve already seen and start paying attention to what’s actually in front of you.

That’s when things get interesting.

Catch you next week,

Matty 📷 🚀

Specifically, the complicated relationship many of us have with “love photography.”

Let’s dive in.

The ‘Love Photography’ Industry is Massive

One of the biggest, most popular, and prevalent genres of photography is love.

Couples. Engagements. Weddings.

Moments where people want their connection documented, their story told, their day preserved.

It’s a genre that’s been capitalised on by the photography industry, leading to probably one of the biggest niches outside of commercial work.

And chances are, you’ve been asked about it.

“Do you do couples sessions?”

“We’re proposing next month, are you free?”

“We love your style. Do you shoot weddings?”

At first, these requests might feel exciting.

Or daunting.

Or both.

Because here’s the thing: love photography pays extremely well, and rightfully so.

You can’t interrupt a ceremony and ask for the kiss to happen again because your focus was off.

But it also comes with a question that stops a lot of us in our tracks.

The Tension Between Creativity and Commerce

This is where it gets interesting.

Love photography sits at the intersection of two things most photographers are constantly balancing:

1. creative fulfilment and,

2. financial stability.

On one hand, weddings and couples work can bring consistency.

A few bookings a year can fund your passion projects, keep you shooting during slower months, and build confidence in high-pressure environments.

On the other hand, there’s the fear.

The fear that accepting this work means abandoning what you actually love to shoot.

That you’ll become “just a wedding photographer” and lose the creative edge that defines your work.

That you’ll get stuck in a lane you never wanted to be in.

And so begins the dance.

The False Choice: Rebrand or Stay ‘Pure’

Here’s where the industry often presents a false choice.

Option A: Go all in.

Rebrand as a wedding or couples photographer. Build a portfolio entirely around love stories. Market yourself exclusively in that space.

This works for some people. If you genuinely love this genre and want to build a business around it, that’s a valid path.

But for most of us reading this newsletter, that’s not the goal.

We’re travel photographers.

Lifestyle shooters.

Commercial creatives.

Adventure storytellers.

We didn’t pick up a camera to shoot the same venue every weekend.

Option B: Stay “pure.”

Never touch couple’s work.

Keep your brand untouched.

Only shoot what you’re passionate about.

Also valid.

But also limiting if you’re turning down good money, great clients, and opportunities to grow your skills simply because you’re worried about what it looks like.

Here’s what I’ve realised: there’s a third option.

And it’s the one that’s worked best for me.

Better Approach: Own Your Identity

I’m not a wedding photographer who also does travel, lifestyle and hospitality.

I’m a photographer who also captures love stories.

That distinction matters.

Because when you own your identity first, everything else becomes an extension... not a replacement.

I shoot a handful of couples sessions and weddings a year.

But I only take clients who want what I do.

That alignment changes everything.

Suddenly, this work doesn’t feel like a compromise.

It feels like expansion.

You’re not abandoning your style to fit into someone else’s niche.

You’re bringing your style into a new context.

And here’s the bonus: it makes you stand out in the love photography space because you’re not trying to be like everyone else.

Maintaining Your Edge

So if you’re considering dipping into love photography...

Or you’ve been hesitant because it doesn’t feel like “you”...

Here’s how to do it without losing yourself in the process:

Lean into your style, not away from it.

If you shoot moody, dramatic landscapes, shoot moody, dramatic couples.

If you love golden hour and environmental portraits, put couples in those contexts.

If adventure and raw locations are your thing, find clients who want that.

Your style doesn’t disappear when people enter the frame.

If someone wants traditional, posed, Pinterest-perfect shots, and that’s not your vibe, refer them to someone else - everything comes back to you!

Don’t Rebrand. Just Expand.

You don’t need a separate website, a new Instagram (or you can use one to host your work as I have here), or a totally different portfolio.

Add a section. Mention it in your bio. Let people know you’re open to it.

But keep your primary identity intact.

Because that’s what got you here in the first place.

Use it to fund what you love.

This is the practical part no one talks about enough.

A few well-paid couples sessions can fund your next travel project.

They can cover gear upgrades, workshops, or give you breathing room to take creative risks elsewhere.

There’s no shame in that.

Creativity and commerce aren’t enemies: they’re partners.

Final Thoughts

In the end, the unique part of any creative journey is the fact that it will be different for everyone.

So if you’ve been hesitant to explore love photography because it doesn’t “fit” your brand, I’d challenge that.

Maybe it fits perfectly.

You just haven’t shot it your way yet.

Catch you next week,

Matty 📷 🚀

Their strongest images never stand alone.

Instead, they often belong to a series.

nd once you notice that, you start looking at your own work a little differently.
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Let’s dive in!

Why a Series Works

Most of us think and shoot in singles. One idea. One photo. Then we move on.

But a series, on the other hand, kind of slows things down.

A series gives your images room to breathe and allows different images to complement each other while letting you share more of your work!

Think about Instagram carousels, photo exhibitions, or even the TV shows we binge.

They work because the pieces connect seamlessly. And a good series in photography does the same thing, all whilst making your work feel more intentional.

And look, a series doesn’t need to be complicated either.

It can simply be a mood, a place, a colour, a subject, or a feeling you keep noticing.

Two Ways a Series Begins

Some series appear after the fact.

My first Zine, ‘Some Place Warm,’ came together this way.

I didn’t plan anything before a 3-month backpacking trip.

I was just shooting whatever caught my eye, and only later realised the images were all part of the same (convenient) story.

Other times, your series idea may come first.

You head out to shoot with a concept in mind, and you look for images that support this.

Now this does take more energy, but oftentimes the result feels much more focused.

In my experience, the best place to be is somewhere in the middle.

A loose umbrella idea to guide you, with enough space to stay flexible.

It’s a nice balance that stops you from feeling boxed in by your own ‘creativity’.

How to Build a Series

Now, a good series has rhythm… a sort of flow that you know has been created deliberately.

The images somehow sit well together and don’t outdo each other.

Obviously, there’s no right way to do it, but here’s a simple shot list I use when putting together a photo series.

Shot 1: Emotion - drawing the viewer in with some kind of emotional hook is a great way to kick off a series, it should also try hint at what’s meant to come.

Shot 2: Wide - this will help set the context for the series: where it’s set, who might be involved.

Shot 3: Action - here’s where you can introduce the story itself: what’s happening and what it’s about.

Shot 4: Portrait - showcase the characters involved. This shot is essential for connection.

Shot 5: Details - here’s your opportunity to draw your viewer further in! Think tight focal lengths and textures.

Obviously, don’t feel you need to stick to this sequence, but having a guide will make your next series easier.

Essentially, the goal is to add a variety of compositions that serve your series idea.

Your Content as a Series

The idea of building interest carries over to your social content too.

These past few weeks, I’ve been sharing a new series on my short-form channels called:

‘7 Lessons That Changed My Photography’

The idea is simple: I talk about things that helped me as a photographer and why they might help others.

And it’s been good in two ways. My audience gets something useful, and it’s quietly been helping me too.

Here’s how.

This series gave me seven clear pieces of content that bring people back, help new people find my work, and open the door for them to step into my world.

And because it sits under one umbrella, it’s made ideation easier.

The result: this series alone has racked up close to two million views.

Finding Your ‘Signature Series’

When you think about a series, think about what you keep returning to when you shoot.

It might be a type of light, a feeling, a subject or a place.

A good series is something you can repeat without forcing it, and something that fits your photography and your content.

Look at the things you already notice in your work and ask which one you could follow for a while.

If it feels natural to keep shooting it, that’s usually the start of a signature series.

If you want help finding yours, reply to this email, and I’ll help where I can.

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Catch you next week,

Matty 📷 🚀