Ed Schlotzhauer

An artists journey

Category: Artistic Process

Two Questions and a Problem
I don’t like to get too deep into philosophy, but sometimes I step in it and get some on me. Lately I have pondered the question of what is good in art. A quote by Henry James brought up 2 questions and a problem that I can’t resolve.
The quote
Henry James was a well-known literary critic in the late 1800’s to the early 1900’s. Many people rightly disagreed with Henry James, but he was articulate and good at presenting and defending his points, and never at a loss for an opinion.
Even though his work was in literary criticism, many of his comments seem to me to apply to visual art, too.
Anyway, James once proposed what might be a template for art criticism. Paraphrased, it is “What is (the artist) trying to do? Does he do it? Was it worth it?”
When I first read it, it seemed reasonable. But the more I considered it, the more I got sucked into a spiral of imponderables. I will be forced to reveal the shallowness of my philosophical thinking.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Author’s intent
This first question is the artist’s intent. At first, it seems like it shouldn’t be a problem. We just need to decide what the artist wanted to create or achieve with the work. I often hear this given as a necessary step in analyzing art.
But… how can we know? Unless the artist clearly stated their intentions, all we can do is speculate. Any criticism of the work would start with I think they were trying to do this, or I think their goal was to create that.
Doesn’t that setup a framework of our own ideas that we evaluate the work against? That seems invalid and unfair to the artist.
Some genres might be deduced with relative accuracy. We can look at some images and think that “that seems to be a traditional realistic landscape along the lines of Ansel Adams.” But it is still our interpretation of their intent. Therefore, it may or may not be right.
And, on the other hand, is the artist required to justify each piece by thoroughly describing their intent? Without doing this, does it open them to criticism based on any criteria the viewer sets up? What about the artist who wants to leave such questions to the viewer? Are they sabotaging themselves?
So, I’m already stuck on the first question and haven’t even gotten to the one I called a problem.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Author’s success
The second question embedded in James’ statement is whether the artist achieves his intent. To me, this still has the problem of not being addressable without knowing the answer to the first question. If we don’t clearly know what they are trying to do, can we say if they did it?
We can criticize it for being out of focus, or what we consider to be an unbalanced composition, or poor lighting or exposure. But maybe the artist was making a satirical comment about postmodernism and the meaninglessness of meaning. Maybe what we criticized was exactly what they intended to do, and they successfully did it.
Without understanding intent, can we do more than saying “I don’t like it” or “this doesn’t appear to be as well done as other images that seem similar”? Maybe both are true statements, but do they address the artist’s intent?
There’s a big difference between saying “that didn’t succeed by my standards” and “that did not achieve what the author was trying to do”. One is judging it by my standards, the other is judging it by the author’s intent, which we may not know.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
The problem
But then comes the problem for me. The part of the question that asks, “was it worth it?” Who can answer that?
A Twentieth Century science fiction author named Theodore Sturgeon put forth what is known as Sturgeon’s Law. He said that “ninety percent of everything is crap”. These are words I have lived by, but my corollary to this is that Sturgeon was an optimist.
I have become rather jaded in my view of art. It seems like a small percentage of the art I see, including photography, including mine, has any great inherent worth. Value is subjective. A Rolex watch has a high price tag, but low value to me. I don’t want one. I know people who value them highly and wear them. A personal value judgment that I can’t criticize.
It is a joy to me when someone sees one of my pictures and values it enough to spend money to have it. It means that they want to hang it to see every day and it has worth to them. But that is a personal judgment based on their values. Did it mean that picture was worth it? Well, it was to them. Probably to me. But not necessarily to someone else. Worth seems a very subjective thing.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
What does it mean for me
I guess my takeaway is that I’m not going to precisely and accurately figure out the value of other artist’s work and other people are not going to be the faithful judges of my work. So, I should stop being a critic and I should develop a thick skin against criticism from others.
Should I have to write a detailed description of my intent and thought process behind a picture? I hope not. Most of the time I couldn’t give a very impressive explanation. I much prefer to leave it to my viewers to create their own story.
I have developed a cynical view of theories and movements and lots of words poured out by people who talk but don’t do.
If a critic or a juror or a gallerist or another artist gives me feedback, I should receive it gratefully as input and consider it, but not necessarily take it as a truth carved on stone that I must act on. It matters more to me if the image met my expectations. If it succeeded according to my intent. They did not know what was in my mind.
I see a scene or I have an idea, and I make an image that represents the best of my ability. If it is a true representation of what I saw or felt or wanted to convey, and if it is a level of creativity and craftsmanship that I am proud of, that, to me, may be a good image. If it delights me, it is worth it. But not all images that meet my intent actually have lasting power. That is another discussion.
I find that when I over-analyze my art or get too formal in making it, some of the life gets sucked out of it. Better results come from following my instincts and my feelings. Doing that leads to pictures that I can say are worth it.
“What is the artist trying to do? Does he do it? Was it worth it?” The 2 questions and a problem I brought that I struggle with. I can only discuss them accurately about my own pictures.
The deeper questions of criticism will have to be left to philosophers. I don’t know what makes good art. But I know what delights me.
I decided to accept as true my own thinking. I have already settled it for myself, so flattery and criticism go down the same drain, and I am quite free.
Georgia O’Keeffe
The purpose of art is to inform and delight.
Horace, 1st century AD
April 1, 2026
A Blank Canvas
Some people seem to hunt for the same images others have already taken. I go out with a blank canvas to fill with what I experience or visualize.
Research
I have known many people who would never go anywhere without thoroughly researching the location. They study samples of photos there. An itinerary will probably be planned, scheduling locations and the best time of day to be there and places to stand to shoot each scene.
The internet has amazing resources for doing this type of research. You can see exactly when and where the sun will rise and set. Likewise, when the moon will rise and set and the phase. You can virtually “stand” in any location and look around and see the view. And, of course, there are endless galleries of photos from most locations.
I am not criticizing this. We each do what works best for us. This does not work for me. I am not a planner in this way. I would. prefer to be surprised. Finding something interesting is more important to me than coming away with a certain pre-planned shot.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Iconic locations
And how many people plan whole vacations around traveling to prime iconic locations to photograph? I guess, if you are new to photography, there is an excitement around being able to say, “I can shoot that, too.” Some have their “bucket list” they want to fill out. Maybe it seems to build a sort of credential.
I do not resonate with this. I have little interest with going somewhere just to metaphorically put my tripod feet in the holes others have worn over the years. It is great to visit beautiful locations. I cannot help but snap some pictures. But I would seldom consider putting them in a portfolio. To me, this is filling my canvas with someone else’s picture. But then, I’m weird.
A possible exception is an iconic location I can become intimately familiar with. For instance, I live less than an hour from Rocky Mountain National Park. I have shot a lot there. I am beginning to develop a relationship with it. It’s moods and weather changes, its commonly seen and out of the way sights are familiar. I feel this lets me see it in a very different way from an occasional tourist. Still, though, most of the pictures I would choose to show are somewhat different from the classic iconic shots. By getting familiar with a location, I can discover how I see it on a deeper level.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Likes
And there is the great lure of social media likes. It is a deep psychological addiction the tech companies have hooked people on.
I can’t say it is impossible to make actual friends on social media. And I agree that there can be some benefit to posting some photos to see the reactions. I’m afraid, though, that for some of us, it becomes a game of collecting the most “likes” to validate ourselves.
Thank you, but I’ll pass. The way to maximize likes is to shoot the bland, ordinary pictures that the masses like. A pretty sunset always gets likes. I would rather create images that excite me. If I am going to go to the trouble of filling my canvas, shouldn’t I make something that pleases me?
©Ed Schlotzhauer
What is a blank canvas?
I have been using this metaphor of a blank canvas, but what does that mean? I think of my digital file as a canvas. It is a surface to paint on.
As photographers, we paint with light. I and many others have noted that one of the unique aspects of photography is that, when we click the shutter release, everything in the field of view of our lens is recorded. So, we must be very careful to decide beforehand what we want to image and what to exclude. This is one aspect of filling my canvas.
Alternatively, we can use a more painterly technique of drawing and brushing or copy/pasting or compositing to build an image “from scratch.”
Either way, a digital image is created. That is my workflow. I do not do film anymore.
Both the paths I described involve deliberate artistic decisions rather than just “Pretty – Click”. The camera and computer are tools to use to make art. We must bend the tools to our will and vision.
Some of us focus a lot on the technology. We use only the best prime lenses with the highest resolution sensors and always use a steady tripod to capture the finest detail that can be obtained. I understand.
Personally, I have fallen out of love with technology. I no longer will decide not to print an image because it was shot with a lens that did not have optimum lines of resolution. Ultimate technical perfection is no longer my goal.
So, basically, my blank canvas is my digital file. It starts as empty. I choose what to image or draw or composite onto this canvas. Hopefully, it is a well-chosen creative decision.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Who am I shooting for?
In the end, I want to create images that please me. I am the audience that matters most. The ones I really like are seldom standard iconic scenes anymore and they are not designed to maximize likes.
Rule of thirds? Don’t care. Expose to the right? Maybe, maybe not. Sharp focused subject? Not necessarily. Locked down on a tripod for maximum sharpness? Probably not, maybe exactly the opposite. Don’t photograph in the middle of the day. Ridiculous!
Those technical considerations are of little interest to me. I delight in going against normal conventions. A good image is usually one I consider creative, a fresh point of view, something I’ve never seen and that I think my viewers have not seen.
But there is a problem with that. Once I have shot it, it is not as creative anymore. I might explore the idea for a while until it has run its course, but then I must keep going to find something else new and creative. But that is part of what excites me. The goal line is always moving. There is no point where I believe I will be able to say, “I have arrived; I am the perfect artist.”
My photography is an exercise in creativity. It is a creative image that I want on my canvas. Even if it is not technically perfect. It may even be impossible to make the image technically perfect. That does not bother me anymore.
What will you choose to write on your canvas? Copies of the same standard shots or fresh, new work? We make the choice every time we pick up our camera and contemplate that blank canvas.
March 18, 2026
Your Favorite Photograph
Has someone ever asked to see your favorite photograph? I have. I was frozen. There was no way to answer that.
Your favorite
I tend to take things too literally. This is a legacy of my Engineering background. So, when I hear talk of a “favorite” image, I think of a singular, one and only favorite. One image above all the others.
That is what freezes me into inaction. I have far too many images that I like to narrow it down to a single one.
When I go through my best images collection, my “favorite” will change from day to day, even moment to moment. It depends on my mood and what I am thinking about. Am I in the mood for landscapes or street scenes; waterfalls or architecture; vibrant color or B&W, realism or abstract? I don’t believe any are inherently better than others.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
What does favorite mean?
What does “favorite” mean? This is where I get hung up. A literal definition is preferred above all others of the same kind, or closest to one’s heart. I can’t do that. Maybe this is a fault of mine, but I can’t choose a single above all photograph.
My suspicion is that when talking about favorite pictures, people take a broader view of the meaning. If we extend it to say we mean it is a choice or a pick then I can follow along. I can have a lot of choice images without having to designate one as the ultimate, number one winner.
Too many favorites
I have mentioned my lengthy selection and promotion process for images. It’s kind of like a playoff series where images must compete head-to-head to get promoted. The difference is that it is not a zero-sum game. A winner does not mean there had to be a loser.
That process has led to a situation I have identified: too many favorites. An embarrassment of riches.
Right now, I am, for the first time, working through just my top-rated images specifically to cull them. I am (trying to be) brutal. These are the images I have at one time marked as my best. None of them are being deleted, just potentially demoted to a lower level.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Competition
This quickly leads to 2 problems: I like them, and I probably need to tweak them.
I like each one of them. Obviously, they have each individually earned a spot in the top group. To eliminate one of them means either my tastes have changed, or my skill has improved, or my expectations of what I want to create have changed. Or maybe I have another very similar image that can replace it.
We are not static beings. I know my taste changes as I grow and have new experiences. This leads to some images “falling out of favor” in the overall scope of my work. I accept that. It is a good reason to remove some from the favorite category.
Another thing I observe is that I look at some images that were favorites and realize that my skill set and/or my equipment has improved, and these are no longer up to my standards.
My personal criterion is that I can randomly select any of my favorite images and show it to anyone and not be ashamed. I would be ashamed of some of the old ones. They’re out. It may hurt, but less is more.
Just a little tweak
The other part of the process that is making this take so long is that I can seldom look critically at one of my images without needing to tweak something. My tools have improved and my knowledge of how to use the tools has increased since I took a lot of these.
Therefore, I see most images needing some correction. Some are very slight but some need more extensive edits.
Let’s say each image needs from 2 minutes to 30 minutes of study and manipulation. I won’t give an exact number, but figure there are thousands of images in my top set. That is making for a very long process.
But it is rewarding. I have revisited images that I haven’t thought about for years. Sometimes I must conclude they are unworthy of being in the top group. Sometimes I remember and appreciate them anew. Each one brings back memories of the time and place and circumstances. A pleasant trip down memory lane.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Expectations
Another factor is that my expectations of what I want to create is a moving target. My interests change. My values and notions of quality changes.
These images I am culling are in my Lightroom catalog. In addition to those, I have stacks of slides and film images that go back much further. Maybe someday I will start revisiting them.
But even over the years I have been shooting digital I can see a steady progression of what and how I shoot. Way back I was fixated on technical quality. Esthetics was not the main component of my values.
Then I progressed to concentrating more on composition and design principles. My work got somewhat better, but in general, it was still lacking depth. It was good pictures of things, not about things.
Now I find that I don’t worry about making “prize winning” pictures. You know, the ones designed to win competitions or get the most “likes”. I don’t care about that anymore. I try to make images that I like and that are more unique, quirky even, with a fresh point of view. Ones that express my feelings about what I am seeing. And I am turning more abstract in my vision.
These are the ones I find myself promoting in my top collection. Images that are simply a good technical photo tend to drop out. The ones that are intensely human and obviously not AI survive.
As I write this, I am about ⅓ of the way through my top collection. I haven’t kept detailed records, but it looks like I am eliminating about 20% of the ones I have re-evaluated. It hurts sometimes, but I must remind myself they are not being thrown away, just demoted because they do not belong here. It is said that every time you intelligently remove an image from a portfolio, the portfolio get stronger.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Defined by 1 photo
So, even culled down, out of all these is there a single favorite image? No. My conclusion is that I cannot define myself by 1 image. It will be impossible for me to choose the one image I hold above all the others. The one that definitively and completely says, “this is who I am”.
The only way I could come close to doing that is if I play the game of saying to myself this is my best image – right now, in the mood I’m in, if I don’t go back and look again, but it will change tomorrow. I seldom play games and that one doesn’t interest me. I will just be content knowing that I cannot choose just one.
Favorite photograph
Even within the set that I consider my best images, there are subsets that I like more than others. Yes, I can have favorites within favorites. Some are just more impactful to me personally or grab my current sense of aesthetics more.
But those favorites of the favorites may easily be dozens or hundreds of images. I do not have a single favorite photograph.
So, if the situation comes up again where someone asks to see my favorite photograph, I hope to be more ready. Depending on the context, I might point to one of my images and say, “this is one of my favorites.”
March 11, 2026
Elevate Me
Why do you view art? Is it just to enjoy it, to see what other people are doing, to get ideas? I do those, but at a slightly deeper level, it is to elevate me.
Elevate
I admit to being somewhat jaded about art after years of focusing on it and trying to make it. It seems sometimes that my artistic appreciation is dulled, drained. I have seen so much that it is unusual to encounter anything that excites me. It is a sea of sameness.
I read an article that said that our dopamine sensitivity falls off 10% per decade after we get to be adults. Therefore, the things that excited us in the past don’t have the same impact later. I think I feel this in my life. I don’t get juiced as easily.
But then it happens. Something breaks through my deadened barriers and grabs me and shakes me. An artist has created something that speaks to me, shouts to me even.
When I thought there was nothing new to discover, I discover something new. When I thought I couldn’t get excited any more, suddenly I am – metaphorically – jumping and shouting.
This piece lifts me up; pulls me out of the depressing sameness I thought was the norm. It elevates me. I see more clearly and can think new thoughts. I become a better person. There is reason to go on.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Inspire
An event like this is inspiring. When I was beginning to think there is nothing new and creative to be done, suddenly that depression is shaken, even broken.
A new work like this can point the way to new ways of viewing my work. Not to copy the other artist, but as the introduction of new ideas into my thought process. New ideas are there to chase. New possibilities appear.
It is a joy to be given the gift of new vision to see the world with.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Challenge
Events like this are a challenge to us. Rather than depressing us because of the remarkable insight another artist had, it is an enticement to use it to catapult us to a whole new place. I may not want to do work at all like theirs, but something in their work shook me. Something helped reveal new directions. It gave me a glimpse of a distant place I want to find.
I used to believe that the best creative challenges came from within. Now I see that other artist’s creativity shapes many of those challenges. Yes, they come from within, but part of them may have come from something we see in another artist’s work that reacts with something in us to germinate a new idea.
There is an old quote I always liked but never fully understood:
Immature artists imitate. Mature artists steal.
Lionel Trilling
As mature artists, we do not imitate something we see that inspires us. Copying does not recreate their work or produce new work we can be proud of. Instead, we try to isolate what excited us, distill it down to its essence, and incorporate that flavor, that scent, into our thought process. It influences our new work.
I steal the inspiration and re-form it into something of my own. It elevates me. From this elevated position, I can see further. I can discover new things.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Artist’s intent
Where does meaning and intent come in? For me, it doesn’t matter much. I have said before that I believe I must try to bring my feelings and intent out in my images. But I have also said I believe the only thing that matters to a viewer is the feelings and meaning they derive from the image.
Christopher P. Jones is a writer on Medium who analyzes the structure and composition and symbolism painters put into great works. His articles are very interesting, and they reveal background and levels of depth I had no idea about. It is educational.
But, when I look at a famous painting or another artist’s photograph, all I can get is what I perceive, the meaning and depth I take from it. To the artist, it may be the deepest, most symbolic and meaningful work they have ever done. And that may be completely lost on me. Sorry, I’m rather dense. I’m not very interested in theoretical analysis of art.
Because of or despite their intent, I may perceive something fresh and creative in the image. Something that attaches to something in me to strike a spark that might ignite a fire. It may have nothing to do with the artist’s intent. But it is my valuable takeaway.
Artistic value is a difficult concept. But I am more an artist than a viewer. It is more important to me to develop my own creative eye than to become a more knowledgeable viewer.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
It could be mine
I love those rare times when an artist’s image sparks excitement in me. But sometimes there are golden events when my own image does that.
I am not being egotistical. Honestly, I take a lot of bad images. Occasionally there are some pretty good images, but only rarely does one take my breath away. Often, I do not recognize it at the moment. Most often when I am shooting, I am experimenting with camera or subject motion or working a scene to try to refine my point of view or caught up in the flow or shooting. Later, when processing the images, it may get a “hum, that is kind of interesting.” It is usually after doing some color correction and processing that the image comes into its own and starts to reveal itself.
Sometimes there is a magical one that jumps out and grabs me. I get a chill and my breath catches. It is a rare one. It is like finding a treasure.
What an absolute joy to find that one of my own images thrills and excites me. Something I shot elevates me. Wow. That is a double bonus.
But whether it is one of our own images or something from another artist, great images elevate us. They make us see a new point of view on something. They give us new ideas. That makes us better artists.
March 4, 2026
Love the Unlovable
Do you ever take any bad pictures? Of course. We all do. Some of us more than others. But instead of immediately deleting the bad ones, I suggest living with them a while. Love the unlovable ones. Study them. We can learn from them.
What is “bad”?
What constitutes a bad picture? That is subjective and/or technical.
There are clearly, technically bad pictures. Badly out of focus. Poorly timed so that the subject has left the frame. Badly exposed. Handheld at too slow a shutter speed so it is unintentionally blurry (as opposed to intentionally blurry). Most of us would agree that these are bad and we probably immediately dismiss them as useless.
Other than that, a bad picture is one not up to our expectations. This is subjective. A bad picture to a highly experienced photographer may seem excellent to a novice. If you judge it bad, it is bad.
A related question for another time is, how do you know it is bad? Learning to critique your own work is challenging. If you can’t, how can you know what is good?
But in most cases, bad is obvious to us and we can learn from bad pictures. Humans generally learn more from failure than success.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
It is your picture
First, though, let’s acknowledge that this is your picture. You took it. Sure, there are exceptions. I have sometimes accidentally pressed the shutter while I was carrying my camera and gotten random sidewalks or blurred bushes. That is a clear, unintentional mistake. All the other bad pictures were deliberately taken photos.
But in all cases, it is our picture. No one else is responsible for it. These bad pictures didn’t just happen for some reason we don’t understand. They did not magically appear on your memory card. We raised the camera and pressed the shutter.
There’s a reason you took it
We intentionally took these bad pictures I am talking about. And we did not intend them to be bad. Something happened between the intent and the execution to cause it to not work.
You thought there was at least a reasonable chance that this would be a usable photo. The picture is probably not totally bad. Not meeting our expectations does not necessarily mean it was bad in all respects. There are many possible reasons it was a failure.
I have talked about the chain of steps between our brain and a final print. Failures can happen anywhere along that path. Specifically, any of the technical decisions required in camera to capture the image could be faulty. It is easy for the exposure or the focus to be off, especially in the excitement of capturing a good scene.
When you discover that the failure was a technical problem, that is easy. Figure out what you did wrong, so you won’t make the same mistake again. This is just improving your technical skills.
Or maybe the failure was in your head. As you were visualizing the shot you want, maybe you weren’t clear in your own mind about the best framing and composition. Maybe it is inexperience. You look at the resulting shot and think “no, that’s just not quite right.” If you’re lucky, the scene is still there, and you can work it more. If not, you try to determine how you would approach the same thing next time.
In all these cases, the bad picture provides an opportunity to learn how to do better next time. We will benefit from taking the time to learn what we can from the experience.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Was it an experiment?
Another big area of failure for me is experiments that did not work out. I experiment a lot. It comes from curiosity and an ongoing process of wondering “what if…” I often push the edge of my comfort zone.
Maybe it is intentional camera movement (ICM) at different shutter speeds and with different types of movement, just to see the effect. Perhaps it is shooting a mountain stream at different shutter speeds to determine the amount of water blur I like best today. Maybe it is trying shots straight up or straight down, just to see what I can do.
There is no end of these. I might use a slow shutter on a passing train to see what happens. Sometimes I will take shots of a sprinkler in a park, just to see what I can do with it. Bad weather is a great motivator for me to get out and try things. Travel is a great source. Can I get interesting pictures that are not the typical travel shots? If there is great light on something, I will shoot it. Just to see what I can get.
The possibilities are endless. That is part of the fun and challenge. But when shooting experiments, I know that most of the shots will be failures. They may all be failures. I expect it and am more curious than upset to examine them.
That time when you do get something good in an unusual situation is pure joy. It makes all the failures worthwhile.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Out of your control
A lot of what we attempt to do relies on things out of our control. The light may change before we get the shot. The subject may move. Clouds come up and dampen that reflection you were trying to capture. Clouds go away and leave you with an uninteresting clear blue sky. It got windy, so everything is moving. You had a day set aside for photography, but it was a blizzard.
Unless we are setting up a still-life scene or controlling a set, we are at the mercy of conditions and events. We must learn to roll with the conditions. When our planned shot goes away, find a better one. Use your artistic talent to make something great of what is there. That is being resilient.
The bad shots may open our eyes to new learning. We may discover we really like B&W scenes with dramatic clouds. Or we enjoy intimate details of scenes rather than only grand landscapes. A new world may present itself in a decaying, rusty truck.
Keep them permanently?
There will always be discussion about keeping the mistakes or less good images. Some photographers say they keep everything except technically really bad pictures, e.g., out of focus.
I will give my opinion, but you probably do not want to listen to me on this. Every photographer adopts a workflow that fits his style. Part of mine is that I shoot a lot, and I don’t hang on to pictures unless I can convince myself there is a reason to.
I have given some insights on my process (slow edits, etc.). Part of it is a multi-step editing process to promote images. Good ones rise to the top with time. A side effect is that bad ones get dropped out and discarded. Eliminated. Deleted from my disk.
If I shoot several frames of the same scene, I seldom feel compelled to keep more than the best and maybe 1 or 2 other promising views. The rest are gone.
Since I usually shoot handheld, I often shoot 2 or 3 duplicates to ensure I can select the sharpest. After I select the keeper, the others are deleted.
It’s brutal. Many people will disagree. That’s OK. It is my style and workflow. I have never found myself in the position of wishing I had one of those deleted frames instead of what I kept. But, when in doubt, keep them until you can figure out your feelings.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Learn from mistakes
But the point of the article is that our mistakes are a valuable learning for us. Sometimes, they can be as valuable as the keepers. We should examine them, determine why they were a mistake, use it to build our skill or our artistic vision. Every failure is an opportunity.
Failure often means we stepped out of the safe rut we were in and tried new things. The failure rate is high when we are innovating. But so is our growth rate as artists.
So be courageous. Choose to eagerly adapt to conditions, to try new things, to explore new ways of seeing, to look carefully at your bad pictures. Our bad pictures help us along the way. Learn to love the unlovable ones. Learn from them.
February 18, 2026