Ed Schlotzhauer

An artists journey

Category: Mastery

Intro or Extro?
Which is your natural approach to photography? Introspection or extrospection? Intro or extro?
Psychology
Psychologists work hard to try to explain human behavior and thought processes. Sometimes their ideas seem insightful. Sometimes, off the wall.
There are many different personality tests and other tools that attempt to sort people into convenient boxes. Mostly with the noble goal of helping to understand ourselves and other people. These can help some, on a surface level. But humans are far more complex than can be captured in a simple test.
Across most of the personality tests, one of the important axes that seems to occur in some form is introvert vs. extrovert. And the common underlying definitions are based on whether you get your energy from being alone (introvert)or with people (extrovert)
Personally, I believe most humans are.far too complex and interesting to be put into a box. It causes us to make snap judgments about them, or ourselves. And they are often wrong.
But lets go with the introvert/extrovert model for a while, since it seems true of many people, Introverts tend to “live in their head”. This leads to self-awareness, introspection. Extroverts, not so much. They tend to look out more than in. The term is extrospection.
For your inner Geek: intro is Latin for inward. Extro is Latin for outward. Spect is Latin for looking at. So these words are just describing whether we tend to look inward or look outward.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Introspection
An introspective person examines their thoughts, feelings, and actions. They look inward and are self-aware. We (this is me) reflect on our emotions and judgments and feelings.
Ordinarily this is a good trait. Being self-aware lets us see ourselves as others do and work to improve ourselves. We tend to be thoughtful rather than just reactive. As an artist, we tend to seek and practice creativity.
But in our photography, it can slow us down and distract us from what is around us. There can be a tendency to filter what we react to by what we are feeling or concentrating on at the time. If your work is based on what you find in the world around you, this can be a problem.
I had a world respected photographer tell me in a workshop that I think too much. Then later that day as we were showing some work, he said he had never seen that flower viewed like that and he was going to steal the idea. Go figure.
On the other hand, a great photographer Mike Langford said in Better Photography magazine: “Each destination starts with a process of quietly sitting
for a while and absorbing where I am. I genuinely try to feel
what is different about being there, as if it’s my first visit, with no
preconceptions. By being in tune with my emotions and innermost thoughts,
even the most familiar things can be seen and photographed in
a new and different way.” That sounds like a good form of introspection.
Introspection can lead to creatively trying new variations or approaches to what we are doing. It may slow us down and it may blind us to some great shots, but the potential creativity may well be worth it.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Extrospection
Extrospection is defined as the observation of things external to one’s mind. This would imply reacting to external stimuli. Many people, especially extroverts, look outward for their stimulus and validation.
Photographers with this view tend to more easily see what is there around them.They abandon preconceived plans and work freely with the reality in front of them. I have quoted Jay Maisel on this many times, but this is exactly what he means by “going out empty”. Don’t go looking for something specific. Instead, see what is there and work with it.
I said above that this is reacting to external stimuli. At least, that is the way it works for me. I think of it as shutting off my mind, at least the critical reasoning parts, and getting into a form of flow state. Shooting becomes instinctive. I’m sure a lot of it is based on experience. The scenes before me trigger the response. Composition becomes part of the instinctive response.
This is a form of mindfulness. The extrospective person is highly aware of their surroundings and ready to work with them without judgment.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Both and
So, which approach is better? Trick question: neither. Both are valuable and can lead to excellent results. Your inherent nature determines which approach you tend to.
But you are not locked in to either one. We can learn to behave in both ways. I have said that I am an introvert and I tend to introspect. Maybe too much. But I have also learned to go out with no judgment and embrace what is there at the moment. It may be harder for me to to “get in the flow” of that, but I can do it.
Both/and thinking says that you can feel more than one thing at a time. That you can hold conflicting thoughts without confusion. It is a realization that life and humans are complicated. They can’t be accurately modeled by one simple label.
When I think I am shooting with no judgment and embracing what is there, I know that that is not literally true. I try to allow myself to react emotionally to the environment, but behind the scenes, sometimes subconsciously, sometimes much more conscious, years of training and examination are guiding what is happening. Decisions about exposure and focal length and composition are being made, I just try not to let them intrude too much on my emotional state.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Do we have to decide?
I see introspection and extrospection as complimentary traits, not conflicting ones. Extrospection lets us be in the moment, to see and react to what is around us, even if it is not what we anticipated. Introspection lets us analyze what we are seeing and maybe take it to a higher level. It seeks to find the essence and answer “what if” questions.
Extrospection helps us find interesting material. Introspection helps us creatively make the best of it. Together, they make our art better.
We are not stuck just blindly following our basic nature. You are not a helpless robot. Part of growing and maturing is to learn to adapt new behaviors. To practice new thought processes. We can learn to expand our thinking. Mindfulness and creativity compliment one another. We can hold and practice both in our mind at the same time. Without breaking anything.
Don’t just react or just think. Do both. At the same time.
Intro or extro. It does not have to be either/or. It can be both/and.
September 2, 2026
Dancing With the Frame
All 2-dimensional art exists within a frame. The frame is a powerful creative spark, because it requires choices and it strongly influences the resulting image. This is the magic of the frame. I have come to consider the process “dancing with the frame”.
Finite
I do 2-dimensional art. Most paintings or photographs are. But besides being flat, 2-dimensional works are also bounded. They cannot extend to infinity. So, a print may be 16×20 inches, or maybe 6×9 feet, but there is a limit. A print of a landscape scene is not an attempt to physically transport the scene to your wall. The image is an interpretation.
And because the print is bounded, there are edges. The edges create the frame, or more precisely the bounding rectangle of the image. I am assuming rectangular prints for the discussion. So, in simple physical terms, the frame is the box that encloses the print.
Likewise, our sensors or film are rectangular. There are pragmatic reasons for this. The point is, though, that the image we see through our viewfinder and capture in our camera is rectangular. It lives within the bounding box of a frame.
It turns out, though, that this simple bounding box gives life and drama to the content. And taking a picture is dancing with the frame. At least, for me.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
A window
The frame is much more than an annoying constraint of the shape of the sensor or print. Something magical happens when we look through the viewfinder or crop our image in our processing software.
What we see through the frame is our window onto the world. This window sparks much of our creativity. As we move and zoom and continue to examine our subject through this window we compose our image within it. We visualize the image and intuitively or deliberately decide what is important to bring out, what should be excluded, and how the parts should be arranged.
Since we are photographers, we are usually working with an existing scene, at least, I am. We seldom can go physically re-arrange things to suit us – at least I don’t. Instead, we must change our position or lens selection to arrange the parts in what we consider the most advantageous orientation.
We may realize the interest is not the whole scene, but only certain parts of it., and they should be presented from a certain point of view. So, we adjust our window and keep searching for the magic.
After all, if we are an artist, we want to bring something to our viewers that is more than just what anyone would have shot if they walked up on the scene. We bring our own interpretation. A big part of this is how we decide to arrange what we see in our window.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Composition
Over the centuries many “rules” of composition have been formed. I put it in quotes because there are no real r ules. The “rules” are observations of patterns that have been found to be generally pleasing to viewers.
It was very interesting to me to realize that most of these “rules” are defined by or relative to the frame. Let’s look at a few.
The rule of thirds helps to increase dynamic tension by placing the subject along the intersection points of dividing the window into 3 groups horizontally and 3 groups vertically. This is totally relative to the frame.
Along with that is the oft quoted “do not put the subject in the center” – of the frame.
The horizon should be level – relative to the frame.
Diagonals can add a lot of interest to many compositions. The diagonals exist because of their relation to the frame.
Leading lines are often recommended. They help encourage the viewer’s eye to lead from the edge of the frame to the subject and keep them exploring.
We need to be careful to not have distracting elements at the edges of the frame.
Unless it is really your intent, we must be careful to not cut the subject off at the edge of the frame.
This could go on a long time. Go examine your favorite composition rules and see how many are describing relationships to or within the frame.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
The dance
What I describe as dancing with the frame comes from my typical shooting style. I am mostly an intuitive photographer. I don’t carry flip books of composition ideas or sample books of other photographer’s work. My shots are seldom pre-planned.
When my subconscious notifies me that there is potentially an interesting shot nearby, I get engaged. I seem to know from experience the lighting and exposure details and camera settings. Those don’t occupy much of my thought. The dance really starts when I raise my camera to my eye and see what the camera sees. What I perceive through the viewfinder now becomes the main focus of my attention. The view in the frame.
Now I can inventory what I have to work with in the scene. It probably looks like a performance art to the observer. I move and zoom and bend and twist to rearrange things in the frame. What is important? What needs to be minimized? Are there diagonals I can use? Where should I move to make the composition pop? Are there distractions at the edges that I could remove by repositioning?
These decisions seem to flow effortlessly during the dance. It is kind of like manual focusing. Turn the focus knob. Did it get better or worse? If worse, go the other way. Keep going until it gets clear then starts to get blurry again. Carefully go back a little to where the peak sharpness was.
Working within the frame is like that to me. It is a dynamic process of optimizing. The big difference is that, with manual focus, the results are objective. Composing within the frame is an intuitive process of real-time judgment. That is part of what makes it hard but fun.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Artist’s judgement
So, part of the work of a photographer is to arrange the elements within the frame in the most pleasing or impactful way. This is the magic of the frame. The frame imposes a dynamic tension between itself and its contents. It is the canvas where we compose. It is the crucible where our creativity is tested. I can only do it well while looking through the viewfinder.
Since the camera sensor captures everything in the frame, it is not only critical to arrange the elements as we wish, but it may be as important to know what to exclude. That is one of the tricks of photography. What is in view of the sensor will be in our image unless we consciously figure out how to eliminate it.
Much of the artistry is in working the frame: figuring out what is significant and how to present it within the frame. It is the stage where we work our magic. It turns out that the frame is more important in our work than we usually express. This is what, to me, is the magic of the frame.
April 15, 2026
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
Impatience
Here’s a confession: one reason I’m a photographer is that I’m too impatient to do any other type of art I like (except writing). Have you ever considered that photography is a form of impatience?
Not painting
I long ago figured out that I could never be happy painting. I can’t draw well. Most of my grandkids exceeded my drawing ability when they were about 4. Well, I have one who is only 6 weeks old, so I can do better than him. But even more than my inability to draw, I know that I would not be able to keep my interest going through rounds of sketches and design trials, and through days or weeks of work manually laying pigment on a canvas to create a finished work.
And then if I want another copy, I must either photograph it and make prints or go through the manual work of painting another one. I guess that enforced scarcity works to the advantage of a painter by keeping numbers low and prices high.
I’m just not wired that way. If I see something interesting, I want it captured now. And if you like it and want a print, I want to be able to make a copy for you quickly.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Not short attention span
Based on what I said, you might assume I have a short attention span. But that’s not true. In my career as an Engineer I would often get so lost in a project that I might disappear in it for hours without remembering to eat or go to the bathroom. Flow states were common. Even now, I can spend hours reading or writing or working on images on the computer. No, I can focus my attention fully on something I am interested in.
The problem is a type of boredom that stems from impatience. If I am not engaged, if something is not keeping my interest, I tend to avoid or abandon it. More of my life is behind me than in front of me. I can feel that, and my reaction is to walk away from things that I consider a waste of my time. Time can’t be saved, only spent well.
For instance, as I write this, it is tax time in the US. I gather up all of my data and hand it off to someone else to go through the details of figuring it and filling out the forms. It is worth it to me to pay them. Otherwise, I would go crazy beating my head against that mindless bureaucracy.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Spontaneity
I find that in my art, I love spontaneity. If I see something interesting, I want to capture it immediately. Spending hours, if necessary, working it on the computer is not a problem. I did the raw image capture when I saw it. That satisfied my basic need.
My photography is almost exclusively “in the moment”. I am a hunter-gatherer. Planning usually does not go farther than “it should be stormy tomorrow. Maybe I’ll head east to see if I can find some good shots without getting caught in a tornado.” Literally, being aware of tornadoes, hail, or serious thunderstorms is a primary consideration where I live. But that makes for some great images.
I know that some people plan their shoots in great detail. They want to know the exact day and time and location to be at to get “the shot.” This doesn’t work for me. Unless it is a commercial shoot, that much planning narrows my options too much. It takes all the spontaneity out.
I don’t care about “the shot” as much as finding something interesting that I can exercise creativity on.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Work with what’s there
Why do I work this way? The simple answer is “it works for me.” I am generally happy with the results I get, even if I sometimes come back with nothing. The thrill of the hunt is reward enough. It is a percentage game. Win a few, lose a few, the process is satisfaction. The benefit of finding a new viewpoint or something unique is enough.
Perhaps I’m an endorphin junky. If I’m out and about my subconscious may recognize something, even if it is just a potential to be worked. It alerts me to it, and this creates a burst of light/energy/warmth, whatever. It is difficult to describe. But there is a joy and excitement of discovery. Each find creates a kind of high. I would not be finding these things if I was fixed to a shot list and schedule.
Plus, there is something about my psyche that enjoys working with a real scene rather than creating a fictitious world. I may take the image, or bits and pieces of several and create something different, abstract, even surreal. but ultimately my raw material is real world elements.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
It fits me
So, I have learned and rationalized that photography fits me. I prefer to “run and gun” instead of carefully planning. I want to be inspired by what I discover and be able to capture it immediately. Then go on to the next scene that stimulates me.
It’s not so much the overall time. An image may require hours of computer work to perfect. It is the lack of barrier between what I see and what I capture that keeps me going. My creativity likes to work spontaneously and in the flow. That is one reason I could never express my art in painting.
Sure, I could try to do plein air painting or paint from photographs. But why? Plein air painting seems to me to be attempting to (slowly) capture a photograph. And if I were to paint from a photograph, I would have to wrestle with the question of why not just print the photograph?
So, over time, I concluded that photography is my art. Besides not being able to draw, I would be bored trying to express my vision so slowly and painfully. I like to move fast when I see something interesting. It is a joy to get in a flow, to follow my mood and instincts.
I have great respect for good painters. But I could not be content doing what they do. Too much impatience.
March 25, 2026
Loud Whispers
Most images today are designed to explode, to attack, to shout. Are these the ones you remember? I usually don’t. I think the quiet ones, the loud whispers, have more staying power.
Attention
It is repeated endlessly and taken for true that we are in an attention economy. Media vendors make money by keeping people engaged on their site. So entertainment, doom-scrolling, click bait, fake news, short videos, and many other products and psychological tricks are used to hook us and keep us watching. I read that the average person now touches their phone 2,617 times a day. We spend over three hours daily on social media alone.
A byproduct of this attention manipulation is that it changes us mentally. Many people develop a short attention span. We must be continually stimulated to keep the dopamine flowing. Basically, the companies encourage us to regress to childhood.
Do not believe that the media companies care about art. It is just a commodity. They don’t care what they sell so long as it keeps eyeballs on their app.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Photography
This short attention span affects much photography today. Images are expected to have punch, to hook us immediately. It is believed that they should immediately reveal their meaning without requiring any work by the viewer.
Implicit in this is the assumption that a viewer will look at an image for about 1 – 2 seconds and then go on, looking for the next exciting image. The next dopamine hit. Doom scrolling until we go blind.
Even in a gallery or a museum, where it would be expected that people would have a higher level of appreciation, it is normal to watch people just strolling by the lines of art on the wall. Just idly considering some of them, but dismissive of most.
Now I will be quick to say that a lot of art, including photography, can be quickly dismissed. Things that try so hard to be “creative” that they forget to be good. If it is made by or for the short attention span generation, there is little staying power.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Impact
I believe that much of the “impact” that is promoted in the attention economy is false. It’s like eating candy. There is a quick sugar rush that feels good for a minute, but it fades quickly and there is no food value that is good for you. It is actually worse for you than skipping it completely.
The dramatic, over saturated sunset is pretty, but there is little to get from it. The classic landscape image is pretty, but it is just another wide angle shot from the same viewpoint everybody stops at. Portraits tend to be either selfies or would-be fashion shots that tend toward creepy.
Most of these are easily forgettable. A few minutes later we don’t even recall anything about them.
I guess the question is was it OK to put it out there just to get a few “likes”, or did you want people to engage with your image? That is a very personal question. I can’t claim there is a universal right or wrong answer.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
What stays
I have noticed, over the years, that many of my images are “nice” and people like them, but only a few leave a lasting impression on me. It would be nice to be able to give a definitive description of what makes one have staying power, but I cannot.
Since I cannot define it, I cannot reproduce it on demand. Often, I do not recognize these images immediately. It is not uncommon for the images that excited me when I was taking them to not be ones that had this staying power. It may even be that some of these long term keepers are on the edge of being culled out during editing. Sometimes, though, something pulls at my subconscious, and I keep it until I can figure out how I feel.
It may be days or weeks in coming, but eventually I have a mini-epiphany and recognize that there is something significant there calling to me. Or perhaps I must work with the image for a while. Crop it, change it around some, maybe see it in black & white. But at some point, a new understanding may emerge. It changes magically from a picture I guess I will keep to something I really like.
That is like finding a buried treasure.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Quiet
I said I can’t define what makes one of these images, but one thing I can identify as a frequent characteristic is that they are quiet images. They don’t shout for attention. They don’t jump up and scream “look at me!”
Instead, they are often more reserved, almost shy. These are the ones that whisper instead of shout. These are the loud whispers. They quietly have something to say, and they know it. It is there to see, if the viewer takes the time to look for a while. The reward will come through investing the time and attention to appreciate it. I think that is the side of the attention economy I prefer.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Out of the mainstream
So, maybe it is true that the attention economy. has completely taken over photography. Perhaps most people expect every image to jump up and shout and bare all in 1 second.
I am old and out of touch. I still have this notion that a photograph must be well crafted and thoughtful. That it should be something you want to keep coming back to. You want to spend time with it and reflect on the subtle interest and meanings you find. These are the ones I call a loud whisper.
So, I will continue to shoot a lot, to experiment freely, and to try to think fresh about my subjects. Occasionally I will discover one of these quiet gems. I will continue to go along my own path of obscurity, but content in the joy and satisfaction my work brings me. And it does. Sometimes the whisper becomes a shout.
February 25, 2026