Ed Schlotzhauer

An artists journey

Category: Photography

Culling
I recently finished a major part of a large project to cull my “best” images. It was much harder than I thought. Culling is hard.
Why
More than once I asked myself “why?”. I thought this would take me 2-3 weeks. It ended up taking 4 months.
Why in the world would I take on something like this voluntarily? I felt it was necessary to be honest with myself.
I use a multi-layer “grading” system to promote my best work up the ladder. It has been in place for several years and it seemed time to do a reality check to see if I believed my system. It is too easy to rate a picture higher just because I like it without it being truly worthwhile.
And to be honest, there were a couple of concerns I wanted to check on. These are hard to express or admit, but I wanted to see if my recent work was as good as my earlier work and if my work, overall, was up to the standard I want for myself.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
How
My methodology was just to plow through it from beginning to end. I did not attempt to organize images by subject or style or anything. It is just a huge, roughly chronological list of my top-rated pictures.
My criterion is that any image in this top group meets my standards. I should be able to randomly select any one and I will be glad to hang it on my wall or enter it to a show. Of course, I don’t like each one equally. I have favorites. But any of this top group should be a very good representation of my work.
All the images are in a collection in my Lightroom Classic catalog. In general, the goal is to examine each image and keep or demote it. These are ones that have made it to the top of my list. In no case did I delete any pictures, except for a couple of cases of duplicates. Rejecting an image from my top category means demoting it a level, not removing it.
If things were actually that easy, it would have gone faster. The reality is that it is hard for me to keep from “improving” some of them. So I occasionally take side trips into editing. I enjoy that, but it is a time sink.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
What did I learn
I went back through nearly 20 years of images in my Lightroom catalog. I have used Lightroom since its beta release. It’s first production release was in 2007. That is quite a trip down memory lane.
I have not had time to do an intense analysis, buy here are some observations.
20 years ago I was more active, willing to do more vigorous physical activity in any weather. I have slowed down (or gotten smarter). I still get out in a lot of weather, but fewer long back country treks.
Way back, I seem to have been a little more willing to shoot anything that was mildly interesting. Now I am older and more cynical and judgmental. I have lost some of the child-like wonder of the world. I am less likely to shoot if I don’t feel it will be a good picture. This is something I need to work on.
Many of my oldest pictures are travel related. I still shoot a lot when traveling, and I like it, but I have improved my mindfulness and attention in everyday shooting near home. This is good.
My old pictures tend toward technical perfection and formal compositions. I have moved quite a way beyond that. For one thing, I’ve developed more taste for movement, both intentional camera movement and subject blurring. “Perfection” has a whole different meaning for me now. Abstraction is more common.
I’ve always had a “good eye” and the ability to isolate interesting events and creative compositions. It has gotten more refined with time. That is encouraging.
Many of the themes I used to shoot are still well represented in my newer work. I haven’t run off in wildly new directions. One thing I do note is that I seldom photograph people anymore. This is a shame, because I like a lot of what I did in the past. But times seem to have shifted, and I don’t want the potential hassles that can come with it anymore.
It is probably fair to say my older work showed more youthful enthusiasm while my newer work is more mature and investigative. I’m sure there are deeper insights that will come with more thought.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
What’s next
If I was really going to do this rigorously, I guess I would create sub-collections of these by topic: all landscapes, all architecture, all travel, etc. That way I could more closely compare the changes that have happened in the treatment of similar subjects over time. I probably won’t.
E.B. White said that “analyzing humor is like dissecting a frog. Few people are interested and the frog dies of it.” I think it would be like that for me if I did such a detailed analysis.
I’m not really that interested in the fine points of how I have changed. I will just note that it happened. The reality is that I wanted to sneak up on that question I was afraid to consider too openly: is my current work as good as my old work? With some reservations, I will say that the new is good.
What I do observe and mentioned before is that I have lost some of the child-like wonder and innocence that used to be there. I need to do more stupid, crazy, improbably things just to see what happens. Even if I’m pretty sure it won’t be a keeper. Just to see it.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Was it worth it
It is harder to definitively say it was worth it. This took a lot of time. But yes, critically reviewing what I considered my best work over the last 20 years was worth it. Just renewing the memories was worth it.
I tried to be brutal in my screening, but I am surprised that I only “demoted” about 20% of my collection. The changes in the quality of my sensors and lenses over time is obvious. A surprise is that did not necessarily affect my perception of the quality of the images. When a jpg image taken with an old 6 MPix sensor and only a fair lens can hold its own next to one taken with a great lens on a 47 MPix sensor shooting RAW, that says it is something other than just technical perfection.
Expressing this indefinable quality still eludes me. I got some insight on the effect, but I cannot clearly put it in words. But I guess some insight is more than I had before.
I called this exercise culling. It turned out to be much more. I encourage you to do something like this as a self-check.
A parting observation
I just went through my entire collection of “good” images. I had to edit quite a few of them while I was at it. They just needed it. I couldn’t pass over them without it.
While going back through the collection to review them for this article, I had to edit some of them again. Even though I had just been through them.
This brings up something I have learned about myself over the years: an image is an opinion that changes with time. Even over the course of a few weeks I can change my opinion. This is one reason prints are important. They freeze an opinion at a point in time.
May 20, 2026
Organizing Chaos
Sometimes it seems like that’s what photography is: an exercise in organizing chaos. Somehow, though, I love it.
Visual chaos
In a recent newsletter, RW Boyer was lamenting his inability to think like a landscape photographer where he lives: “Landscape photography is frustrating; there are a thousand things out of one’s control on any given day, in any given scene. … Joking aside, any sort of landscape photography is difficult in my region. The Chesapeake’s geography is flat. Wide scenics rarely work. There’s no immediately apparent foreground, middle, and background. There’s no distant elevations to guide one to obvious compositions. The charm and the feel are fleeting. In a word, the flat topography breeds chaos.”
Alas, the world outside is a chaotic place visually. Things just aren’t naturally arranged to make it convenient for us poor outdoor photographers. Plants are in the way. Trees aren’t in the right place for the best design. Rivers bend the wrong way. Clouds are too much or not enough or arranged wrong. The sun is on the wrong side. Weather doesn’t cooperate. Sigh.
I say that facetiously, of course. That chaos and the difficulty of making something pleasing out of a cluttered scene is one of the unique and challenging parts of photography. If it was too easy it would be difficult to create outstanding images.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Bringing order
I love this challenge. The inner designer in me rises to it. It is a very satisfying mental exercise to try to mold a chaotic scene into a clean and appealing image. This is one of the defining characteristics of photography. Painters start with a blank canvas and selectively add only the elements they want for their scene. But photographers must start with an existing, disordered scene and simplify it.
We have many techniques to apply to do this. Lens selection will widen or narrow our field of view. We can change our point of view to include significant parts or exclude distracting elements. Selective focus can emphasize the areas of attention. Exposure can be used to darken or blow out parts of the frame where you don’t want any detail. Long exposure can change moving elements into a different graphical design. These and other techniques give us great control over the arrangements of the parts.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Design
But above all, it is a design challenge. The tendency is to think of design as a careful, disciplined process that we do ahead of time. But that is not usually true of photography for me.
When we are there in the field, looking through our viewfinder, we see chaos and we must decide what to do with it. That is the type of photographic design I am referring to.
We must decide what is key to the scene and how to emphasize that and minimize distractions. Is it the S curve of a river or the graphical arrangement of branches? Is it the forms or the leading lines that draw the eye a certain way? Most scenes can be arranged to bring an interesting view. Some more than others, but most can be improved.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Work it
Following on from a previous post, we need to very consciously work to refine our design after we set it up. This is a weakness of mine that I plan to improve. When I walk up to a scene, I tend to do a tremendous amount of subconscious evaluation to select a composition. My natural tendency is to set up and shoot what I visualized as I came on the scene and stop there without taking it further.
But I know that many designs can be enhanced by exploring variations. I will try to discipline myself to do this more diligently. Move – left, right, up, down, near, far– look for improvements in the composition with slight shifts. Look closely at the entire frame to make sure there are no distracting elements that could be eliminated by in-camera techniques. Walk more to see if a more dramatic change of viewpoint could help.
Most of all, I need to make sure I look and think. What I have is good, but can I make it better?
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Framing
I wrote about the idea I called “Dancing with the Frame“. This is my take on my intuitive composition practice. This is closer to what I actually do in practice.
I know composition fairly well after many years of study and practice and failure. It is not a conscious process for me. I realize that this seems in conflict with the disciplined refinement approach I outlined above, but that is part of the ambiguity I deal with.
Viewing a potential photograph through my viewfinder invokes a dynamic design activity. I move, zoom, focus, and change the exposure in an almost automatic hunt. It is not that I can’t express my design thoughts, but that I don’t have time to.
I am moving to minimize clutter, increase the dynamism of the composition, clarify and simplify, or improve the lighting. When “it” happens, I recognize it and press the shutter. Perhaps I keep going to see if I can improve it or create a derivative composition that also works. I might keep going as long as things keep happening or I am discovering new insights.
The dynamic power of the frame is a strong force. When I see things come into a good composition, I act on it. The trigger is often intuitive. It happens before I can express it verbally.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Don’t over analyze
A caution, though. Don’t over analyze the situation. Design and creation should be an act of joy. When you are learning new techniques, it is normal to have to slow down and concentrate a lot on what you are doing. But try to get to the point where it flows naturally. To where you move with it and follow your instincts. Trust your instincts.
Another caution is that composition is important, but it is not what the picture is about. I have many images that are formally good compositions, but are relegated to lower ranks in my filing system. Ultimately, the picture must be interesting, too.
Shooting in the outdoors should be energizing. We should feel excited about what we are seeing and capturing. Outdoor photography exists in a world of chaos. We must learn to deal with it, use it, and still come up with excellent images. It is about organizing chaos. We can’t control it, really, but we must make images that look like we did.
Creativity is exciting and invigorating. Most of us aren’t going to get rich at this. We should at least have fun and feel satisfied. Making something interesting out of what seems like chaos is rewarding.
This is a journey of discovery. Enjoy the journey and have fun!
May 13, 2026
Accept the Gift
I believe that many of our most interesting photo opportunities are gifts presented to us. We must accept the gift.
A gift
I save a lot of quotes. Some are to trigger writing topics and others are collected wisdom I refer to on occasion. Or both.
I was recently impacted by the repeated message of several quotes I encountered in series. They were from different people and different sources, but together they had a message for me.
Here are 4 in no particular order:
The best compositions are the ones you don’t look for.
Alister Benn
Photography by wandering around: exploring without specific goals or expectations in mind, taking a slow pace, seeking to see beyond the most obvious features of a landscape, and enjoying the process regardless of the results.
Sarah Marino
Without expectations, I am open to serendipity, and that allows the world to present itself.
Don Giannatti
Creativity isn’t merely a gift; it’s a craft that requires cultivation and flourishes when we allow our brain to notice what it previously categorized as mundane and filtered from our consciousness.
Chrissy Donadi
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Could not plan it
A common element in these is the acknowledgment that my best work comes more from recognition than planning. My experience is that “I’m going to this place to make this particular picture” is not nearly as effective as “Wow, I’ve never noticed the way that looks in this light.” Discovery trumps planning for me.
Maybe I have a skewed definition of planning. I often “plan” shoots in a sense. If there are storms boiling up, I want to get to a place where I can get a good view of them (without getting my car pounded by large hail). When there is a good snowfall I will sometimes try to decide where the fresh snow might look nice. If I am flying somewhere I will try to get a window seat. There may be nothing to photograph, but I can’t if I’m not by a window.
This is the extent of the planning I do for a photo shoot. I try to put myself in a place that might have interest. Then I rely on my curiosity and vision to guide me to discover compelling images.
I need to restate what I have said many times: I am a fine art photographer. I do not shoot for clients. The results I create are first and foremost to please me. That is my only criteria.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Be ready
A key behind this style of working is the need to be ready. We must be mindful of ourselves and our surroundings. Of little things we ordinarily pass by and grand scenes that call to be a picture. Of the way the light is interacting with things, of textures, of coincidences that bring things together.
Being able to react to things like this is only possible if we are thoughtful. Our minds must be engaged and not distracted. Email, social media, probably even our favorite playlists take us away from being thoughtful. They make us inwardly focused instead of being receptive to the visual world around us.
When you are walking, can you turn off the distractions and keep your attention focused on the world around you? When you are driving, can you stay conscious of what is passing by rather than being internally focused? It is too easy to be concentrating more on your to-do list or what that rude driver ahead of you did or what’s on the radio.
Our world tries to demand all of our attention. But our attention is too valuable to let them. have it. We should control where and when we use it.
If we want to be receptive to discovering the unplanned pictures that are all around us, we must control our attention and direct it to that purpose.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Know what to do
Then when one of these happy circumstances presents itself, we must know what to do. That is usually not the time to be trying to remember how to use our equipment. Unless you are just getting started on your photography journey, it is not the time to be thinking much about aperture or shutter speed settings or trying to remember the rules you have heard about composition.
Maybe a first step that should not even need to be stated is that without a camera you are not going to take any pictures. Carry your camera. I have discovered that when I pick up my camera it is a statement of intent, a signal to myself. I now go into a mindset of thinking about pictures.
And remember that your camera is just a tool. We must learn our tools well, until using them is second nature. I don’t want to set the bar too high. Never be discouraged to go out shooting just because you are not expert enough with your camera yet. You might miss some shots or be discouraged by the results. That’s OK. It is about learning and experience. They take time. Henri Cartier-Bresson said that our first 10,000 pictures are our worst.
A goal we strive for is for our tools to become an extension of our mind. To the point where we almost forget they are there. Our hands and eye and mind work together automatically to create the image. Our thought is on the composition, not much on the mechanics of using the camera.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Use it
To circle back to the opening quotes, a lot of the best photography is about wandering and being open and receptive. It’s often about the ability to see interest in the mundane things you used to ignore. or the way the light is playing on a subject
And always be ready to accept the gift of serendipity. Great things are often the result of good fortune, of happy coincidences. Being in a good location at a good time helps, but serendipity is more important.
Be grateful. Say thank you and take the picture. Enjoy the process.
But that good fortune will go by unnoticed if we are not paying attention, if we are not receptive. That missed opportunity may never repeat.
I hope that motivates us to disconnect from the noise sources that are demanding our attention and instead be open to the world around us.
May 6, 2026
No I in Team
It’s a well-worn motivational expression: There’s no I in “team”. Whenever I hear it, I automatically turn it around to reverse the meaning. My art is not a team sport.
Teamwork
Teamwork can be a powerful force. Getting a group together and focused on a common problem can have amazing results. The comradery built can be very strong. In extreme cases, like a military group, members will sacrifice their lives for each other.
This is a phenomenon that we seldom find in our everyday lives. Perhaps you have the good fortune to have been a member of a great team. It is probably something you remember as a powerful experience.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Some things need a team
There are obvious cases where a team is required. Most sports require a team. No single player, no matter how skilled, can play all the positions simultaneously. All must work together to defeat the opposing team.
A team can be a force multiplier. The group can perform more physical work than an individual. Think of a bucket brigade.
Today’s workforce emphasizes teamwork and collaboration. It is taken as a truth that good teamwork improves productivity. I can sort of agree. Having seen both sides, I can say that working in a well-functioning team is much more productive and fun than being in a situation where there is conflict and tension.
I say “sort of” because I also do not believe that teams are the best structure for everything.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Introvert
Here’s one of my problems with the team concept: I’m an introvert. Group activities drain me rather than energizing me. An introvert can be a good team contributor, but it takes a savvy leader to make it happen. It is all too easy for a quiet introvert to be dominated by loud extroverts.
“As an introvert, photography has always appealed to me in great part because it’s not a team sport—it’s something I can do by myself, in places and times of my choosing, and for no other reason than to satisfy my own sensibilities.”
Guy Tal
I have too often seen group efforts steered by the loudest or most opinionated members. The results were not always excellent.
As an introvert, I have a built-in suspicion of group activities. It is not an environment I naturally thrive in. It can happen, but it is rare.
Here is an example of it working: I worked with a fairly consistent group of excellent engineers for several decades. It was extremely productive and congenial. We got along well, we respected each other, we could disagree and resolve issues, and we supported each other. Managers and projects would come and go, but our core group stayed mostly intact. That is not to say we were best friends. We didn’t socialize much, although now that we are retired, several of us still get together weekly for lunch. The team bond was that strong.
That is a situation I don’t expect to see repeated much these days. But is my example of what a good team can be.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Artist
However, I am an artist now. I think that changes everything. The rules, the expectations, the responsibilities are all different now. It is a different world than the corporate environment.
Corporations are anonymous groups of people working to make a profit. The individuals doing the work, no matter how creative, are seldom known. Apple back in the Steve Jobs and Jonny Ivy days might be the exception.
But for an artist it is the opposite. My work is judged to be my own. My name is on it. It is very personal. It should be the best work I am capable of doing in any given situation. Good or bad, I’m the one held responsible.
As an artist and an introvert, I work in my head. Quietly. Other people’s voices and opinions are distracting noise. What I create is based on my own vision and decisions. After I have created a piece, I am very willing to listen to your opinion of how I could have made it better, but I don’t want you there talking to me while I am in the field working. If I were to listen to you there, the resulting work would be our piece, not mine.
Collaboration
This strikes to the heart of one of the great beliefs of the corporate world, that collaboration is the key to everything. I disagree.
Some proponents of collaboration say that results achieved by collaboration are always superior to results of any individual. Again, I disagree. I have seen good and bad results from collaboration.
I will claim that the results are about the average of the capability of the group. But in a lot of groups, some of the individuals are below average. Therefore, the group result seems better. This is the actual benefit to the corporation: collaboration usually produces acceptable results.
Whether or not collaboration is superior in corporate settings, I believe that it is always a mistake for me in my art, mainly fine art photography, which is my subject. My reasoning is that a work of art is an expression of the artist’s creativity and vision and feelings and skill. If I collaborate with someone, I cannot put my name on it and claim it as my creation. You would not see me; you would see a group effort.
Besides, I am not interested in making acceptable images. I strive to create excellent ones. If I fail, I want it to be completely my fault.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
No Team
I believe an artist is required to succeed or fail on his own. The kind of art I do is not a team sport. What I create is solely my responsibility. It will stand or fall on my ability. No excuses. No one else is directly contributing to it.
I would love to have a mentoring or support group of fellow artists, but I have not found one around me and there is a rather small population of local artists I share a vision with. It seems like it would be rewarding to be able to try out ideas with other artists and have a close enough group that they could tell me when I am veering off in the weeds. Shared ideas, education, and encouragement would be great.
But even if I had such a group, I would not collaborate with them on any of my works. Suggestions might be given and received, but it would be totally my decision what to do with the advice. The result would be mine and my responsibility. All praise or blame falls on me.
A strange side effect of this is that being an artist is a kind of arrogance. It is my work, my creativity, my vision. No one can tell me what I should do.
I did it my way
This is an extreme position, but it is the way that seems necessary for me. I can’t create in a noisy environment with other people trying to give me inputs. It’s part of my introversion. An atelier would not work for me, although I can see that it would be a good fit for some.
I will have to be content being a lone wolf, working independently, taking full responsibility for my own creation. And at this point in my life, I would not want it to be any other way. My purpose is to exercise my creativity and create art that pleases me, not to become commercially successful in group projects that I contribute to.
There’s no I in team. I am not in a team. A team is not where I work. That would feel lonely and isolated to some, but it energizes me.
April 29, 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