Ed Schlotzhauer

An artists journey

Tag: art

The Weakness of Photography
I love photography. It is my chosen art form. But photography has a weakness that weakens and cheapens it, in some people’s eye. Can it really be art?
Literal
We point our camera at a scene, press the shutter release, and it is recorded. Everything in the field of view is captured. We didn’t have to arrange it or decide what should be there. It is all scooped up.
Therefore, most photographs are straight views of literal scenes. Little thought and consideration went into it. There is trash and power lines we are expected to overlook. And that telephone pole growing out of the subject’s head: yeah, ignore that.
If we want to document a place or time, that can work. But we wouldn’t call that art.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Too easy
Along with that is just the fact that taking a photograph is too easy. Anyone with a phone can take a pretty good picture with no thought or effort. An amazing amount of computational science is applied in your phone to make it look good. And just like everyone else’s.
This is clearly seen in the trillions of photographs uploaded to social media and photo sites each year. And by the billions of hours of video uploaded to YouTube and TikTok. Everyone can do it, and they do.
If everyone can do it, it must not be special.
Too mechanical
And photography is criticized for being too mechanical. It seems more technology than art. People don’t need training to do it. Just Point and Shoot.
We capture a photograph in an instant. It can be sent anywhere in the world in milliseconds. We can paste it on social media for the world to see and comment on.
How many people shooting pictures on their phone are spending much time considering the artistic elements of the work? No, there is little to consider. Click the button. If you don’t like it, use the AI editing controls to make it good, or just shoot it again.
It’s just an automatically produced thing. It is no longer a picture; it is a commodity.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Is photography worthless?
To me, who likes photography as art, that sounds very bleak. So, has photography become worthless?
I like to think not.
Photography is an extremely challenging art form that requires intense effort and years of practice. At least for me. And at that, I’m just getting somewhat competent at it. I don’t think I will ever consider that I have mastered it.
That sounds contradictory. Thoughtless image capture that anyone can do or difficult and thoughtful art. Obviously 2 different things. That’s where we go off track in the argument. It is not photography that is art or not, it is our intended purpose and expectation. Are we capturing an image for a utilitarian purpose or creating a piece of art?
The same tools and processes are used for both. That confuses things.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
The difference
On the surface, it is hard to tell the difference between photography being done for art vs for utilitarian reasons. The subjects could be the same, the equipment could be the same, the locations could be the same.
If you watched the photographers work you would probably spot some differences, but not always. That is not a reliable indicator.
It may be overly simplistic, but I think the difference is what is going on in the photographer’s head. Their intent and purpose, the feeling and insight they bring to the scene, and their experience. It becomes art because there was an artist present, involved, responding, feeling, creating. This can transform a simple scene into art.
The subject
If we are creating for art, the depth of our involvement must become far more intense than a simple snapshot. One of the traps many people fall into is the consideration of the subject itself. Did you just capture the obvious shallow view of the subject, or does the image say something about our feeling or perception of the subject? Did we delve deeper and try to bring our something that is not obvious on the surface?
A representation of the subject is just that. What you see is what you get. But if we can bring our something different or new or insightful to challenge the viewer, the image could have staying power.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Composition
Most people walk up to a scene and snap it. An artist thinks about composition. About how the parts relate and are perceived. And about what to include and what to leave out.
Often the artist has no ability to re-arrange the scene, but they have freedom to change their position or to zoom in to parts of the whole. Small changes of location or framing can make huge changes in the visual effect.
If we are serious about photography, we know the basic principles of composition: placement on thirds, leading lines, visual weight, etc. How we use them while making an image depends on our personality and experience. I don’t have a checklist of composition rules with me. For me, it is more subconscious recognition of them. As in “there’s a potential leading line; can I exploit it; will it make the composition stronger?”
A well composed image will be seen as designed, intentional, crafted, and more whole.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Form
An artist will look at the same scene as anyone else and see interesting shapes and patterns. They are aware of textures and reflections and how the light is playing across the subject.
Sometimes form is the whole purpose of an image. This is especially common in black & white. One of the reasons for producing an image in black & white is to remove extraneous elements like color and immediate subject recognition, leaving the forms and tones as the focus.
Subtleties like this are not usually obvious to the snapshot shooter.
Gesture
This is a favorite of mine. Gesture is not just a certain movement. It is what shows the innate character of something. The great Jay Maisel is a huge proponent of the concept. He goes so far as to say:
It’s light, gesture, and color. It really doesn’t matter what you photograph.
Jay Maisel
That is, the subject is less important than capturing that thing or moment that shows its essence. Discovering the gesture can be hard, but it is worthwhile. We could take a picture of a thing, or we can look for something that shows what the thing does or feels or how it behaves. That gives it life.
Finding and capturing the gesture usually requires intense concentration and attention. You must approach it with the will to find it. But it is a process of the artist looking deeper and with more intent than the snapshot shooter.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Are photography’s problems solvable?
Yes, because it doesn’t actually have a problem. Photography is a wonderful practice and every bit as artistic as any of the other established art forms.
The fact that the vast majority of pictures are taken as snapshots/throwaway/selfies/travel memories does not invalidate that the medium can be used for artistic purposes. That would be like saying most people can’t write well, so writing is not valuable.
I use my phone to grab quick shots all the time: a sign with a name or telephone number I need, a part I need to find at the hardware store, something that amuses me, or my grandson. These serve exactly the purpose I want. Either a throwaway or a memory. Every day I also take my “real” camera with me and occasionally see something to shoot from an artistic viewpoint.
These are 2 different activities with completely different purposes. Neither invalidates the other. Both exist together and do not compete. The same technology is being used for different goals. It’s not the subject or the equipment or the location that separates them. It is the intent and skill of the photographer. And it is the desire of the artist to create.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Is photography as an art going away?
As far as photography as art going away, I would claim the opposite. Since most pictures taken are mediocre, at best, when we come along with an image created with skill and an artistic style, it will get noticed. It will be obvious to most people that this is different and special.
The introduction of photography caused many painters to fear it would replace them. Instead, it freed them from a lot of routine and repetitive work, like basic portrait commissions, and allowed them to create. Impressionism and other artistic directions emerged. I believe we will see some of the same.
As photographers who are trying to lift our work above the base level, we should not be apologetic about photography or feel inferior. Our intent is to produce art. We should not price our work at giveaway prices because many people expect that. Look for a market that appreciates the difference.
You are an artist. You are creating things that are unique and special – aren’t you? If not, you will be swallowed up in the giant flood of ordinary and AI generated images.
June 11, 2026
Mindless
I have said before that my shooting style is intuitive. Let me put a slightly different spin on it and say that, in a way, it is mindless.
Mushin
The idea comes from the Zen concept called mu shin. Literally it describes nothingness of the mind. You free your mind of all thoughts and assumptions and let your subconscious react.
The philosophy is a basis of a lot of Japanese art and martial art. Takuan Soho, an accomplished swordsman, and a Zen Buddhist monk, suggests that during a fight, a swordsman should not focus on himself or the opponent, but he should allow his subconscious to take over. An analogy is riding a bike. Once you learn it sufficiently, you do it unconsciously.
I believe there is a parallel concept for photography.
Note, I am not a Zen Buddhist. I am a Christian. I do not follow Zen as a religious or spiritual practice. But there is quite a bit of worldly wisdom wrapped up in their philosophy.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Practiced
An objection stated against mushin is that if you go into a fight without training and expect your mind to control you, you’re going to get beaten up. That seems like a “duh”. Of course that is true.
Implicit in the description of mushin is that it is based on lots of training and practice. Practice, repetition, exercise, over and over until it is automatic. Only then can your responses become automatic and mindless.
Do you remember learning to ride a bike? You crashed a lot at first. But after a few times you “get” it. Suddenly you can’t even remember why you were falling back then. With more practice it really does become an unconscious skill. As a matter of fact, if you are riding and you conscious try to think about riding the bike, you might get unsteady. The conscious mind is interfering with the unconscious skill.
I believe this is the essence of what is being described by mushin. It is a type of meditation, but not like we usually think of meditation. We are letting our mind control our body. It is a type of trust in the skill you have developed and a flow state. We are willing to let go of most conscious thought.
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Photography
I have heard many photographers describe this in various ways. I experience it myself a lot of the time. Just being out, wandering, camera in hand, letting creativity flow, trusting my skill and experience to make the shot without giving it much conscious attention. This is joy to me.
Here are a few statements by other photographers that I think are saying similar things.
Quotes
“I enjoy the quiet moments when my mind is completely focused, when I am absorbed, when I am connected with my subject, immersed in my surroundings, fully in the moment. I guess it’s a form of meditation.” – Suzanne Nelson, Better Photography Magazine
“Mindfulness: if you suddenly realize it and say to yourself, ‘Wow! This is an amazing experience!’ — poof, you’re out of it. When you’re in it, you’re just BEING, but when you begin thinking about it, it’s gone.” Gary Buzzard, Medium. (Gary is a Zen practitioner)
“Sometimes our unconscious minds work better than our conscious minds.” Harold Davis
“A creative starts at the bottom of a circle, gains experience, and moves through an education of their craft. It’s when you move beyond that and start going back down the circle, forgetting everything that you’ve learned, that you come back to a place where you’re trusting your instincts and your unconscious voice.” Chris Brown
“I just focus on what’s in front of me and follow my intuition and let it evolve on its own.” Julieanne Kost
“Get to the point where you’re just there, and you’re actually letting it just flow thru you.” Ian Spalter
“Don’t overthink things in front of you. If it moves you, shoot it; if it’s fun, shoot it; if you’ve never seen it before, shoot it.” Jay Maisel
“Try to go out empty and let your images fill you up.” Jay Maisel
“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
©Ed Schlotzhauer
Trust it
There is a lot of good accumulated wisdom in those quotes. I was encouraged that it was easy to find so many people I respect basically saying to follow our instincts. They all seem to be describing a mushin state.
This is not thoughtless and it’s not being trapped in ruts of automatic behavior. We learn to let go and don’t try to force the outcome. Mindlessness is not ignorance. Quite the contrary, it is built on extensive training and practice to the point where our subconscious is so educated that it can take over and direct our actions without needing direct attention by our conscious mind. Like riding a bike.
In photography, this is a kind of equivalent of a flow state, where we are so engaged in the moment that there is nothing else. And in photography, I believe that allowing ourselves to operate in this instinctive manner is a direct connection to our inherent vision and style. What we do subconsciously should be a more honest expression of what we see and feel than if we are overthinking making the image.
Let the process play out. See where it goes. Trust our instincts. Believe that the skills we have built will form the image. Let our subconscious run. And enjoy the ride.
Our photography is not defined by some obscure Japanese Zen term like mushin. But it is comforting to see smart people in different disciplines coming to similar conclusions about important things.
June 3, 2026
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. This is a follow-up and expansion of a previous article on critiquing your own work.
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. Staying in a state of wonder is important to me.
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 surviving top images 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
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
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