Remembering how I used to photograph

My older photographs were much more experimental than my current work.

One image in particular caught my attention. It was a photograph of a waterfall in Snowdonia, taken many years ago. I’ve photographed plenty of waterfalls over the years, so the subject itself wasn’t unusual. What made this photograph different was how I had approached it.

I had taken it at night, using a long exposure and a flash.

The idea came from seeing examples in photography magazines. I had no idea whether it would work, but that almost seemed to be the point. After camping nearby, the waterfall was accessible after dark, so I grabbed my camera and headed out.

There was nobody else around, which was probably for the best. Looking back, I must have looked slightly ridiculous.

I spent the evening moving around the waterfall, firing the flash from different positions while the long exposure was running. I was trying not to stand still for too long in case I appeared as a strange shadow in the final image. The rocks were wet, the conditions were awkward, and I had no real idea whether I was creating anything worthwhile.

The strangest part was that I didn’t really mind. I was simply curious.

I remember looking back through the trees and seeing the glow of campfires in the distance, quietly inviting me back to the tent. After a few attempts, I packed everything away, returned to camp, and enjoyed a well-earned drink before bed.

When I got home, the photograph didn’t quite live up to the excitement of taking it.

As usual, I overprocessed the image. The composition wasn’t as strong as I’d hoped, and I eventually filed it away with countless other photographs that never quite made the cut.

Years later, I found it again.

This time, I saw it differently.

After re-editing it with a much lighter touch, I started to appreciate what had interested me in the first place. The long exposure had transformed the waterfall into smooth ribbons of water, while the flash had frozen individual droplets in mid-air, like stars suspended above the cascade. The moving water and sharp points of light created something unlike any other waterfall photograph I had taken.

But what surprised me most wasn’t the photograph itself. It was the memory attached to it.

I remembered running around that waterfall in the darkness, trying something I had never done before, with no guarantee that it would work. It was experimental, impractical, and a little bit ridiculous. Most importantly, it was fun.

Finding that photograph again made me wonder: when did I stop doing things like this?

Evening Cascade

Eryri (Snowdonia), Wales

This night-time photograph was inspired by a technique I’d discovered in a photography magazine. Looking back at it years later reminded me that some of my favourite images began with curiosity rather than certainty.

The more I thought about it, the more I realised that my photography has changed in many ways over the years. I know what I enjoy photographing now. I understand composition better. I have a clearer idea of the kind of landscapes I want to capture.

Those things are positive. Experience has helped me create photographs that are far stronger than the ones I made when I was starting out.

But experience also changes the way we approach photography.

When you are new to photography, almost everything feels worth trying. You don’t know what will work, so you experiment. You take hundreds of photographs that fail, but occasionally something unexpected appears.

As you improve, you become better at recognising what makes a successful photograph. You start to understand light, composition and technique. But perhaps, without noticing, you also become better at predicting what won’t work.

And when you already know something probably won’t work, why spend the time trying?

Looking through my archive, I found several other examples of this earlier curiosity. There was a leaf frozen inside a block of ice. Abstract light trails photographed in front of the Colosseum in Rome. Images that didn’t really fit with the photography I make today, but which all began with the same question:

What happens if I try this?

I don’t ask myself that question as often anymore.

Rome in Motion

Rome, Italy

This was one of my first attempts at capturing light trails. Rediscovering this image reminded me how willing I once was to experiment, trying different approaches simply to see what might happen.

Part of the reason is that my photography has naturally become more focused. When I first picked up a camera, I photographed almost everything. Flowers, portraits, events and close-up details all found their way onto my memory cards. Eventually, landscape photography became the genre that interested me most, and I spent more time learning how to make those photographs better.

But I wonder if concentrating on one type of photography has also narrowed my perspective.

Years ago, I regularly borrowed photography books from the library and subscribed to magazines. They introduced me to projects and ideas I would never have searched for myself. They encouraged me to try things outside my comfort zone.

Today, much of my inspiration comes from online sources. They are incredibly useful, but they also tend to reflect what I already enjoy. Search for landscape photography and you will find plenty of landscapes. It is much harder to accidentally discover something completely different.

I think comfort has played a part too. Not just creative comfort, but physical comfort.

I used to camp more often. I spent more time outside for longer periods, carrying less concern about cold nights, uncomfortable conditions or getting back late. Those situations naturally created opportunities for unexpected photographs.

Would I still head out to a waterfall in the middle of the night today just to see what happens? I hope so.

The funny thing is that I don’t want to go back to being the photographer I was years ago. My current photographs are better. My editing is more subtle. My understanding of what makes a strong image has improved.

Looking back through my archive reminded me that photographs are more than just records of places and moments. They also capture something about the person behind the camera. They show what interested us, what excited us, and the things we were curious enough to try.

My photography today is very different from the photography I made years ago. In many ways, it is better. But rediscovering those old images reminded me of something I don’t want to lose: the curiosity and sense of adventure that came with not knowing exactly what would happen.

Perhaps the challenge is not to return to the photographer I used to be, but to remember some of the qualities that made him so willing to explore.