When Does a Photograph Truly Become Yours?

A conversation recently made me stop and think about something that, on the surface, sounds like a very simple question:

When does a photograph truly become yours?

I don't mean who owns the file or who physically pressed the shutter button. That part is fairly straightforward. I'm talking about creatively.

Who decided what to photograph? Who chose where to stand? Who decided on the composition, settings and timing? Who decided how the finished photograph should look and feel? And at what point does learning from somebody else become creating for yourself?

The Two Photographers

Part of what prompted this whole conversation was something that happened with two photographers and two remarkably similar images.

The photographs appeared to have been taken from essentially the same position, with the same or an extremely similar composition and overall approach.

But the similarity didn't stop at the point of capture.

The finished edits were also remarkably alike — the colour tones, contrast, treatment and overall feel of the final images were essentially the same.

Both photographs went on to receive recognition, with one receiving recognition on an international scale. The similarities were later questioned by judges who had previously awarded the images.

And that's where I found the situation particularly thought-provoking.

I don't know exactly what happened when those photographs were created, and I'm not interested in making accusations or deciding who did what.

What interested me was the question the situation raised.

If two photographers happen to stand in the same location, there are naturally going to be similarities. If they're photographing the same subject in the same light, their images could potentially be quite close.

But when the position, composition and approach are extremely similar, and then the processing, colour tones, contrast and overall finished look are also virtually identical, I think it raises an interesting question about creative input.

If one photographer has shown another where to stand, what to photograph, how to compose it, what settings to use and then how to process the resulting image, at what point do we begin to separate taking the photograph from creating the photograph?There is absolutely nothing wrong with learning this way.

In fact, being shown someone's complete process can be incredibly valuable when you're developing your skills.But for me, the important part comes afterwards.At some point, we have to take what we've learned and begin making those decisions ourselves.

Choose where we want to stand.

Decide what we want to include or exclude.

Choose the moment we want to press the shutter.

And when we sit down to edit, decide what we want the image to feel like rather than simply recreating someone else's treatment.

That's where this story stopped being about two photographers for me and became a much broader question about all of us.

When does learning from somebody else's creative decisions become our own creative vision?

And ultimately, when does a photograph truly become yours?

Learning Isn't the Same as Creating

When we're learning photography, guidance is incredibly valuable. Someone might show us what happens when we slow down our shutter speed.Someone might explain how aperture affects depth of field.They might show us why moving two metres to the left completely changes a composition.A workshop leader might even take us to a particular location and demonstrate exactly how they would photograph it.

That's teaching.

And there's nothing wrong with reproducing what you've been shown while you're learning. Sometimes that's the easiest way to understand a technique. But I think the real development happens later.

Instead of somebody saying, Put your tripod here and use a slow shutter speed, you arrive somewhere yourself and think:

• What if I put my tripod over there?
• What happens if I slow the shutter down?
• What if I don't photograph the obvious subject at all?
• Suddenly you're no longer simply following instructions.

You're making decisions. And those decisions are yours.

Something I Didn't Enjoy When I Started Photography

When I started photography, one thing I really didn't enjoy was being told what I should photograph. I didn't like being told where I should stand, how I should photograph something or that there was a particular "right" way of doing it.

That's not to say I didn't want to learn.

There's a huge difference between somebody teaching me how my camera works and somebody deciding what I should create with it.

• Teach me what aperture does.
• Show me how shutter speed affects movement.
• Explain what happens when I change my focal length.
• But once I understand those things, I want to decide what I do with that knowledge.

Because if somebody tells me exactly what to photograph, where to stand, what settings to use and when to press the shutter, personally I don't feel the same creative connection to the resulting photograph.

Yes, I physically took it. But did I really create it? For me, that's different.

Why You Won't See Me Taking Photographs Every Day

I also think this is why you won't necessarily see me taking photographs every day, or even particularly regularly at times. I don't feel I need to take a photograph simply because I have a camera with me.

For me, it has increasingly become about the right moment.

• The weather.
• The light.
• The atmosphere.
• The mood of the scene.
• And my own emotion at that particular moment.

I can go somewhere that technically has all the ingredients for a photograph and feel absolutely nothing.

So I don't force it.

Then another day, the light changes, a storm rolls through, mist appears or something about a scene just makes me stop. That's when I want my camera.

I want to photograph because I've responded to something — not because somebody has told me there's a photograph there.That emotional response has become a huge part of photography for me.

The Photograph Doesn't Stop at the Camera

And I think exactly the same thing applies when I sit down to edit. Processing isn't simply about making the RAW file look "better". For me, colour, tone, contrast and light are all part of communicating what I felt when I took the photograph.

• Maybe I remember the scene as dark and moody.
• Maybe the light felt warm and peaceful.
• Maybe there was a sense of isolation that I want to bring forward.

Those decisions are part of my creative process too. That's another reason the story of the two photographers interested me so much. Two people standing in the same location can understandably produce similar photographs. But the editing stage gives us another opportunity to bring ourselves into the image.

• How do you see the colour?
• How much contrast do you want?
• Where do you want the viewer's eye to go?
• What do you want the photograph to feel like?

There isn't necessarily one correct answer. And that's the beauty of it.

Your Photograph Doesn't Have to Be Something Nobody Has Ever Done Before

I also don't think originality means finding something that has never been photographed. That's almost impossible. Thousands of photographers have photographed the same beaches, mountains, waterfalls, buildings and landmarks. Sometimes from exactly the same lookout.

Put ten photographers in one location and ask them to create something, and I'd hope that eventually we'd see ten different interpretations.

• One person notices the light.
• Someone else notices a tiny detail.
• One reaches for a wide-angle lens.
• Another puts on a telephoto.
• One creates a long exposure.
• Another waits for a person to walk into the frame.
• Someone sees colour.
• Someone else sees black and white.

The location doesn't make the photograph yours. The decisions do.

Finding Your Own Creative Voice

And perhaps this is what the whole conversation comes down to for me. Finding your own voice doesn't mean refusing advice. It doesn't mean never looking at another photographer's work. And it certainly doesn't mean you shouldn't learn from people who know more than you. We should. That's how we grow. But eventually, I think we have to take all that information and ask ourselves:

What do I want to do with it?

• Move away from where you've been told to stand.
• Try a different focal length.
• Wait for different light.
• Change the composition.
• Ignore somebody else's settings and work out what achieves the result you want.

When you sit down to edit, don't automatically make it look like somebody else's image.Ask yourself what you want it to feel like.And perhaps most importantly, don't photograph something simply because somebody else tells you that you should.

Ask yourself what you see.

So, When Does a Photograph Truly Become Yours?

I don't think there's a neat line where a photograph suddenly changes from somebody else's influence into your own creation.

Creativity doesn't work like that.

We're all influenced by what we've seen, what we've learned and the people we've met along the way.

And I think that's a good thing.

But personally, I think a photograph truly starts to become yours when the creative decisions start becoming yours.

• When you choose what deserves your attention.
• When you decide where to stand.
• When you decide what stays inside the frame and what gets left outside it.
• When you choose the moment to press the shutter.
• When you decide what mood, colour and emotion you want the finished photograph to carry.

That's what I'm increasingly looking for in my own photography. I don't want to photograph simply for the sake of producing another image. I want to create something because I saw something, felt something and wanted to interpret it in my own way.Someone else might stand beside me and see something completely different.

And I think that's exactly how it should be.

• We can teach each other.
• We can inspire each other.
• We can share techniques, locations and knowledge.

But ultimately, I think creative growth comes when we take everything we've learned and start deciding for ourselves what we want to say with it.

So I'll finish with the same question I started with:

When does a photograph truly become yours?