Why I Stopped Calling Myself a Landscape Photographer (And Started Getting Better)

Why I Stopped Calling Myself a Landscape Photographer (And Started Getting Better)

There’s a particular kind of frustration I know well. You’ve done everything right. You checked the forecast, set three alarms, drove two hours in the dark, and arrived at the trailhead to find flat light, a crowded overlook, and a composition you’ve seen a hundred times before. You fire off maybe four frames. Then you drive home. That’s a full morning of effort for four shutter clicks, and if you’re honest, two of them are nearly identical.

The Honest Truth About Landscape Photography: Five Things That Break You Down and Five That Keep You Coming Back

The Honest Truth About Landscape Photography: Five Things That Break You Down and Five That Keep You Coming Back

There are mornings when the alarm would go off at 3:45 and I’d already be awake, coffee in hand, checking wind speed for the third time in an hour. And then there are mornings when I sit on the tailgate of my truck in the dark, wondering why I keep doing this to myself. Twenty years of shooting landscapes in the American West has given me both kinds of mornings in roughly equal measure.

Why Landscape Photographers Lose Their Fire (And How to Get It Back)

Why Landscape Photographers Lose Their Fire (And How to Get It Back)

There’s a particular kind of exhaustion that has nothing to do with the miles you’ve hiked or the hours you’ve waited in the cold. It’s the quiet kind. The kind where you look at your gear bag by the door and feel nothing. After twenty years of waking up before the rest of the world to chase light across the high desert of central Oregon, I’ve felt it. Not often, but enough to recognize it when it shows up in photographers who come through my workshops wearing the look of someone who has forgotten why they started.