If you’re serious about photography, at some point the question will need to be addressed: should you become a professional?

If you’re serious about photography, at some point the question will need to be addressed: should you become a professional?
Switching to monochrome has changed how I see photography from the conceptual viewpoint, but also from the process viewpoint.
Lately I’ve been curious about medium format. I like the look and I like the 6×6 format. Unfortunately for me, I’ve never shot film. But that shouldn’t stop me, should it?
To me, photography, isn’t just a medium for artistic expression or documentation. It creates an implicit social contract between the photographer, the subject, and the eventual viewer. That contract involves layers of trust, interpretation, and cultural negotiation that exist whenever an image is captured and shared. The social contract of photography shapes not just the image itself but the way it is interpreted across different social and cultural contexts.
I never followed trends. Still don’t. The branded trainers, the tribal colours, the group signalling that consumed my schoolmates meant nothing to me (still doesn’t, I don’t wear brands). While they sorted themselves into neat categories of belonging, I couldn’t be bothered allocating brain resources to such nonsense. I cared that my parents bought me shoes, not which logo was on them. I wanted one decent friend to talk with, not membership in whatever faction was fashionable that term.
It’s easy to fall into the comfortable position of not taking photos, even if you want to. Taking photographs requires switching into the right frame of mind, if you’re into landscapes or street photography it requires you to go out, sometimes travelling, and then there’s processing whether you take digital or film. It’s just easier to watch TV or doom scroll.
Generative AI has had a massive impact on photography in the last couple of years. The moment Midjourney could conjure a flawless sunset over the Maldives without anyone leaving their bedroom, the game changed irrevocably. Why trudge through tourist hordes at Santorini when an algorithm can deliver that golden hour shot with perfect composition, no cruise ships cluttering the frame, and lighting that would make Ansel Adams weep? AI doesn’t deal with weather delays, equipment failures, or that inevitable moment when someone’s selfie stick ruins your carefully planned shot.
This isn’t a tragedy. It’s evolution.
I argued a few weeks ago how serious image-making is similar in many ways to scientific research: photographers, like scientists, must master specialised terminology, analyse minute technical details, and engage in lengthy theoretical discussions to truly understand their craft.
I touched on the opposite argument when mentioning how images are consumed on IG and other social media platforms. But there is a larger argument to be had here: photography shouldn’t require a PhD to be appreciated.
As I mentioned when I started this newsletter, I use writing to argue with myself. And in the case of this discussion, I wasn’t entirely finished. But having the whole argument in a single post would have made it way too long and too complicated. This is essentially part 2 of the argument.
Your kitchen counter at 7 AM. Someone’s unmade bed caught in afternoon light. A stranger’s mug collection on open shelving. These images shouldn’t matter. They’re compositionally unremarkable, technically forgettable, and utterly ordinary.
If we really only cared about excellence, these should end up in the bin. Yet to me they’re among the most compelling photographs.
I’ve noticed something about the photography advice floating around online. Everyone talks about finding your “style” or upgrading your gear, but nobody mentions the one thing that actually separates competent photographers from exceptional ones: obsession.