A few days ago, I shared a new image. Except it wasn’t really new. I had taken it several years before, but only recently finalized it with my edit. In my post, I mentioned how the time gap between capturing and editing helps me detach from emotions and, in turn, strengthens the final image.
One of my followers, Linda Barber, asked a great question: “Why would you want to be less emotionally attached to your work if it is your passion?”. She sparked the idea of writing this blog article to explain my thought process. So, thank you, Barbara!
While my passion for photography is undeniable, I’ve learned that a certain kind of detachment allows me to create stronger, more impactful images. Let me explain.
Good things take time
Most of the time, when I share a "new" image, it’s actually an old one. Not in the sense of style or relevance, but in the fact that I took it months - sometimes even years - before it ever sees the light of day. If you’ve browsed my galleries, you might have noticed that I include both the capture date and the edit date. The reason? For me, an image isn’t truly finished until it’s been edited and finalized.
So why does it take me so long? That’s a good question. The short answer: life.
After a trip, I back up my image files and take a quick first look. Usually, I don't have time for more than a first rating on the potential I see in the images. And then, life happens: work resumes, I go and see family, and other commitments take over. Of course, I am excited by new images and enjoy the fresh emotions of a trip that has just ended. It is great. It might prompt me to pick up one or two images to do an edit. But not more, really.
the stars look like snow tonight - this image caught my attention years after taking it when I was setting up a presentation and I needed an image with abstraction and several layers of meaning to it.
My selection process
After backing up my files, I take a quick look and rate each image:
- ⭐ star – Some potential
- ⭐⭐ stars – More potential
- ⭐⭐⭐ stars – A strong image
- ❌ – Delete
Four stars? That almost never happens at this stage. Five? Are you kidding?
Images marked for deletion are my “failed attempts” where technical issues or other shortcomings came into play. If an image shows even a hint of potential, I usually save it for later review, leaving it unrated for now.
For example, after my three-week camper tour through France, Spain, Portugal, Belgium, and Luxembourg, last September to October, I returned with 1,095 images total (including my drone's exposure bracketing, focus stacking files, and countless seascape shots with different wave motion). Compared to my early photo trips, this is actually a much smaller number of images than I used to shoot in just a week. Yet, I’ve only edited a handful from that tour, and it doesn’t make me nervous. I know the time will come when I pick up more images from then, so I don’t rush into editing.
An image from my last trip to Southern Europe.
Age doesn’t matter - quality does!
When I’m not working on assignments that demand quick turnarounds (like articles or presentations I have done very recently), I randomly pick up images based on intuition rather than forcing myself to work through an entire batch. The age of an image doesn't matter to me. Quality does!
And this is where it gets interesting.
By allowing time to pass, I detach emotionally from the circumstances in which the photo was taken. The excitement of being there, the exhaustion of early wake-up calls, the frustration of weather conditions, my wife waiting for me to finally return to the car — all of that fades. What remains is just the image itself.
Coming back to Barbara´s great question: “Why detach emotionally from something you’re passionate about?”. After all, I want my images to resonate with my viewers and build an emotional connection. So, at first thought, it sounds paradoxical. But here’s the key: for a strong image I need the emotions within it, not the emotions around it.
Think about it: when someone looks at a photo, they don’t know (or necessarily care about) how long I waited for the shot, how early I woke up, or whether my wife was patiently waiting for me to wrap up. And why should they care? What matters is the story within the frame, not what happened around it.
Of course, there are exceptions — some images are about the experience, like documenting extreme conditions or once-in-a-lifetime moments. But most of the time in nature and landscape photography, the viewer (sadly) isn’t interested in my backstory. They want to feel something through the image itself. And I aspire to create art that invites the viewer to connect with their own memories, emotions and interpretations. (It would be different if this was a travel blog or travel diary like mine from Iceland)
The Strength of Distance
“Detach from the emotions that happen around the image to strengthen the emotion that lies within the image!”
This approach has helped me judge and curate my own work more objectively. When I revisit images later, I can strip away the distractions and focus purely on composition, light, and the emotions and story that lie within the image. Those need to be displayed strongly. This needs to be recognised inside an image, no matter how long ago it was taken. In other words, I extract the narrative and visual quality of the image from its outer context. Ultimately, I detach from the emotions that happen around the image to strengthen the emotion that lies within the image.
Is that an approach that works for everyone? No, probably not. Some people need the fresh excitement of a newly taken image (and I enjoy that, too) and even the feeling of ‘getting stuff done and out of the way’. Of course, that is perfectly fine, as everyone has his/her ways. But letting some time pass is an approach worth considering if you haven't done so yet.
Overthinking? No. Awareness.
biblical sea was finished and edited 2 years after taking it
Have you ever scrolled through your newly taken images and thought, “Why did I even take this?”. I’ve been there. But I have learned to trust that if something caught my attention in the moment, made me pause, set up, frame, and press the shutter, there was a reason for it. Maybe I don’t see it right away, but time often reveals it. I’ve had several images that I ignored for years before finally understanding what I originally saw in them. Therefore, as long as I see the slightest potential in my photos after taking them, I keep the file to be able to revisit and observe later.
This may sound like overthinking the process. But in reality, I don’t analyze this deeply (or at all) when I’m in the field or sitting at my computer editing. I work intuitively. Reflecting through writing, teaching, and presenting, I’ve come to recognize why I do what I do and why this makes sense, at least to me.
Bottom line
That has made me a more self-aware photographer, and more importantly, it has made me a happier one.
By giving my images time to mature, I allow them to reveal their true essence. Detaching from the emotions surrounding their creation enables me to enhance the emotions within the image itself. It’s not about forgetting the moment; it’s about letting the image stand on its own, inviting viewers to discover their own stories and feelings. This approach may not be for everyone, but for me, it’s the path to creating art that truly resonates with a strong visual language.