The joy of making stuff is, quite simply, making stuff.
But lately, I’ve been asking myself a hard question: In a world of automated software, AI masking, and instant culling, are we still “making” images, or are we just capturing data?
With the rise of digital photography, we have naturally become less hands-on in the creation of a tangible image. Tools like Lightroom’s AI masking and automated cullers have undoubtedly made our lives easier, especially for high-volume commercial work. But as the computer takes over the heavy lifting, the photographer has less input in the actual creation of the final piece.
Does this efficiency take away the fun? If we spend less time with an image, can we really say we made it?
The Darkroom vs. The Desktop
Over the past year, I have spent much more time teaching in the darkroom. Returning to the chemical process, with the smell of the stop bath and the physical act of dodging and burning with my hands, has been a revelation.
I feel significantly closer to the images I process in the darkroom than the images I create for commercial use or conference coverage. Even though my digital commercial work still carries “my style,” the connection isn’t the same. When I batch-edit 500 conference photos, I am efficient, but I am distant. When I develop a single print, I am intimate with every shadow and highlight.
This isn’t to say we should all throw away our digital cameras and only shoot film. That’s not realistic for a working professional. But it does highlight a growing problem: We are becoming rusty at the art of observation.
Losing Our "Voice" to the Algorithm
There is a valid concern that as we chase new tech, we are losing the love of the process. New photographers entering the industry often master the software before they master the sight.
There are photographers out there killing it in the creative space, artists like Tyler Mitchell. When I hear him speak about his work, I don’t hear him talking about using presets or AI. Maybe he is, but the conversation is always about the voicehe is trying to convey.
That is the secret ingredient that automation cannot replicate: Voice.
As we are overwhelmed with online content, AI-generated images, and quick edits, the “voice” of the artist is what separates a snapshot from a photograph. Maybe we need to stop letting the software dictate the look. Maybe we just need to sit with a shot and let it speak to us.
What Would Ansel Adams Do?
I often think about the masters of our craft. I don’t think Ansel Adams just “batch edited” Moonrise, Hernandez, New Mexico.
He spent hours in the darkroom, agonizing over the contrast, the mood, and the feeling of the print. That time spent withthe image is what gave it a soul.
