I used to think that adjusting the sliders was what made a photo powerful. I believed that the difference between an ordinary image and an extraordinary one was just a matter of finding the right combination of settings. Every photo felt like a puzzle waiting to be solved through post-processing.

For a long time, I believed photography was all about control—controlling light, composition, and those moments that never seem to pause…

The first time I truly trusted autofocus, I was standing on a busy street, camera in hand, trying to capture the fleeting expressions of passersby in afternoon light. It was a moment ripe with potential, yet my fingers hesitated. Tentatively, I pressed the shutter, and the result was a revelation—a crisp, perfectly timed photograph I couldn't have captured alone.

The other day, I was reading the blog post “Not being able to see very clearly is believing” written by Joerg Colberg, and it made me ask myself a question - why do people find lo-fi video and mobile phone images more believable?

or when every moment is captured and none are remembered.

We take more photos now than at any point in history. With our phones, burst mode, live photos, and endless storage, we snap every moment just in case. But then what happens? Most of these images vanish into the black hole of our camera rolls—thousands of pictures we never look at again. We technically “keep” these memories, but we never actually revisit them…

(and that’s a good thing)

It happens every year. A new camera drops, the specs sound unbelievable, and suddenly your perfectly fine setup starts to feel… dated. You scroll through YouTube reviews, watch side-by-side comparisons, and convince yourself that your creative ceiling must be the limits of your current gear…