Practicing Photography Self-Care
The world of nature photography is a beautiful place, but my world and the world around me have been a noisy one lately. Everywhere I look, there's a rush to be seen, heard and followed. Social media moves quickly and invites comparison, along with pressure to produce, to compete, and to stay relevant. Everyone seems to be running a race, but where is it, and is there a finish line, and why is there even a race? I realized that I had been caught up in all that noise and felt like I had lost something along the way.
Natural oil strands and bubbles in a puddle, reflect the sky and reflected light in a canyon.
The past few months, I've really felt it. As a photographer who focuses on slowing down and contemplative photography practice, primarily through wandering and being open to what nature reveals, I've found myself overwhelmed with it recently. There's a low hum of comparison and the questioning of my work because it didn't get the same traction as someone else's. There's the creeping thought that what I create and photograph might not be enough. It's a subtle shift, but it has pulled me away from the very reasons I fell in love with photography in the first place. I've recently seen it with the constantly changing algorithms, and I've also seen other photographers frustrated with the results. As someone who regularly teaches about silencing those noises, I had failed myself and fallen victim to the noise myself.
A small pine tree takes shelter in a cove of late afternoon light, high up on a canyon wall.
There has also been a lot of external noise in my hectic schedule over the past few years, and it pulled me away from the reasons I fell in love with this craft. Working for others, constantly traveling to teach, and rarely taking time for myself led to an ever-growing backlog of images that I'm still struggling to go through. Ideas and personal projects were set aside in favor of immediate tasks, and everything started to feel overwhelming. When I did get out to photograph, I was often focused on helping others learn or scouting new locations, which left little space for my own quiet photography practice. That, combined with the social media pressure and noise, over time, began to affect how I see and connect with the natural world. It wasn't a good feeling, and I felt a long way from where I wanted to be.
Abstract patterns that look like flames appear on the underside of an overhanging sandstone ledge.
What I realized I was truly craving was "photography self-care."
There is a great deal of discussion these days about "self-care." However, a day at the spa or a morning spent on skincare and tea wasn't what I needed. What I needed was time in nature with no agenda, no objectives, and no one else around. I missed the intimate relationship with the landscape and the subjects I love, and it had been years since I last felt that deep connection. A lifestyle of nearly full-time travel may seem glamorous, and I am incredibly grateful for it, but like many things, it comes at a price. It also comes with long travel days, tight turnarounds, teaching commitments, workshops, and the constant effort of running a small business. It means less time with my camera and never enough time with my photography subjects. Lately, all of that had taken a toll. I came to understand that what I needed was time with my camera, not for work, but to reconnect with the root of my passion and the craft that first inspired me. It was time for me to indulge in some photography self-care.
A lone tree takes the stage with the last spotlight of the day.
The opportunity to practice this kind of self-care with my camera came after a workshop in May when we found ourselves in Capitol Reef National Park. After the workshop, we decided to spend our days hiking and exploring areas we hadn't seen before, simply being present in a place we love to photograph and where we find joy. Each day, we packed lunches and set off on all-day adventures with no expectations and no goals. Over the next few days, I felt that happy, creative spark returning. I was reconnected to my camera, and it was a feeling I hadn't experienced in a long time. I found immense joy in creating and photographing the details and moments that resonated with me. With lunch breaks on red rocks overlooking the landscape, the songs of canyon wrens in the air, and following the tracks and desert bighorn sheep through the backcountry, every moment nourished both my soul and spirit. There were no interruptions or outside pressures, and I found myself having conversations with nature again, something I had been missing. This was my photography self-care.
Two leaves, one in a natural oil slick and one resting in water, appear to be opposites of each other.
For me, photography began as a way to connect. Not just with landscapes but with emotion, story, and quiet moments of presence. It was never about applause or approval; it was about wonder. I remember the first time I noticed delicate desert textures, floating pollen patterns in a puddle, or dappled light falling across the desert or mountain range. Those were the moments that hooked me, not because anyone else saw them but because I did. Those moments were my creative and inspirational fuel, and I needed a refill of both.
Lately, I have felt a strong pull to return to that, to the roots of why I picked up a camera in the first place. What are those roots to me? It's the joy of seeing something beautiful and simply taking it in. It's to create images not for an audience but for the conversation I am having with the landscape. Those conversations are quiet and yet so enriching.
Abstract sandstone patterns line a canyon wall, while a freshly sheared face of fallen rock reveals unweathered colors and textures.
Colorful and pastel sandstone patterns cover a boulder in a remote sandstone canyon.
I have been finding comfort in slow photography again, in taking time, in letting go of expectations, and in photographing something just because it moved me, even if no one else ever sees it. I have been spending more time off-grid, away from signals and screens, and more time listening to the wind, the light, and the small voice inside that knows what feels real. This does not mean I am stepping away from sharing or teaching; far from it. But it does mean I am being more mindful, more intentional, and more protective of the space where my creativity lives. In that space, I am finding so much peace. It took slowing down and truly reconnecting with the landscape, deep inside a remote red-rock canyon, to help me find my way again. As I sat on a riverbank during a quiet hike, gazing up at the towering canyon walls and listening to the flowing water and surrounding birdsong, I felt something shift. I was coming alive again, along with my creativity.
A violet green swallow flies over reflected trees and canyon walls in a small pond.
You don't have to travel to some remote or exciting location to find your photography self-care. Sometimes, the most meaningful moments come from slowing down and taking notice of what's around you, right where you live. By simply carving out time for yourself, whether it's a quiet walk in a local nature preserve or simply exploring your backyard, you create space to reconnect with your camera and your creativity. It's in these small pauses that you can find joy and renewal, nurturing your photographic spirit without needing grand adventures.
A heart-shaped area and reflected light appear around a bend in a canyon.
It's okay to step back. It's okay to create without posting or sharing it with the world. It's okay to capture photographs that feel true to you, even if they don't follow trends or seek attention.
If you, too, have been feeling overwhelmed by the noise or have felt a loss of connection with your camera and craft, I want you to know that you are not alone. It is okay to step back. It is okay to create without posting or sharing it with the world. It's okay to capture photographs that feel true to you, even if they don't follow trends or seek attention. The heart of your photography, the reason behind it, remains. Sometimes, it's about taking the time to quiet the noise and practice some photography self-care so you can reconnect with the landscapes from behind your lens. Silence the noise, grab your camera, and head outside to practice some photography self-care. Let go of expectations, slow down, and reconnect with the quiet joy of seeing. Whether you're chasing light or simply sitting with it, give yourself the space to create for no one but yourself.
Different layers and patterns contrast with each other on a sandstone wall in a canyon.
(this is part one of a two-part series blog post; part two arrives next month!)
Looking to spend some time practicing your own photography self-care? Take some time for yourself and join us!
If you're looking for some excellent opportunities to practice some photography self-care of your own, consider joining me at the Moab Photography Symposium this fall, where the whole premise of the conference is based around creativity, personal vision and reflection where you can focus on your photography while surrounded by the support of other like-minded instructors and participants. You can learn more here.
David and I are also offering a creative retreat at Boulder Mountain Lodge in Utah next spring, where, for five days, the focus will be on connecting with your vision and creativity in a beautiful space. We'll practice photography at a slower pace, and your journey will focus on mindful exploration and personal expression. The surrounding landscapes of Boulder Mountain are a sanctuary for slowing down, seeing deeply, and connecting with your inner vision, and an excellent opportunity to practice self-care in photography. Lodging and meals are all included in the price, allowing you to focus on yourself, your camera, and your vision. You can learn more here.