Preamble: Why I’m Starting This “Fundamentals” Series Here
I wrote recently about why I’m reading Ansel Adams in 2026—not as nostalgia, not as a history lesson, and definitely not because I’m trying to cosplay Yosemite. I’m doing it because I want a foundation that doesn’t wobble every time the internet changes its mind about what “good” looks like. I want an operating system. A process I can trust.
The technology has changed. Completely.
But the underlying principles? They don’t.
So I’m reading—and then interpreting—the timeless thinking in Adams’ three-book set: The Camera, The Negative, The Print. And I’m translating it into the way I actually work now: digital files, modern sensors, RAW workflows, editing, web output, and (eventually) real prints.
This is the start of that translation.
Let’s begin with the Introduction to Book One: The Camera.
The Camera Starts With a Mindset: What Ansel Adams Says in the Introduction
I picked up The Camera expecting a book about… cameras.
And yes, it’s Ansel Adams, so you know the craft is going to be there. But the introduction doesn’t start with gear. It starts with something more useful—and more uncomfortable:
Photography is easy to enter, and that’s exactly why it’s easy to stay shallow.
Adams is basically saying: the barrier to entry is low, but the ceiling is high. And if you want to reach that ceiling, you’re going to have to do more than collect equipment or memorize settings.
Craft is not the point—craft is the way in
He makes it clear right up front: you can explain art all day, but there’s something in a strong photograph that can’t be reduced to a checklist.
So why talk about technique at all?
Because craft supports the part of photography that can’t be faked—the seeing, the intent, the emotional weight. The camera is the tool, but the photographer is the engine.
That hits home for me, because it’s exactly what I keep relearning: when the image fails, it’s rarely because the camera wasn’t good enough. It’s because I didn’t bring enough attention, patience, or clarity to the moment.
Automation isn’t the enemy—but it can steal your decisions
Adams acknowledges something that’s even more true now than when he wrote it: photography is wildly accessible. Anyone can make pictures. The machine can do a lot for you.
But here’s the warning hidden in the compliment: If you let the camera make all the choices, you stop developing your own judgment.
He isn’t anti-technology. He’s anti-drifting. He wants you to command the medium, not just operate it.
He refuses to give you “rules”
This is one of my favourite parts.
He’s not handing down commandments. He’s offering principles and guide rails—a way of thinking—not a recipe.
And he’s also careful about something a lot of people miss when they read famous photographers: Copying the master’s style is not the goal.
The goal is understanding the medium well enough that your voice has room to show up.
There are levels of involvement—and that’s okay
He draws an honest line between different kinds of photographers:
- The casual shooter who just wants reliable results
- The “amateur” in the pure sense—someone who photographs out of love
- The serious photographer who wants full control and deeper expression
The point isn’t to shame anyone. It’s to say: your results will match your depth of involvement.
If you want serious photographs, you need a serious relationship with the process.
Why he’s writing: to pass it on
There’s something generous in the introduction. Adams isn’t positioning himself as a gatekeeper. He’s doing the opposite.
He’s writing because he believes there’s value in sharing what he learned—especially the parts that remove “mystery” from photography and replace it with understanding and repeatable practice.
He also frames this edition as a clearer, reorganized, more useful book—something you can read through, but also return to when you need to tighten your thinking.
What I’m taking from this intro
Here’s my takeaway in plain language:
This book isn’t “about cameras.”
It’s about intent + control.
It’s about building the kind of craft that lets you translate what you felt in the moment into what you show.
And it’s about resisting the modern temptation to confuse:
- having a camera
with - being a photographer
If I’m honest, that’s the exact reminder I need—especially when I’m tired, distracted, or looking for shortcuts.
Because the camera doesn’t make the photograph.
The photographer does.