I’ve been taking pictures since I was eight years old. Long enough to know my way around a camera, long enough to understand the exposure triangle, and long enough to consistently make what most people would call good photographs.
- They’re well exposed.
- They’re competently composed.
- They’re sharp when they should be sharp and intentional when they’re not.
And most of them, in the big picture, are rubbish.
I don’t mean technically bad. I mean forgettable. I call these snaps.
What I Mean by a “Snap”
A snap isn’t an insult. It’s a category.
A snap is a moment frozen competently, even beautifully, that asks nothing of the viewer. It doesn’t demand time. It doesn’t provoke a question. It doesn’t unsettle, challenge, or linger in the mind. It’s consumed, appreciated, and replaced by the next image in the feed.
- Snaps get likes.
- Snaps get compliments.
- Snaps disappear from the viewer’s mind almost immediately.
The two images I made last night are perfect examples.
They’re dramatic. The sky was on fire. The clouds were heavy and theatrical. The city sat quietly underneath it all. I loved being there. I loved watching the light shift and collapse. I believe I captured the essence of that moment honestly.
And yet—these images are perfectly forgettable.
That doesn’t make them failures. But it does make them snaps.
Why I Still Take Snaps (and Always Will)
I love chasing the sun. Sunrises and sunsets pull me outside in a way few things do. When nature puts on a show, I want to witness it. I want to freeze it in time forever in an image. The act of making the photograph makes me happy in the moment.
That matters.
But happiness during capture is not the same thing as meaning after the fact.
A snap is about my experience.
A photograph—at least the kind I’m chasing—is about the viewer’s experience.
What Others Say Makes a “Good Photograph”
If you read enough articles on photography, a pattern emerges. Writers and educators often point to a familiar set of ingredients:
- Strong composition
- Effective use of light
- Technical competence
- Clear subject
- Emotional resonance
- Story or intent
Articles like those by Ivan Martinez, Pat Kay, and Fstoppers all circle similar ideas: a good photograph communicates something, guides the eye, and connects with the viewer on a deeper level.
I don’t disagree with any of that.
But I think most discussions stop too early.
Because you can make an image that can check every one of those boxes and still be a snap.
Where I Diverge
Here’s where my thinking has shifted, especially over the last few years.
A photograph is not defined by how quickly it is understood.
It’s defined by how long it holds someone.
If a viewer looks at an image for five seconds, says “I love this,” and moves on—what exactly has happened?
Now compare that to an image someone stares at for five minutes before finally deciding, “I don’t like this.”
The second image has already won.
Time is the currency.
A photograph that demands time—even if the response is confusion, discomfort, or rejection—has crossed a threshold that a snap never does.
Why My Abstract Work Matters More to Me
This is where my abstract photography keeps proving something to me.
Most people don’t like it. Roughly sixty percent, if I’m being honest. But they don’t dismiss it instantly. They pause. They tilt their head. They scan the frame. They try to make sense of it.
They ask questions.
Even when the conclusion is negative, the image has earned attention. It has interrupted the viewer’s momentum. It has asked for effort.
That, to me, is the difference.
I’ve written before about presence, intention, and committing to a personal visual language—whether through limiting my field of view, embracing abstraction when the light goes flat, or choosing projects that resist easy consumption. This thinking runs through everything from my abstract street work to my approach to portraiture, photo essays, and even the structure of my long-term projects.
Snaps vs. Photographs (As I See It)
A snap:
- Is technically competent
- Is immediately digestible
- Is quickly forgotten
- Primarily rewards the maker
A photograph:
- May be uncomfortable or unclear
- Requires time and thought
- Leaves residue in the mind
- Rewards the viewer’s investment
Snaps are not bad. They’re just not enough—for me.
The Real Goal
My goal as a visual artist using photography as my medium isn’t to make prettier snaps. It’s to make images that cost something to look at.
Confusion. Time. Emotional energy. Even irritation.
If an image asks nothing of the viewer, it gives nothing back.
That’s the line I’m trying to cross more often. And why, no matter how beautiful last night’s sky was, those images stay in the category of snaps—while the harder, messier, more divisive work keeps pulling me forward.
That’s the difference.