Toronto is sitting around -20°C right now, factoring in humidity and wind chill.
I like to joke that my camera warranty is voided below -10°C, and frankly, so am I.
For the past few weeks, I’ve been building momentum on three projects that live outside: abstract street photography, photojournalism, and environmental portraiture. That’s the vision. That’s the direction. That’s the work I want to make.
But winter doesn’t care about my plans.
So instead of treating the next month as lost time, I’m going to treat it like a studio residency right here at home. A fourth project. Not necessarily one that will lead to a body of work suitable for a gallery show or publication, but a stepping stone that strengthens the work I actually want to do when I’m back outside again.
The mission underneath it is simple: I want to become a master portrait photographer. Environmental portraits are part of that. Street portraits are part of that. But if I want to get serious about portraits, I need to be able to control the variables I can control before I step back into the chaos of the street.
And winter, for once, gives me something useful: constraint. It forces me indoors. It limits my options. It strips away the excuse of “I’ll figure it out later.”
So here is the concept: for the next month or so, until the temperature climbs back over -10°C, I’m going to use self-portraits as my portrait school, experimenting with tripods, timers, remote triggers, and lighting, with me as the subject.
Not for vanity. For practice.
If you’ve read my piece on the difference between selfies and self-portraits, you already know where I stand on this. A selfie is often about presence. A self-portrait is about intent. I am making these self-portraits not as a vanity project but as an opportunity to develop skills that I can transfer directly into how I will photograph other people.
Why Self-Portraits Work as Portrait Training
Self-portraits remove one major variable: access to a subject.
They also expose every weakness.
When you photograph another person, you can blame the moment, the lighting, the environment, or the awkwardness of the interaction. When you photograph yourself, all the excuses evaporate. If the light is wrong, it’s because you set it wrong. If the framing is off, it’s because you didn’t check it. If the expression feels empty, it’s because you didn’t earn it.
Self-portraits force you to focus on the mechanics of portrait photography without the social pressure. They let you repeat the same setup until you actually understand it. They let you experiment with small changes and see what matters.
This isn’t a replacement for photographing other people. It’s a training block that will improve my ability to photograph other people.
It’s the portrait version of what I’ve already committed to in my broader practice: repetition with intention. The same mindset I have behind three sessions a week for 105 weeks, applied to a different craft inside the same journey.
What I’m Actually Practicing
I want to be clear about this: the goal isn’t to “take photos of myself.”
The goal is to rehearse portrait skills until they become instinct.
I’m using self-portraits to practice things that matter when I’m face-to-face with someone else, especially in environmental portraiture, where I have less control and fewer chances.
Lighting
I want to become fluent in light. Not just “nice light” but controllable light. Window light. One light. Hard light. Soft light. How distance changes softness. How angle changes mood. How shadows carve a face. How to separate a subject from a background. How to keep contrast without making it ugly.
Lens choice and perspective
I’m obsessed with field of view. In street work, I’ve already seen how the 28mm lens isn’t just a tool, it’s a way of seeing. Portraits have the same truth. Different focal lengths don’t just change compression; they change the emotional distance of the viewer. Self-portraits let me test this without needing a model every time I want to compare a look.
Expression and timing
Portraits live or die on expression. Not “smile” versus “no smile.” I’m talking about whether the person looks like they’re actually there. Self-portraits let me learn what it feels like to chase that. What prompts work. What posture does. How small changes in head angle shift the entire read of the image.
Composition and environment
Even indoors, I can still practice environmental portrait thinking. Context matters. The room. The objects. The negative space. The way the background supports the story instead of competing with it. This ties directly into why environmental portraits pull me in. They’re not just about faces; they’re about people in places, which is the same reason I’m drawn to the city as a subject in the first place.
Post-processing consistency
I also want to get sharper at finishing. Colour and black and white. Contrast control. Skin tones. Tone mapping without overcooking it. A consistent look that feels like my voice.
This matters because I’m not trying to make one good portrait. I’m trying to build the ability to make good portraits on demand. And remembering, repeatability is what eventually becomes style.
The Simple Setup: My Home Studio Without the Studio
This doesn’t require a dedicated studio space. It requires a repeatable process.
Tripod
Non-negotiable. The tripod turns self-portraits into a controlled exercise instead of a guessing game.
Timer or remote trigger
I want to remove the panic of rushing back into frame. A timer works. A remote trigger works. The point is control and comfort.
A consistent position
Marks on the floor if needed. A chair at the same distance. A framing that stays predictable so I can focus on light and expression instead of constantly rebuilding the setup.
One light to start, then add complexity
I’m not trying to build a Hollywood lighting rig on day one. I’m trying to master the basics and then grow from there. I’ve already experimented with a multi-flash setup, so I can build toward that again when the fundamentals feel solid.
How This Connects Back to the Work I Actually Want to Make
This project isn’t a detour. It’s a bridge.
Street portraits, environmental portraits, photojournalism — they all involve working with people, reading moments, and making decisions fast. Outdoors, I’m dealing with light I didn’t place, weather I didn’t choose, backgrounds I can’t control, and moments that don’t repeat.
So the only way to get better is to reduce the number of things I’m figuring out in real time.
If I can walk back outside with lighting fundamentals baked in, if I already understand what a 28mm portrait does to a face and how to use that honestly, if I’m faster at exposure decisions, if I’m more confident about how to direct someone, then the street becomes less chaotic and more intentional.
This also connects to the deeper idea that the website is the home base and everything else is a flyer. I’m not just trying to create images. I’m trying to build a practice that compounds. This winter block becomes part of the foundation.
What Success Looks Like After a Month
Success isn’t a perfect portrait.
Success is that I feel different when I pick up the camera to make a portrait.
I will be more fluent. I will be more deliberate. I will be more confident in the process.
Success looks like knowing what to do with a face in flat light. Knowing how to create shape. Knowing how to finish an image without drowning it in processing. Knowing how to see the difference between a technically competent frame and a portrait that actually holds attention.
This project will also produce images, of course. Some of them may even be good. But the real deliverable is invisible: skill.
And that’s the point of winter, if I’m willing to use it properly. Constraint becomes fuel. The cold becomes the catalyst for sharpening my tools, rather than waiting for better conditions.
So for the next month, the city can freeze.
I’ll be inside, building portraits anyway.