The Art of Waiting: Why I Have Chosen a Slower Path in Landscape Photography

James Lane August 24, 2025

For a long time, around 2019, I shared my photographs in fragments, one image here, another there. Without really noticing, I found myself keeping pace with the quiet and relentless pull of social media. It was not deliberate; it was simply what everyone did. Each post brought a little rush of dopamine, a handful of likes, and moments of connection with others who resonated with the image.

There is no shame in that. For many photographers, sharing work and having it seen is one of the deepest motivators, the hope that someone somewhere feels something familiar when they look at your photograph.

But over time I noticed a pattern. In my eagerness to keep up I released images before they were ready. Compositions that were not fully resolved. Edits that lacked space to breathe. Work placed into the world before I had truly lived with it. And more often than not I regretted sharing the images so quickly. The landscape is never in a hurry. So why was I?

A Shift Toward Intentional Release
Through 2024 and into 2025 I realised that releasing a single, thoughtfully curated portfolio representing an entire year is far more rewarding. It is work created not from immediacy but from time, patience, and reflection.

I dipped my toes into this approach in 2024. Early that year I rushed several images out, only to start retracting, re-editing, and pruning. It became a constant frustration and a reminder that I was not giving my work the respect it deserved.

By the middle of the year, I decided to change direction. I would hold everything back until December and create a portfolio that told the year’s story with care and intention. December 2025 will mark the first full year where my images are released as a single, cohesive body of work, a creative milestone that feels far closer to the way I want to engage with photography.

External Influences
Two photographers have shaped this transition more than they probably realise: Ben Horne and Alex Noriega. Ben’s approach has always inspired me, not just his images but the patience and presence behind them. He creates yearly box sets of prints, giving each photograph the dignity of time and contemplation. He engages with the landscapes he visits like old friends, never forcing them to perform, simply listening to what they offer. I have long tried, and often failed, to emulate that stillness, moving about restlessly like a mayfly, but I am learning.

Alex Noriega, meanwhile, represents the idea of quality over quantity more than almost anyone. He will happily sit on images for long periods of time, letting them settle. I used to get twitchy if I had not shared a photograph in a week. Alex’s approach reminded me that fewer and more carefully chosen images speak far louder than constant noise. Their philosophies gave me permission to slow down, trust the process and build something deeper.

Photography without Frenzy
One of the biggest changes has been not just how I release work but how I create it, and how I connect with others through it. I have always believed that sharing photographs is about connection. Posting on social media gave me glimpses of that connection, but if I am honest, it also fed the wrong parts of my brain. The dopamine rushes, the endless scrolling, the constant comparison all of it left me restless. My ADHD brain loved the instant gratification. My creative self did not.

Worse, I started noticing that I was making images partly for validation, not because I had something meaningful to express. Maybe that is part of being a newer photographer, or maybe it is just human. Switching to a yearly portfolio has broken that cycle. There is a risk, of course, because fewer shares naturally mean fewer interactions. But the flipside is powerful. The connections I make now run deeper. Conversations happen around a body of work, a story, not a single fleeting image that disappears between a trending preset reel and an argument about camera brands. I have traded volume for significance, and I would not trade back.

The Art of Waiting
This change has altered not only my process but also my relationship with the people who engage with my work. When I was posting constantly, the feedback loop was addictive but shallow. It felt good in the moment but vanished just as quickly. Now, by sharing a single considered portfolio each December, I am inviting people to slow down with me, to experience the work as a complete and cohesive collection rather than as scattered fragments.

That invitation matters. My photographs feel less disposable, and the responses I receive are richer and more thoughtful. When someone connects with an image now, it is because they have spent time with it, not because it flashed past them on a timeline. I have traded quick dopamine hits for something quieter, slower, and far more enduring. For me, that is a trade worth making.

The Quiet Rewards of Going Slow

I will not pretend this shift has been comfortable. There is vulnerability in withholding work in a world that rewards constant visibility. There are days when my dopamine-dependent brain aches for instant feedback. But over time I have learned to sit with that discomfort, and the deeper rewards of this slower approach outweigh the noise I have left behind.

Fewer posts, but deeper connections with the people who truly resonate with how I see the landscape.
By letting photographs rest, I discover which ones last, and which dwindle after their initial novelty thus creating images that endure.
A yearly release lets me tell a story, inviting viewers into the rhythm of the year instead of scattering isolated fragments into the void.
I make images for myself first, trusting that honest work will naturally find its audience, freeing myself from the performance cycles demanded by algorithms.
Reviewing a year’s worth of work teaches me far more than chasing constant approval ever could.
Each release feels intentional and significant. The December 2025 portfolio is not just a collection of images; it is the sum of every quiet choice, every pause, and every moment of attention across twelve months.

Looking Ahead to December 2025
The work I am making now feels both familiar and new. I am leaning into painterly geology, softer light, and more homogenous contrast, creating open compositions that feel calmer and more introspective. Photographers often talk about taking a step forward, and while that is entirely subjective, I feel this slower approach has allowed me to grow in ways that constant output never could.

This year’s portfolio is shaping into something I hope encourages stillness. I want it to feel like an invitation to stop, breathe, and linger. That is what I want the December 2025 release to offer: not just a set of images but a conversation, an opportunity to connect rather than consume.

Slowing down has not disconnected me from others. If anything, it has brought me closer to those who see meaning in the same quiet places I do. In choosing to wait and truly listen, I have found myself happier and more content in the landscape than I have ever been, more connected to the places I have been exploring and more at peace with both my work and myself. There is no way I’m turning back on this approach now. It has changed everything.

James

Sehnsucht and Harnessing Darkness

James Lane April 17, 2022

I have always used the word ‘longing’ to described the feeling that perpetuates my pursuit of landscape photography. A sense of emptiness and homesickness for a place or land I have never even visited. If you are someone who enjoys photographing the landscape, or just someone who enjoys nature, I am sure you will have experienced the feeling I am describing. Some may ascribe the term ‘wanderlust’ as a suitable description of this emotion, but that always seemed quite a positive, outgoing emotion, rather than one that has its roots in a dull, gnawing sadness.

I have searched for a word that describes how I feel most of the time, a word that describes the emotions mixed in with the pixels of my photographs, but I could not find this word in the English language. However, I did stumble upon a German word ‘Sehnsucht.’ While this word has no direct translation to English, its etymology seems fitting. The sehn part of the word comes from sehnen, which loosely translates as ‘to yearn or crave.’ The sucht part of the word actually has its origins in siech which loosely translates as ‘sick.’ So, when the word is made whole again as Sehnsucht, it could be interpreted as meaning a sickness caused by a yearning. (Source: thelocal.de).

Is this an emotion you have felt before? Is it an emotion you can ignore easily? What role does this emotion play in the creativity and expression in your photography? (If it features at all).

What if this emotion is why I am a landscape photographer in the first place? And if so, has the pursuit of landscape photography provided any respite from the gnawing feeling of Sehnsucht?

I’m not entirely sure if it is the pursuit of landscape photography or the interlinked pursuit of far away places that offer respite from this feeling of Sehnsucht. Perhaps they are making it worse. Perhaps the little pieces of respite I get throughout the year when I am away with my tent, camera, a good book and some tea bags create a painful contrast to the life I lead when I am not in the landscape. Do you feel it too? I can’t tell if it’s just me, or if this is a feeling all lovers of nature and the wilderness feel.

Perhaps it is deeper. There is a darkness that I slip into now and then, an existential dread that the sands of time are flowing away and I am just watching them go, numbed by a life I didn’t want or ask for, but yet one I find myself in. I have written about this before, and I am making big changes to my life. Such is the power of Sehnsucht; it both gives and takes away. Gives me the strength to want to satisfy the yearning sickness for places of wilderness and peace. Takes away my ability to be content with a normal life. Whatever that means.

So I will harness the darkness, use it to inspire myself, to create and to escape. Perhaps then I can be truly free. Perhaps that gnawing feeling will go away.

But, how does this link to photography? Well, photography is the release valve. There is something purposeful about making photographs in a place where one’s emotions are heightened (to whatever state they may be). Creating while feeling gives images meaning beyond the reportage of nature. The images above (Darkshine), below (Dark Matter) and at the end of this writing (Dark Mirror) where all made during heightened states of emotion. Darkshine was made during blue hour on the coast during a weekend where I was so deeply sad that I just went to the coast. This emotion may or may not come across to the viewer, but there is no way I would have made this image if I hadn’t been feeling that way, and I can still feel it when I look at the image.

Dark Matter (above), was inspired by the work of Alex Noriega, in the extent that if I hadn’t seen his work this image would not exist. Had I not have been out for a walk on a very wet and cold October morning feeling the way I had felt, it’s likely I would have walked past this scene. It was autumn and I was looking for vibrant colours in the trees. However, that morning I had not been feeling great and decided to take a break from the rain by sitting under a bridge (like a troll). If had not been sitting there feeling the way I did, and had I not been inspired to look for patterns in water by Alex’s work, it’s likely this image wouldn’t exist. It reminds me to keep going. Even on the darkest days small shreds of colour can be found.

The image at the end of this writing, Dark Mirror, was made during a wonderful summer camping trip to Scotland with a friend. After arriving and pitching my tent I was straight back out again with the camera as there was a lingering sea fog with absolutely no clouds above it. Knowing this would lead to quite exciting conditions (not something I often chase, I might add) I headed to a loch I was aware of, hoping to get a reflection of the last light of sunset through the distant sea fog. I was not in a bad place while making this photograph, quite the opposite. I remember thinking how good I felt to be away and at peace in a quiet landscape. The darkness was just a reflection on that day, an optical illusion. Something I was free from. To this day this photograph brings all those feelings of belonging and excitement rushing back over me. It reminds me to stop looking at my reflection in the dark mirror and to lift my head up and see the landscape ahead of me. The positive future I am journeying toward.

Take control of the negative emotions. Let them flow into your creativity. Nature photography doesn’t have to be about excitement and exhilaration; it can be about any emotion. Don’t succumb to Sehnsucht, overcome it. Make it part of your work. Treat its symptoms. Be in those wild places that make you feel alive, that bring those emotions to the surface. Let them guide your photography.

“It is not uncommon for people to spend their whole life waiting to start living” - Eckhart Tolle

The wait is over.

James

Why do some Photographs mean so much?

James Lane April 4, 2022

Photographs serve many purposes. I will not set out to bore you with a tedious list of these because I don’t want to patronise you. However, I do want to discuss the personal connection to our photography and dive into the feelings and emotions that hide within those most special images of ours.

Before I start, I am not claiming to be some enlightened purveyor of the artistic and emotional depth of photography. Quite the opposite. I’m just thinking through the keyboard, trying to learn more about myself. Writing really helps me.

I cannot tell you what your photography means to you. Nor would I even try. However, in reflecting on what those certain special photographs mean to me you may reflect on your own work. I honestly believe if you connect with your photography on a deeper level you will get so much more from the pursuit of what constitutes a good or pleasing photograph to you.

I was hapharzadly looking for some missing keys the other day in my house. I had, inevitably, searched the entire house until I went into one of those drawers we all have, you know, the ones with things we don’t know what to do with, but yet can’t seem to part with. In the bottom of this drawer was on old photograph from over a decade ago. It was roughly folded and fraying at the edges. Upon unfolding it I found myself just sat on the floor. An upwelling of sadness, loss and nostalgia.

And no, I won’t be sharing the photograph with you. It is mine and will be utterly meaningless to you. Like an externalised, crystallised memory that only I have the key to. It’s not for you. Sorry. However, it made me ponder the true meaning of my own photography - specifically those images that mean the most to me - my favourites, as it were.

And it dawned upon me: the photographs I connect with the most deeply are those that remind me of what I do not have.

Of course I would never ask anyone else to accept that this is a true defining feature of our favourite photographs. However, due to my mental state, life situation and culmination of the happiness and trauma from my life it transpires that the images I connect with the most depict something that is missing.

When I say something missing, I mean something I no longer posses, or something I desire to have. I don’t mean material possessions, rather emotional possessions or a more peaceful state of mind. Desires of the heart and mind stamped into two dimensional space by the camera. The camera that knows all our secrets and only tells them to us. Or to those that possess the key to unlock our photos. Like visual diary entries.

Whether they are crafted high art or snapped on an iPhone, photographs have the capacity to hold those truths of our self. Ethereal possessions from a past time, or future realities we wish to live in. I miss you so much.

The image above Float Together, and the image below Breathe are two of my most cherished photographs. In Float Together I feel a terrible loss and longing. Like I am trapped in a place I do not wish to be, with the horizon sprawling out in front of me, unreachable. I am unable to escape and cannot make the journey alone. It really does make me feel very sad.

The image Breathe (below) was made during a glorious late October morning in the northwest highlands of Scotland. When I made it I wasn’t actively thinking about feeling a sense of isolation nor a desire to be in a place (mentally and geographically) that I am not currently in. No. I was thinking about how beautiful a morning it was to be in this location at this time with the cool mist and warm sunrise, working together to create once-in-a-lifetime conditions for landscape photography. It is only after I had edited and printed the image that I started to consider why I connect with it so much. This is when the emotions develop - after being in the contemplative dark room.

Again, I am not trying to be pompous or preachy about photography. I am not trying to suggest everyone has to form a deep emotional connection with their photographs to enjoy them, nor am I suggesting that every photograph is a vault of locked-away emotions. Sometimes, photographs are just a bi-product of being out in the landscape, city or woodland with a camera, and all that really mattered on those days was being there, not the final product.

However, it is difficult to deny that the images that stand out to us is often due to the emotion locked within them, or the memories they bring flooding back. Not all of my landscape imagery reminds me of what I do not have. Some of them are just pleasing compositions, landscapes and conditions - and are intrinsically beautiful as such. I would be a charlatan to claim that all images have emotional depth… but some of them just do. And it is so valuable to consider them. Well, at least I think so!

I really enjoy the writing of Mark Littlejohn, it’s grounding. His meandering captions are always a pleasure to read. He has recently been fascinated by kelp and has made some really evocative photographs of their many forms and shapes. However, not to put words in Mark’s mouth, but (from reading his writing) I do not get the impression that he is on some grand introspective journey. Nor is he getting bogged down in the discourse of technique or style (of which I am unashamedly guilty of). The impression I do get is that he is just enjoying being on the beach, taking photographs of kelp and embracing the inclemency of the conditions that grace the Northwest of Scotland. Please do seek these photographs out on his Instagram or Twitter pages.

The reason I mention Mark is that it is obviously true that not all photographs have to have some deep existential meaning. Nor must we have to introspect to artificially make our own work more purposeful. However, for those images that really do connect to something deep within us, I strongly believe that we should dive into the reasons they affect us so much. You may learn something about yourself as an artist, which may even lead you on to a path of creating truly meaningful art.

I recently put out a question on Instagram asking other photographers if there was a special photograph in their life and what that image really means to them. I had some very thoughtful, raw and emotional responses. I will not share the names of the photographers.

“I have an image that I took last spring. I took it at the height of my mental health struggles. Everything was in turmoil and I was falling apart. I had not got help yet but was forcing myself out to go shoot as it’s good for the mind and all that.

The image is of a small tree with spring leaves trapped in a torrent of water. I remember sitting on the side of the falls and thinking how resilient this tree was and what it was enduring.

The shot is not technically perfect, but that’s what I like about it. The tree is moving slightly, but to me that’s significant. To me the image is about the struggle of the tree to resist the torrent. But there is also hope; the spring greens symbolising rejuvenation. It’s a combination of turmoil and hope.”

The meaning of this photograph has clearly affected the photographer, in a way it may not for others that view it. I doubt every photograph will affect this photographer in the way this image has, and that’s what I’m trying my best to describe. Special images have the ability to change how we think and feel. Another photographer has a different connection to their images, which they describe below:

“Almost every photo I take holds emotion that no one will feel. I was at that spot in that moment and had whatever emotions I had at that time. Looking at the image again reminds me of them. And those emotions are mine alone.”

Another photographer has an incredibly raw connection to their photographs:

“I don’t think anyone can feel the same depth of emotion, or anywhere near the same, that I do. Whether it’s family photographs, iPhone snaps, or my ‘serious’ photographs. Sometimes after downloading and reviewing I cry. I’m not sure exactly what that’s about but I’m okay with it being a mystery.”

I think it’s safe to say from these responses that photographs can really hold deep meaning for us. This is nothing new of course. I am not writing this as a scientist would publish a journal on a newly-discovered subatomic particle. Millions will have said or considered what I am saying. This writing isn’t about discovering something new about photography. It’s about discovering something new about myself. That’s why I write and that’s why I take photographs.

As Sean Tucker so eloquently considers in his book ‘The Meaning in the Making’ I am finding my own ‘logos’ - finding order in my inner chaos. Through photography and introspection. And for me, this is played out against the backdrop of the landscape. It has been therapeutic for me.

And, as I am reminded by the folded-up photograph found in the bottom of an old drawer, I am convinced my expression at this moment is about what I do not have. I do not have calm. I do not have the freedom to live the life that I want to live.

Before escaping one must first realise that they are trapped.

I can see now.

I am finally ready to start living.

All because of a few photographs.

James

What Drives My Style

James Lane March 19, 2022

I’m not sure if photography found me or if I found it. However, what I do know is that without photography I think my life would’ve taken a dark turn. I like being outdoors. Free time spent sat at home is free time wasted in my eyes; this feeling exemplified by the events of the last two years. As Gandalf so poignantly told Bilbo Baggins “the world is not in your books and maps, it’s out there…“

I first picked up a camera in January 2018 when the inspiration of a new year led me to make active the desire I have long harboured to stop wasting my life. I’m not sure what specifically drew to photography as a pursuit, all I knew is that it would (or could) add something to my life that was missing.

If you’re like me, then you know that indescribable feeling of standing in a landscape or place for the first time or during a special moment. The closest I can get to describing this is a potent blend of awe, longing, reverence, heartache and acceptance. What in my life has led me to feeling like this when presented with the majesty of our planet I do not know, which leads me to surmise my perceptions of the landscape are actually projections of my self - or at least the future self I desire to be.

A vast and distant emotional reckoning. An externalised inner conflict.

I am going to speak openly about how I have felt over the last five or so years. Some people reading this may cringe, some may relate. I have felt desperately alone and adrift. Like life is passing me by as the countryside does when viewed from the seat of a moving train. I feel a strong sense of longing to be off the train, but there is no station in sight. Trapped on pre-determined rail tracks, hurtling towards a future I never wanted. It is only lately that I have decided to stop waiting for the station that will never come, pull the emergency brake cord and get off. Break free.

I believe my emotions and personal situation have only ever driven me towards the pursuit of landscape photography. However, they are also the grand sculptor of my ‘style.’ I should really call it my ‘current style’ as I am not overly thrilled about the prospect of making images in this style forever; I would hate for the passion of my life to become restrictive and oppressive. I intend to let it evolve and flow, when it is ready. Or rather, when I am.

People who have viewed my photography have often described its style as calming, which I agree with as a reasonable experience for anyone who is not me. But, as with all art, beauty is only ever in the eye of the beholder. Compositionally, it make sense to call my work calming, with a love of soft, pastel tones, lack of harsh, textured contrast, an often airy feel due to inclusion of calm skies or gradual transitions in areas of varying luminosity.

However, as much as I appreciate the experiences of those who view my my work, it is not my experience as the creator. When I look at my photographs I see a vast emptiness. Where others see calm I see a lack of existence. A longing. An open door I just can’t seem to walk through.

There is a saying that our favourite movies are those that portray something we do not have and crave more than anything. This is especially true when I reflect on my favourite films. If applied to my photography this theory holds true. I do not have the peace and freedom I so desire. I am trapped in a life I didn’t want. So I project my wants and desires into my photography. Producing work that holds the emotional metadata I wish I could possess.

An open and airy scene with low contrast and soft pastel tones is something that makes me feel a longing for a life I don’t have. But, the elephant in the room remains. Why can’t I have the life I want?

The answer is easy. I can.

I have the power to make changes and break free from the crippling anxiety that has reduced me from a confident, outgoing 20 something year old, to a nervous and despairing 30 something year old.

The good news is that over the last few months I have made huge decisions in my life. Positive decisions. I will be leaving my current career of eight years this summer to pursue something new, giving me the gift of time and an incalculable reduction in stress and anxiety. With this time I will improve both my mental and physical health to their very peak, to the point where I am no longer held back from living the life I want to live. To a point where the gnawing sensation of longing is no more and I can truly experience the calm in my images that I have always wanted to experience.

To live in the art I have created.

And when my current situation is nothing but a distant, bad dream my photographic style may start to change. But only then.

My style is expression. My style is a desire.

Freedom requires action. Freedom is life.

Not long now…

P.S. If you were wondering, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou and The Lord of the Rings.

2021

James Lane December 22, 2021

Well, this year did not start well. Lockdown from January - March. Testing my mental stamina to breaking point. Just about made it. But, we all know what that’s like now. It was horrible, but we did it together. Find strength in that.

I made one or two trips out, two of which really stick in my mind. One was in early March to the coast in the evening time. Stood on dunes testing out my new prime lenses. Soaking in the early spring breeze coming in off the Atlantic. Freedom. That’s what art is, right? Freedom.

The other notable day out was in May. I don’t shoot much locally, but there is a glorious woodland that has extensive bluebell carpets during the spring, and it’s only 4 miles away. I have been walking through these woods for decades and know them well. This one composition has been in my mind for two years and patience finally paid off when I awoke one Sunday morning to see dense fog outside; I have never got dressed and gathered camera gear so quickly. I made a dash to this composition I had been working on and was given perfect conditions.

**Guests of the Blue Carpet Lodge** *- May 2021*

Summer

When I reflect back at my first three years in photography, this trip will protrude like the Matterhorn in my hippocampus. A perfect storm of feeling sombre, free, distant, unshackled and an unsettled peace with myself gave me the tools I needed to finally make a body of work that was me. Images composed with atmosphere, layers and colour - but imbued with emotional metadata. Things I have often talked about in a variety of captions and short writing online.

I was honoured to be given the chance to express what my photography really meant for me in On Landscape magazine which you can read here as well as being invited to Matt Payne’s incredible podcast F-top, Collaborate and Listen, which you can listen to here.

One of the most standout realisations while making my summer 2021 images was that I was creating with my eye. Just mine. I can’t recall once considering how an image is meant to look, rather I became purely instinctual, almost composing images without even consciously thinking about what I was doing… which might sound either naive or arrogant, but I had reached a stage where use of the camera and the new lenses had become so second nature I actually could see with my eye what I knew the image would look like when downloaded to my computer. You can view my full summer 2021 collection by clicking here.

I received such overwhelming feedback about this collection of images, feedback that was beyond my own comprehension of the collection. This collection of images connected me with people I had never spoken to, had no doubt earned me the featured photographer slot in On Landscape magazine and given me a much-needed confidence in my ability and direction (which I know is totally subjective).

But most importantly, it gave me an opportunity to open the door on buried emotions. Feelings that I had used photography trips to process. It was liberating. It was healing.

Autumn

I made another trip to Scotland during this season, but with the express intention of making images that were different in feel and style to the summer collection. This was a conscious decision. I was scared of stagnation and getting bogged down in one particular style of image. I employed different techniques and made more colourful, more chaotic images in contrast to the work from summer. You can see my Autumn 2021 collection by clicking here.

While I was scared of stagnating, I actually realised from trying something new that I didn’t connect with it as much as my summer work - suggesting that my fears of stagnation were unsubstantiated and that I was heading in the right direction (whatever that means).

However, my decision to take more ICM (intentional camera movement) images of the grand landscape was something I thoroughly enjoyed developing, realising that I could still express through them and create work that felt as comfortable on my eye as the summer work did.

It was during this season that I somehow managed to finish 5th in the photographer of the year category for the Natural Landscape Photography Awards - which served the purpose of reinforcing my summer work, much of it propelling me reaching the final rounds, with one summer image being highly commended. I know the competition only really serves to massage one’s ego, however, to have photographers that I look up to deciding to place me so highly gave me much-needed drive to continue. I will ride the confidence given to me like a wave and continue to follow my own path in my photography, the path I had started to tread during my summer trip.

Thank you

I have got to know some wonderful, thoughtful, intelligent and caring photographers this year. I won’t list names, but you will likely know if I’m talking about you. Thank you so much for your friendship, it means the world to me. And thank you to everyone who has engaged with my work, purchased a print or left a comment / like on social media - I appreciate every single on of you.

Winter

I am currently working on a winter collection. It’s quite spooky. But still very me. I hope. Below is a sneak peak of an image I made in the dense, cold fog.

I have some very exciting plans in the coming year, I can’t wait to share them with you. Happy new year, I hope to get to know you all better in 2022 and, who knows, our paths may even cross.

James