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?
Dethroned - 2024
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.
Down is the New Up - 2024
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.
Glitterbomb - 2024
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.
White Shores and Beyond - 2024
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