WHAT MAKES MAUI BEAUTIFUL DOESN’T ALWAYS MAKE IT PHOTOGRAPHIC
THE SECRET Maui, Hawaii
Maui is beautiful—but that’s exactly what makes it so hard to photograph.
It’s easy to assume that when everything looks stunning, the photographs will come easily. But the camera doesn’t respond to beauty the same way the eye does. What looks rich and alive in person can feel flat or unresolved in the frame. Maui offers a lot to take in—but not a lot to build from. The obvious shots rarely hold up. You have to search harder here. You have to be more deliberate.
What we perceive as beautiful is shaped by far more than just what we see with the eye. We're responding to a full sensory moment—light, air, time, scent, emotion, memory. The experience of being somewhere doesn’t translate directly into a photograph, because the camera only records a narrow slice of what we’re experiencing. Vision. That’s part of the challenge. You may feel completely moved by a scene, but the image still needs to hold up on its own—through structure, clarity, and intention.
That’s where the real work begins.
What makes a place beautiful isn’t necessarily what makes it photographic. There’s no single formula, but generally, the most photographically rich locations tend to offer clarity—a strong primary subject, separation from the background, a sense of depth, and ideally some atmosphere or mood to support the image. These qualities give you something to work with. They help distill the scene into something visually coherent and expressive.
Some places are more generous in this way. Iceland, for example, seems built for the camera. Its subjects are often isolated naturally—cleanly defined, with spaciousness all around them. There’s a simplicity to the landscape that lends itself to strong images, even in difficult light. Venice is different, but when the atmosphere shows up—fog, soft light, muted tones—the city transforms. It becomes more abstract, more painterly. These are places that help you see photographically, without asking for much in return.
GHOSTS OF THE NEAR PAST Vik, Iceland
GRAND CANAL Venice, Italy
Maui is more elusive.
The light on Maui is strong, often harsh, especially through the middle of the day. The skies are typically clear, the colors bold—and while that makes for beautiful days, it doesn’t always help the photograph. You don’t get much atmosphere to soften or separate the elements. And for as expansive as the island feels, there are surprisingly few locations where a scene naturally comes together. Defined coastal points or peninsulas are rare. There aren’t many places where the eye is led through the frame. Isolated, clean subjects—the kind you’d think would be easy to find in a place like this—are actually hard to come by.
That’s one of the surprising things about photographing Maui. Something you’d assume would be common—like a clean composition of a palm tree and a beach, free from roads, hotels, or walking paths—is actually quite rare. There are only a couple places on the entire island where that kind of image is even possible.
After twenty-five years of photographing Maui, I sometimes feel like there are fifteen or twenty compositions I return to—maybe fewer. That’s not because the island isn’t beautiful. It’s because strong photographs, at least for my eye, depend on visual clarity and restraint. And those qualities don’t show up everywhere. You have to really look for them.
REMAINING FORM Maui, Hawaii
Still, there’s something powerful in that challenge. Over the years, through my Maui photo workshops and spending time in the field with hundreds of photographers, I’ve watched how the process shifts. People often arrive expecting the island to deliver easy images. The color, the drama, the scale—it all feels so ready. But once they start looking more carefully, they begin to see that beauty alone doesn’t carry the photograph—not here. Compositions that seemed strong in person feel unfocused or unresolved when reviewed later. And that’s when something shifts. They begin looking with more intention. They wait longer. They work harder. And eventually, they begin to see differently—not just more, but more clearly.
That’s what I’ve always appreciated about Maui. It doesn’t give images away easily. It makes you slow down. It forces you to let go of assumptions. And it teaches you to really look.
I’ve often wondered how someone like Michael Kenna might see this place. What he might find over the course of a month or two. What he’d ignore. What he’d distill. Would he land on the same fifteen or twenty compositions I have—or see something entirely different? Because Maui won’t meet you halfway. You have to come to it with patience, and with a willingness to keep showing up—long after the obvious has been exhausted.
But when something does come together here—when the light softens, the wind stills, and everything finally aligns—it becomes more than just a pleasing scene. It becomes something quieter. More lasting. Not because the island gave it to you, but because you stayed with it long enough to find it. Because you earned it.
Ready to go deeper into your photographic process?
Join me in Maui for a photo workshop, or explore upcoming destination experiences in places like Venice and San Francisco—details on the Workshops page.
Hi, I’m Scott Reither—fine art photographer, educator, and the founder of The Curated Landscape.
I created this space to share reflections and tools for photographers who want to go deeper—into their craft, their process, and how they connect with the world through the lens.
