THE IMAGE SPEAKS—BUT YOU CAN TOO
From the “Dark Coast” series. Created during a period of deep personal loss, this series unfolded over two years as a way of working through grief. I didn’t yet have the words—but I found myself drawn to scenes that echoed what I was feeling inside. The image spoke—but it took time before I could.
Sometimes, when a photograph is strong—when it has clarity, feeling, restraint—we assume it should speak for itself. And often, it does. But if you're the one who made it, the process didn’t start in a void. It started with something internal: a pull, a question, a feeling. The image might speak on its own—but as the photographer, you can speak too.
It still surprises me how many photographers, even those producing strong, consistent work, seem to believe they have nothing to say about it.
I don’t mean they need to give a deep intellectual breakdown or construct some perfectly worded artist statement. I’m talking about something simpler and more essential: the ability to reflect on the work, to notice what’s behind it, and to speak—honestly, imperfectly, even quietly—about why it exists.
What I’ve come to notice is this: photographers who have developed a refined visual craft often go completely silent when asked to speak about their images. Not because they’re being modest. Because they genuinely believe there’s nothing deeper to explore. They say things like:
“I just liked the way it looked.”
“I don’t really know what to say.”
“I guess the image just speaks for itself.”
And while that last one gets repeated a lot, I think we need to look at it more closely. Because yes—the image does need to stand on its own. The artist won’t always be there to explain it. But if, as the creator, you’re relying solely on the image to carry all the meaning—without ever engaging with it through reflection or self-inquiry—you may be missing the most rewarding part of the process.
Here’s the hard question: if you can’t speak about what you’re making—do you fully understand it?
Do you know why you’re drawn to certain subjects, tones, and moods? Have you looked at your own patterns deeply enough to realize what they reveal about you? Have you noticed what your work is quietly, repeatedly trying to express?
Because here’s the thing: speaking about your work isn’t for others. It’s for you. It’s how the work grows. It’s how the process deepens. It’s how photography becomes more than just a visual pursuit—and starts to become a path.
If you’re only ever chasing scenes, collecting beautiful images, and stacking your portfolio with eye-catching work—but never asking what any of it means—then you may be trophy hunting. And trophy hunting can be satisfying for a while. But it rarely leads to the deeper gifts this craft can offer.
The greatest rewards come not from capturing the impressive shot, but from understanding why you made it. And in doing so, understanding something more about yourself.
Photography, at its best, trains us to observe. But the observation can’t stop at the edge of the frame. It has to turn inward too.
What were you feeling? What drew you to that scene, that light, that shape? What was happening in your life at the time? How were you seeing the world—and how did that influence what you saw?
This has nothing to do with sounding poetic or philosophical. It’s just about paying attention. Being a keen observer of what’s going on out there—and in here.
And no, most of us don’t start out thinking this way. Early on, it’s usually about technique, about gear, about chasing light and finding the dramatic scene. That’s fine. That’s part of the path.
But if you’ve been doing strong work for years and still feel like you have nothing to say about it—maybe it’s time to ask yourself why.
Not to shame yourself. But to see that this might be the doorway to something more.
Maybe the real shift happens when we stop identifying only as photographers, and start embracing the path of the artist.
A photographer aims to capture a scene, a moment, an aesthetic. An artist wants to express something. To ask something. To discover something.
And while the artist’s path isn’t always clearer or more successful in conventional terms, it is often more enriching. Because it asks more of you. It brings more of you into the work. And in return, it gives more back.
Start with a simple question: Why did I make this image? Then follow it. Let one question lead to another. And in that process, you may start to understand more about your work. And more about yourself.
And that—in the end—will always lead to stronger, deeper, more personal work. Work that not only expresses more, but feeds you more in return.
The image speaks. But you can too.
If this piece resonated, here are a few others worth exploring:
– The Deeper Why — uncovering the purpose behind your photography
– When the Work Begins to Speak Back — on letting your work show you what it needs
→ Or explore more reflective essays in the In Focus archive
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.
