We all know the type.
The friend who can’t stop talking about themselves.
You nod politely. You fake-laugh. You interject when you can.
But it’s a one-man show—and the subject is always the same: them.
Their job, their problems, their breakfast, their weekend plans.
Even when they pretend to pivot and ask how you’re doing, it’s just a short detour. A breath. A reset. A chance to circle the conversation right back to themselves.
Sound familiar?
Now, let me tell you something that might sting a little—
I’ve seen the exact same thing happen in photography.
Different format. Same pathology.
Somewhere along the way, photography stopped being about photographs and started being about photographers.
It’s Not About the Photograph Anymore
Everywhere I look—conversations, interviews, blog posts, behind-the-scenes videos—there’s this relentless stream of self-referential storytelling.
“Let me tell you how I got that shot…”
“I hiked eight miles at dawn…”
“It took me six months of research…”
“I used this lens and that filter…”
“I edited it for 14 hours straight…”
And on and on and on.
But here’s the kicker: when you finally look at the photo they’re talking about?
It’s fine.
Maybe it’s good.
Maybe it’s even excellent.
But what you feel, most of all, is that the image is just a vehicle for ego.
You feel the performance more than the photograph.
You see them, not the world they’re supposedly capturing.
That’s when I want to stand up and shout:
When did the photograph stop being the hero of the story?
When did we trade wonder for resume-building?
When did photography become a personal branding campaign?
The Silent Power of a Humble Frame
Let me ask you this:
When was the last time you saw a photo—no caption, no context, no explanation—that simply moved you?
Maybe it made you feel something.
Maybe it stopped you in your tracks.
Maybe it left a little ache behind, the way only great photos can.
No monologue.
No behind-the-scenes.
No flexing.
Just a frozen moment in time that did what photographs are supposed to do—
Reveal. Remind. Reflect. Reconnect.
That’s the kind of work I chase.
The kind of work that doesn’t need a loudmouth attached to it.
The kind of work that points outward, not inward.
Because when photography is done right, it’s not about the shooter.
It’s about the subject.
The light.
The emotion.
The story.
The stillness.
The serendipity.
The truth.
You don’t need to explain it.
You just need to get out of the way.
“But I Worked Hard on That Shot!”
I get it. I really do.
You climbed a mountain.
You waited for the light.
You dodged rain and mosquitoes.
You composed, recomposed, underexposed, and fixed it in post.
You’re proud. You want to share the effort.
But here’s the problem:
Your photo isn’t more valuable just because it was harder to take.
No one watching a movie cares how many takes it took to shoot the scene.
No one reading a poem cares how many drafts the poet tossed in the trash.
And no one staring at a photograph should have to hear the story to feel something.
Art is not about effort.
It’s about impact.
If your image only “works” after you give a TED Talk about it, then maybe it doesn’t work at all.
Be Less of a Performer. Be More of a Witness.
This is something I have to remind myself of, over and over.
I spent years of my life in front of rooms, giving lectures, offering insight, telling stories.
It’s part of my job, and sometimes it’s even meaningful.
But I’ve learned that the best thing I can do as a photographer is disappear.
The less I insert myself into the moment,
The more the moment reveals itself to me.
Photography is not performance art.
It’s observational art.
And if you’re always making it about you—your ideas, your intentions, your grind—you’re no longer observing.
You’re acting.
You’re self-promoting.
You’re crowding the frame.
Some photographers treat the camera like a mirror—reflecting their own personality, style, cleverness, and ambitions back at the world.
But the great ones?
They use it like a window.
They open it.
They look through it.
They let the light in.
And then… they step back.
Less “Me.” More “We.”
I’ll end this with a challenge:
The next time you share a photo—on Instagram, at a gallery, over dinner—try this:
Don’t tell the story behind it.
Don’t explain the gear you used.
Don’t center you in the conversation.
Just let the photograph speak.
Ask the person looking at it:
“What do you see?”
“How does this make you feel?”
“What does this remind you of?”
Make it about them, not you.
Make it about us, not just your story.
Because the truth is—
The best photographs don’t shout.
They whisper.
And in that whisper, if you’re quiet enough, you just might hear something universal.
Something shared.
Something sacred.
Final Frame
There’s a kind of grace in letting your work speak louder than you do.
There’s an elegance in being the quiet one who just sees, rather than the loud one who always talks.
Your photos don’t need hype.
They need honesty.
Stop trying so hard to be interesting
And start trying to be interested.
In life.
In people.
In light.
In love.
If you do that—
You’ll be amazed how your photographs come alive.
And maybe, just maybe…
You won’t have to talk so damn much.
Click.
Jack.
