The Perceptive Photographer

Daniel j Gregory

Welcome to The Perceptive Photographer, the podcast where we explore the art, craft, and creative stories behind the lens. Hosted by Daniel Gregory, each episode takes a deep dive into the fascinating world of photography, where we chat about everything from inspiration and history to the personal journeys that shape our creative process. Whether you’re just starting out or a seasoned pro, this podcast is here to spark new ideas, share practical tips, and help you see the world in a whole new way. Tune in and let’s see where the lens takes us!

  1. HACE 6 DÍAS

    Is an audience required for meaning, or just for momentum?

    In Episode 570 of The Perceptive Photographer, I found myself circling a couple of questions: Is an audience required for meaning, or just for momentum? And if no one ever sees a photograph, does it still matter? (and the difference between sees and seen) As photographers, we’re surrounded by feedback. Images are shared, measured, ranked, and quickly replaced by the next shot. It’s easy to absorb the idea that a photograph only becomes real once it’s been seen. But when I slow down and think about why I started making photographs in the first place, the audience was originally never part of that conversation (although is sneaks in now at times). For me, meaning starts in photography at the moment of noticing. The act of seeing and recognizing something worth paying attention to is already enough to give a photograph value. Some of the most important images I’ve made were never shared. They exist as points of understanding, memory, or emotional clarity. In those moments, the photograph did its job without ever leaving my camera. An audience, however, does provide something else: momentum. Being seen can encourage us to keep going. It can create energy, dialogue, and a sense of connection. But it can also quietly influence what we choose to photograph, nudging us toward what’s expected or rewarded. When that happens, meaning can become secondary to reaction. So maybe the question isn’t whether photographs need an audience, but what role we want that audience to play. If no one ever saw my photographs again, which ones would I still make? Episode 570 is my attempt to sit with that question—and invite you to do the same.

    13 min
  2. 26 ENE

    Photographing for Ourselves vs. Seeking Validation

    In this week’s episode, Episode 568 of The Perceptive Photographer, I spend some time reflecting on a tension many photographers experience, whether we admit it or not: the pull between photographing for ourselves and photographing for validation. At some point, often without realizing it, we start making images with an audience in mind. We think about what will be liked, shared, or understood rather than what genuinely holds our attention. Validation isn’t inherently bad. It can be encouraging and even motivating, but when it becomes our north star, so to speak, when we make photographs, it quietly starts to shape our choices. Subjects become safer, risks become fewer, and curiosity gives way to performance. This comes up again and again in my work. I have it course-corrected, but a subtle change shifts it back off track. There will be periods when I am/was/will be clearly trying to impress—chasing responses rather than experiences. The camera shifted from exploration to results. Over time, that approach gets a little exhausting. I also know that when I stopped trying to impress and started paying closer attention to what actually interested me. The work became quieter. The subjects became simpler. It becomes a meaningful body of work. And while the external responses might not be immediate or loud or what I hoped for, the photographs felt more honest and more meaningful.  This isn’t about rejecting social media or avoiding sharing work. It’s about recognizing who you’re really making photographs for and what happens when you allow your own curiosity to lead. I invite listeners to consider what they would photograph if no one else ever saw the image—and why those photographs might matter more than we think.

    16 min
  3. 19 ENE

    Why two photographers never see the same scene: myth of objectivity

    In this episode of The Perceptive Photographer, I’m exploring why photography is never truly objective. I mean, why is it that two photographers standing in the same place, at the same time, will always see something different? This has always been one of the things that has always fascinated me about photography. Same moment. Different photographs. That difference has very little to do with gear or technical skill and everything to do with perception and intention. It’s easy to think of photography as a record of reality. After all, the camera captures what’s in front of it. But the camera doesn’t decide where to stand, what to include, or when the moment matters. Those decisions belong to the photographer. Every photograph is shaped by our choices, such as what we notice, what we ignore, and what we respond to. We are not recording the world as it is. We’re always interpreting and reinterpreting it. Over time, we learn to recognize specific patterns of light, gesture, shape, or mood. And those things that begin to stand out to us, we repeat again and again. Our emotional state plays a role as well. When I’m calm and present, I tend to notice quieter moments. When I’m rushed or distracted, my images often reflect that. In the end, I think we eventually learn that we don’t photograph what’s there. We photograph what we notice. Once we accept that there’s no “right” way to see a scene, the pressure to match someone else’s image or expectation disappears. The next time you’re out photographing, pause before you raise the camera. Notice what’s pulling your attention and what you’re leaving behind. You might be surprised by what you find in the viewfinder.

    15 min
  4. 8 ENE

    In Conversation with Rachel Demy

    I am so excited for this episode of In Conversation, where the amazing Rachel Demy joins me to discuss the periphery in photography. I have known Rachel for years, and we had such a great conversation. I was thinking about our conversation over the past few weeks and how to introduce you to Rachel’s work. I think that one of the hallmarks of her latest work is that it isn’t loud. It unfolds quietly, asking you to slow down and look again. Her photographs sit somewhere between studied observation and intuition, where mood, atmosphere, gesture, and restraint become actors in the image.  I love how her work shifts as you spend time with it. The tension of attentiveness moves to a sense of patience.  In this conversation, we start with the topic of the periphery in photography and go down a rabbit hole. Both of us agree that peripheral is not just a biology, but a way of being present while making photographs. We talk about how photography isn’t only about what we choose to place inside the frame, but also about what exists just beyond it. That awareness, at the time of photographing or in processing, of the unseen can shape the image, adding emotional and psychological depth. For Rachel, watching Richard Mosse’s film Broken Specter challenged her perception and became a catalyst for thinking differently about how we see, how we feel space, and how expanded awareness can influence photographic work.  Of course, with any conversation, we dug into how we are trained to think, what inspires us, what worries us about our practice, and how we sometimes have to let go and surrender to the process and path we are on. Trust the seeing. Trusting our intuition,  I really enjoyed the insights I got from listening to her talk about how intuition becomes especially pronounced in her night photography. Working in darkness heightens awareness and taps into what she described as an “animal vision. In those moments, we become less analytical and more responsive, guided by feeling, rhythm, and an embodied sense of presence. We also touched on creative dormancy, with both of us hitting long periods of slow work development. It was a reminder that pauses, rest, and reflection are not failures of creativity, but essential parts of its rhythm. Rachel’s perspective on photography and creativity is thoughtful, generous, and deeply felt, and our conversation was filled with genuine insights and discoveries. I am so looking forward to the next one.  You can connect with Rachel on social media at @racheldemy, on her website www.racheldemy.com, or explore her book Between Everywhere: On the Road with Death Cab for Cutie.

    1 h y 2 min
  5. 5 ENE

    Why your best work might feel boring to you

    As we start a new year, I want to talk about a feeling that almost never gets discussed openly, even though nearly all of us experience it. That moment when you look at your recent work and think, “This is fine… but it feels boring.” Not bad. Not broken. unsurprising. feel it myself. And over time, I have come to believe that this feeling is not a warning sign. It is often a signal that something important is happening. The strange thing about making work is that we experience it twice. First while we are making it, and then later when we look at the result. By the time the photograph exists, we have already lived inside it. We remember the walk, the light, the missed frames, the choices, the doubt. All of that context stays attached to the image for us.b But when someone else sees the photograph, they see none of that. They see the distilled result. One moment, one frame, one decision made visible. What feels familiar and predictable to us can feel clear and intentional to someone else. That familiarity or clarity can seem like it drains surprise, but that does not mean it drains meaning.I think clarity is one of the most misunderstood qualities in creative work. Clarity often feels boring to the person who made it because all the hard decisions are already resolved. There is no tension left for us. We already know how it works. Where things often go wrong is how we respond to that boredom. When the work stops exciting us, it is tempting to fix the wrong problem. We add more contrast. We push the color. We introduce drama not because the image needs it, but because we want to feel something again. Restlessness can look a lot like refinement, but they are not the same thing. Sometimes the best thing you can do when the work feels boring is to step away from it. Give it time. Look at it again later, without the weight of expectation. Ask whether it still holds together, not whether it excites you. If your recent work feels boring but still feels honest, still feels aligned with how you see, pay attention. That is often where the real work is happening. Not in the images that shout the loudest, but in the ones that sit quietly and wait. As we move into 2026, I want to encourage you and myself to resist the urge to constantly chase novelty. To trust that not being impressed by our own work is not the same thing as failing. Sometimes it means we are finally listening closely enough to hear what we keep returning to. And that is rarely boring.

    13 min
  6. 29/12/2025

    The Danger of Consistency

    In Episode 564 of the podcast, I’m thinking through an idea that comes up often in photography but is rarely examined closely: consistency. We tend to treat a recognizable style as a sign of maturity or a settled voice, a clear direction. And for a while, that recognition feels like progress. But consistency can quietly become a constraint. The problem is that consistency is often mistaken for coherence. Consistency lives on the surface of photographs. It shows up as repeated visual solutions: similar compositions, familiar subjects, reliable color and tone. Coherence operates underneath the work it is similar ot our voice or vision. It’s the continuity of attention or the way a we look, what we care about, and the questions we continue to ask, even as the work itself changes. So this week we talk about how consistency is reinforced by external pressures: audience expectation, institutional validation, and the quiet rewards of being easily recognizable, and how over time, this can lead photographers to protect a look rather than respond honestly to what’s in front of them. We also look at how to think about coherence as a resource forus to use in our work and processing. Steven Shore offers a powerful counterexample. American Surfaces and Uncommon Places look radically different, yet they belong to the same mind. Remember coherence isn’t stylistic. it’s conceptual. In this case of Steven and others, the work remains grounded in observation, description, and the ordinary, even as the visual language shifts. Lots of other photographers like Wolfgang Tillmans, Adams, Minor, and Sophie Calle operate similarly. Their practices change form, scale, and medium, but their attention to what matters remains the same. The danger of consistency isn’t repetition itself. It’s the narrowing of perception. Coherence asks something harder: allowing the work to evolve without abandoning what truly matters. Voice isn’t a look you defend. It’s comes paying attention to yourself, what you seee, and why it matters. And at that core, the work you create can can survive any consistency change.

    15 min

Acerca de

Welcome to The Perceptive Photographer, the podcast where we explore the art, craft, and creative stories behind the lens. Hosted by Daniel Gregory, each episode takes a deep dive into the fascinating world of photography, where we chat about everything from inspiration and history to the personal journeys that shape our creative process. Whether you’re just starting out or a seasoned pro, this podcast is here to spark new ideas, share practical tips, and help you see the world in a whole new way. Tune in and let’s see where the lens takes us!

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