Photographic Anxiety: The Restless Dilemma of Constant Observation

Are we aware that we are distracted?

Today, I’d like to share something from my own experience being a full time high-end hospitality photographer and also passionate documentary photographer who actively documents Penang as my personal project. Prolific photographers out there who are practicing what I do constantly at a high level might be able to relate to this. I am surprised how little this is shared openly—probably because we photographers aren't always the best at expressing ourselves through words. But hear me out: the quest to become a good photographer forces you to be constantly aware and curious. As a result, you become hyper-aware of what’s around you, and deeply curious about how it might look projected into two dimensional photographs.

While it’s normal for anyone in any profession to practice and get better at their craft, but in photography, doing this at a high level for an extended period of time creates a unique problem. It only gets worse when you don't restrict yourself to a tight niche, because that means you need to be on high alert all the time to absorb everything you can. I would even argue further, that even if you have a niche, you won't be able to shut off that part of your brain as you do need to take inspiration from everyday things, regardless how small they are and apply them into photography. The more experience you have, the better your image is going to be.

This is because fundamentally, I still believe your images will only ever be as good as your ability to see, and that can only come from intentional observation. The logic is simple: you can't shoot what you can't see. Growth is good, of course. The problem starts getting worse when this "photographic awareness" is affecting how I see the world even when I’m not actively shooting. I can't just press pause and immediately stop seeing. Trust me, I have tried to just enjoy a scene for what it is, but instead, all I see is framing potentials. My mind immediately wanders to what focal length would be best, or how much better the light would be at a different time of day, to a point that I already had the final retouched image in my mind. Because of this, I sometimes genuinely wonder if I would even notice the same things if I weren't constantly observing life through the default "photography eye"—the point of view of a camera.

Do you see things in Bokeh and Silhouette?

From all the constant active observation, I actually suffer from this photographic anxiety of feeling like there’s always something better out there—something that fits my project narrative perfectly and absolutely has to be captured. It’s a compulsion that becomes uncomfortably acute at times. To counter this, I’ve had to try and limit my senses, forcing myself to resist the urge to shoot. But this internal tug-of-war just leaves me unable to enjoy wherever I go. Sometimes this resistance becomes so bad that I find myself judging a scene, refusing to even engage with it unless it’s entirely "worth" shooting. (This is bad, as you should always shoot to discover potentials) Hence, I am always in a restless dilemma state. I get nervous when I’m not shooting, yet I know I shouldn't let this subconscious drive take the front seat.

This is also why I struggle to answer when people ask me how to get a good image. It's not because I’m arrogant or don't want to share; it's simply not that simple. Because my brain is wired to see a workable composition at every given scenario at any given focal length, so the possibility of getting a good image is endless.

How many more compositions can you see from here?

That said, having this level of self-awareness and self-assessment are highly useful traits—not just for the photographer, but for the person, too. If anything, you should spend more effort curating your own thought process to tighten the quality and consistency of your output. As for me, I would want to recover that raw sense of wonder and curiosity (like when I just started photography), leave some technicality at the back seat and somehow still be able to convey that in my images. In short, I need to find new ways to see, while at the same time be able to enjoy things as it is, without the camera.