Things I Wish I knew earlier

Lessons I Wish I Knew Sooner in Photography

I’ve been doing this for over 20 years. I’ve worked on rooftops in 45°C heat, in studios where the AC died mid-shoot, on sandy beaches, in corporate offices, fashion shows, underground parking lots—you name it. And through all that, I’ve picked up a few scars and a whole lot of lessons.

Some of those lessons came easy. Most didn’t.

Photography has taken me around the world, through all kinds of environments—from the weird to the wonderful—and over the years, I’ve definitely picked up some valuable (and sometimes painful) lessons along the way.

Some I learned the hard way.

Some I learned too late.

So if you’re newer in the game, or even if you’ve been at it for a while and need a reminder, here’s a list of the things I really wish someone had drilled into me when I was starting out.

1. Your Camera Won’t Make You Better

I know it’s tempting. A new camera comes out, and suddenly you’re convinced it’s the missing piece between you and world-class photography. I used to think the same way—chasing sharpness, megapixels, low-light performance, autofocus systems, all of it.

But here’s the truth: better gear only enhances what you already know. It doesn’t create vision or creativity. I’ve taken some of my favourite shots on older or “entry-level” gear, simply because the moment, the light, and the composition were strong. And on the flip side, I’ve seen incredible photographers create magic with gear that most people would consider outdated.

Get to know your gear inside-out. Learn how to push it to its limits. Once you’re hitting the ceiling of what it can do—and your vision is being held back—then it might be time to upgrade. Until then, it’s just a tool. You’re the one with the eye. Stop spending money on tools

2. Lighting is Everything

If I could go back, I’d study light before anything else. Before gear, before editing, before even composition. Understanding light—how it moves, bounces, wraps around subjects, and creates emotion—is the foundation of everything in photography.

It doesn’t matter if you shoot natural light or studio strobes. Good light tells a story. Bad light just… makes things look flat or confusing. And lighting isn’t just about brightness—it’s about quality, direction, color temperature, and shadow. Once I truly started to see light, my work changed completely.

If you’re just starting out, try studying Rembrandt or Vermeer paintings, or set up one light in a dark room and play. Watch how light falls off a face. Pay attention to how it shapes form. That’s the real magic.

3. Business Skills Matter More Than You Think

I used to think that being good at photography was enough. If your work was strong, people would find you, hire you, and everything would work out. Yeah… no.

Running a photography business is exactly that: a business. And if you don’t know how to price yourself properly, write contracts, send invoices, file taxes, follow up with leads, or market your services—then you’re going to struggle, no matter how good your photos are.

I wish I had invested time in learning basic business systems earlier. It would’ve saved me from undercharging, getting ghosted by clients, or taking on work that wasn’t worth the time. Your art deserves to be protected—and profitable.

4. You Don’t Need to Say Yes to Everything

In the beginning, I took every job I could get. I was afraid that if I said no, I’d miss out or seem ungrateful. So I said yes to free shoots, “exposure” gigs, last-minute requests, and every random project that came my way.

It burned me out. Some of those clients were nightmares. Some of those shoots weren’t even the kind of work I wanted to be doing. And worse, they started pulling me away from the style I was trying to build.

Not every job is worth your time or energy. Saying no isn’t unprofessional—it’s how you protect your brand, your creativity, and your sanity. Choose projects that align with your goals or pay you properly. Ideally, both.

5. Style Isn’t Something You Pick—It’s Something You Discover

When I started, I kept asking myself, “What’s my style?” I thought I needed to figure it out right away—pick a colour grade, a shooting approach, a vibe—and lock it in. So I tried copying the styles I admired. I mimicked their edits, their poses, their light.

But it always felt like I was wearing someone else’s clothes. Too tight or not quite right.

Over time, after thousands of shoots and mistakes and detours, I started noticing patterns in my work. Themes. Recurring choices I didn’t even realize I was making. That’s when I realized: style isn’t chosen—it’s revealed. The more you shoot from instinct and curiosity, the more your real voice comes out.

So stop trying to find your style and just keep shooting. It’ll show up when it’s ready.

6. Imposter Syndrome Doesn’t Go Away—You Just Get Louder Than It

You could shoot for decades, have your work published, hang your photos in galleries, and still have days where you think, “Maybe I’m not actually that good.”

I’ve felt that. A lot. And I used to think I had to wait until I was “confident” to show up and do the work. But here’s the truth: the confidence often comes after you do the thing—not before.

The voice that says you’re not good enough will probably always be there. But you don’t have to listen. You just have to be louder. Keep shooting. Keep learning. Keep showing up anyway.

7. Printing Your Work Changes Everything

When I started printing my work, it felt like the images finally became real. On screen, they felt temporary—just pixels, one swipe away from being forgotten. But on paper? Suddenly, they had weight. They had presence. They had life.

Printing forces you to slow down, to consider your image at a deeper level—color accuracy, composition, detail. It teaches you discipline, especially if you’re doing your own fine art printing like I do now. And best of all, it’s a beautiful way to share your work with the world.

So don’t let your favorite shots just sit on a hard drive. Print them. Frame them. Hang them. Sell them. Let them exist outside the algorithm.

8. You Don’t Need to Be Everywhere Online

Early on, I felt like I had to be everywhere. Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, TikTok, Pinterest, LinkedIn, YouTube, Behance… it was endless. And honestly? It drained me. I was spending more time managing platforms than actually creating work.

Eventually I realized: it’s better to be consistent and engaged on one or two platforms that you actually enjoy, than to spread yourself thin trying to do it all. Find what feels natural. Build community there. Use social media as a tool, not a burden.

And remember: none of these platforms are forever. But your work is.

9. No One Is Coming to Discover You

This one hit hard. I used to think someone would magically stumble on my work—an art director, a magazine editor, a gallery rep—and suddenly everything would take off. But here’s the reality: that almost never happens.

If you want people to find your work, you have to make it happen. Reach out. Pitch. Network. Follow up. Promote your own work even if it feels awkward at first. No one will care about your art as much as you do—so don’t wait for permission to share it.

You don’t have to be loud. Just be visible.

10. The Joy is in the Process, Not the Likes

There was a time when I got caught up in the game—chasing likes, followers, and viral moments. I’d post a photo I loved, and if it didn’t get traction, I’d start second-guessing it.

But over time, I realized how toxic that mindset was. It had nothing to do with photography and everything to do with ego. The algorithm doesn’t define your value as an artist.

The joy, I’ve found, is in the process—in the act of creating something out of nothing. In the quiet click of the shutter when the light is perfect. In telling a story. In capturing a feeling. That’s the stuff that lasts. Likes don’t.

Final Thought

If you’re just starting out, know that it’s okay to stumble. If you’ve been doing this for a while, it’s okay to pause and reset. We all grow at our own pace. The key is to stay curious, stay honest, and keep making work that matters to you.

And if any of these lessons hit home, or if you’ve got a few of your own that life taught you the hard way—drop them in the comments. Let’s keep the conversation going.

Let me know if you want to add some of your own behind-the-scenes photos, maybe from your earlier days or times when you learned some of these lessons the hard way. It could really bring this post to life.