The Case for Slowing Down in Photography
In today’s world of photography, it can feel like everything is about speed. Snap fast, share faster, scroll on. Whether it’s the hustle of street photography, the pressure to post daily, or the endless flood of images streaming through our feeds, there’s this underlying belief that if you’re not quick, you’ll miss it. And sure, there’s something thrilling about that fast-paced rhythm. It teaches you to react on instinct, to trust your gear, to stay sharp and alert.
But that’s not the only way to make a great photograph. In fact, it might not even be the way you make your best ones.
Slowing Down: A Different Kind of Photography
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the value of slowing down. Some of my favorite images haven’t come from quick reflexes or lucky timing. They’ve come from patience—taking the time to stop, assess a scene, carefully frame the shot, and then wait. That extra beat of observation, that moment of stillness, can make all the difference between a good photo and one that really tells a story.
A recent experience really drove this home for me. I was out shooting and came across a building with a beautiful, dramatic archway that immediately caught my eye. The composition was strong, the contrast was perfect—it checked all the boxes. I framed the shot, adjusted my exposure, and took the photo. It felt solid, the kind of image that might even find its way into my portfolio.
But then, as I lowered the camera, something shifted. A couple had entered the scene, walking through the very archway I had just photographed. I paused, watched, and waited. A few seconds later, when they stepped into just the right spot, I lifted my camera again and captured the frame. Same building. Same archway. Same exposure. Yet a completely different photograph. That second frame had a story—a human presence that changed the whole energy of the image. It reminded me that sometimes, the best moments in photography aren’t the ones we chase. They’re the ones we’re patient enough to see.
Coffee, Cameras, and Almost Missing the Shot
That morning started like a lot of my favorite days do: early, with a strong cup of coffee in hand, a camera loaded with film, and a vague plan to chase down some abandoned buildings. My buddy Austin and I had been poking around some locations I’d been wanting to photograph for a while. The light was good, the scenes were inspiring, and I was actually shooting so much that I almost filled an entire roll—something that, for me, is pretty rare.
With about five frames left, we decided to take a break and grab more coffee at one of my favorite spots downtown. After refueling, we wandered through the streets, just killing time and looking for a few more shots to finish the roll. Now, I’m not one of those fancy people who can just pop a roll out halfway through and move on with life. No sir. I have to squeeze every last frame out of that thing—and then immediately fall into despair when I realize half of it was garbage.
As we walked, we came across a bridge overlooking a quiet street and some classic Tulsa architecture. One building in particular had this archway that practically begged to be photographed. The morning sun lit it up perfectly, casting sharp shadows and giving the scene a crispness that you don’t always get. I framed it carefully, dialed in my settings, and took the shot.
Normally, that would have been that. I would have nodded, said “good enough,” and moved on. But out of the corner of my eye, I caught a couple walking toward the building. Without thinking too hard about it, I waited. I wanted that extra element—something to add a spark of life to the composition. I watched them get closer... closer... almost there—and click.
Except... I jumped the gun a little. I fired just a touch too early. My heart sank as I cranked the film advance lever, ready to go again—but that was it. No more frames. Done. Finished. All I could do was hope that what I had gotten was good enough.
When I got the scans back, I saw that the couple wasn’t perfectly centered like I had envisioned. They were a little off. But funny enough, that imperfection made the shot better. It felt natural, unforced—like a fleeting moment you stumbled across rather than something meticulously staged. The tension, the movement, the subtle story unfolding—it was all still there, and maybe even stronger because it wasn’t “perfect.”
Learning to See More
Slowing down forces you to see more—not just look, but truly observe. When you stop—really stop—it pushes you beyond that first instinctive glance. Something may have grabbed your attention initially, and that’s a great start. But giving yourself time lets you dig deeper.
Why did it catch your eye? Could you frame it better? Is there a more compelling angle? Should you wait for something—or someone—to step into the scene? Are there distracting elements you didn’t notice at first? Is the story you’re trying to tell clear?
It also forces you to be more thoughtful technically. Especially with film, where you don’t get the luxury of immediate feedback, you learn to trust your instincts and your meter. Are you exposing for the part of the frame that actually matters? Are there tricky lighting situations that might fool your meter? You start thinking ahead—not just about this shot, but about how it will look when it's hanging on a wall, telling a story to someone who wasn’t there.
And maybe most importantly, slowing down changes the way you feel when you shoot. It quiets the mental noise. It makes you more present. Photography stops being a frantic scavenger hunt for "content" and becomes more like a conversation—a way of listening to the world around you.
Fast vs. Slow: Both Have Their Place
Film photography naturally leans into this slower rhythm. You’ve got a limited number of frames. Every click matters. There’s no endless burst mode, no chimping the LCD to see if you “got it.” It demands a little more thought, a little more intention—and in return, it often gives you images that feel richer and more meaningful.
That said, there’s absolutely a place for speed. In street photography, for instance, moments are fleeting. Blink, and you’ll miss them. Fast, instinctive shooting is a skill in its own right—one I deeply respect, even if it’s not always my personal default. Some photographers thrive on that adrenaline, and they make magic by reacting instantly to the world around them.
I'm not here to say slow is better than fast, or that one style is more "pure" than another. They're just different tools for different kinds of stories. Fast shooting can be electric, raw, and full of life. Slow shooting can be thoughtful, layered, and quietly powerful.
In today’s world—especially online—it’s easy to think that fast is the only way, simply because it’s what we see most often. But don’t forget: there’s another way. And it’s just as legitimate. Just as rewarding. Maybe even more so, if you’re wired a little like me.
That style of shooting simply fits my work better. Either that, or I’m just not fast enough to keep up—and slowing down makes it look intentional. (Hey, if you can’t be good, at least be strategic.)
Final Thoughts: Make Time for the Story
At the end of the day, photography isn’t about how fast you can press the shutter. It’s about how well you can see. Sometimes that means reacting in a split second. Other times, it means slowing down, letting the moment unfold, and waiting for the real story to appear.
For me, slowing down has made photography feel less like a race and more like a conversation. It’s helped me be more intentional, more connected, and, honestly, more satisfied with the work I create. It’s allowed me to not just capture what something looked like, but what it felt like.
If you’ve never tried it, I want to challenge you: next time you’re out shooting, slow down. Take a deep breath. Look around. Wait. See what changes. You might discover that the most powerful stories aren't the ones you chase—they’re the ones that reveal themselves when you’re patient enough to notice.
Or you might think, “man, Kyler doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” whip your camera up at full speed, and still absolutely crush it. Either way—you’ll be shooting with more intention. And that’s a win.
Slow down. You might be surprised by what you get.
Thanks for stopping by. If you enjoyed the photos here, be sure to check out my print shop.
Until next time—Happy Shooting!
