Photography, Composition, and Flow—Finding Freedom in Structure

I received an email recently asking if my emphasis on composition and visual design could potentially take the fun out of photography for someone who values a more “free-flowing” and spontaneous approach.

I realized that perhaps I had given the impression that my own approach to photography was regimented and structured in this way. If that’s the case, I want to dispel that idea and also explain why I talk about composition as much as I do.

Anyone who has taken a workshop with me will tell you that when I’m out with my camera, there is nothing I want more than to have fun. For me—and my students—that’s the whole point. Fun generally leads to flow, that magical state when you lose track of time and are completely immersed in the moment.

You might think that I walk around mechanically searching for lines, shapes, textures, and patterns, but for me, it doesn’t happen that way at all.

The best comparison I can think of is practicing scales on a musical instrument, something I did when I got serious about learning to play the bass. It was mechanical and regimented—certainly not fun.

But it served a very important purpose. Eventually, it allowed me to play without thinking about the scales, in a way that looked and felt free and spontaneous. That’s very different from simply guessing and hoping for the right notes at the right time.

Similarly, relying on luck when using your camera is a sure way to take the fun out of photography because luck isn’t reliable or repeatable. Not knowing what you’re going to get is not the same as rolling the dice and hoping for the best.

The former brings your creative vision and skills to bear, while the latter is simply, well… hoping for the best. That’s not fun—that’s scrambling in the dark.

Fun isn’t about knowing exactly how things will turn out. It’s about having the confidence that your skills and your connection to the moment matter. And to me, that makes all the difference in the world. Inside, I’m just responding to what’s happening, letting my feelings dictate when I decide to press the shutter.

I remember one morning on the Hudson River, waiting for the first light to hit the shoreline, when I suddenly stepped out into a shallow area and saw these beautiful colors.

I wasn’t thinking about the rule of thirds, leading lines, or anything mechanical—I was just pulled in by the moment. But because I had trained my eye over time, I instinctively adjusted my framing to balance the elements that stood out to me.

The shapes in the scene naturally led the viewer’s eye, while the light and color added richness and depth. The composition wasn’t something I had to “figure out”—it was something I felt. That’s it. Nothing mechanical about that at all.