When I first began photography, my main art form was digital art and compositing, and I was shooting purely to create a library of my own stock images. Over time, and with inspiration, study and experience, my love for photography as a medium grew, and I exchanged my highly photoshopped aesthetic for a (somewhat) more traditional photographic approach. One thing that has not changed is my practice of cataloguing and storing my images for future reference.
We often think of creating work only in terms of shooting new images, but there is actually so much to be drawn from revisiting the archives and seeing old photos in a new light. On days when I feel the pull of creativity but don’t have the opportunity to get out and shoot or when I’m looking for new inspiration, I will very often start by opening Lightroom and sifting through previous shoots.
Digital photography in particular has made it easy to capture larger volumes of images. My practice tends to be quite intuitive, shooting, adjusting and shooting some more and evolving as it progresses, which often means I finish up with a wide selection of photos to work with. Beyond deleting the obvious rejects, I have a tendency to hold onto almost everything, because I like knowing I can come back to it.
Time Changes the Way We See
When I first look over images from a shoot, there is usually one clear direction that speaks to me. Sometimes I go into a shoot with a feeling or concept in mind, other times it develops itself, but once I find that narrative, I tend to focus on it, choosing the images that best express what I am feeling. Images that, at the time, feel less strong or don’t fit the idea get put aside. But when I revisit them months or even years later, without a particular intention attached, I often see things I missed.
Time away also gives space to come back with a less critical eye. Shots I had previously rejected due to a perceived flaw or lack of quality, I can now appreciate in their imperfections. This can be especially relevant when shooting self-portraits when I can be more gentle and accepting of myself and my appearance – something that is an ongoing practice, even after almost a decade of self-portraiture and a strong belief that I am shooting for expression and honesty, not perfection.
Shifting Focus
As artists, we are always evolving, in approach, style and expression. Sometimes there are images that I connect to, but that don’t match where my mood is currently at. Coming back to these images at a later time allows me to see them from a different viewpoint.
Recently, I created the diptych below from two images taken on a trip last year. At the time, I was looking for softness in my work, focusing on a low contrast, gentle moodiness. These images, shot in harsh light with strong contrast, didn’t feel right then. Now, several months later, I appreciate the boldness, sharpness and intensity. These are strong images; they just weren’t what I was looking for when I first edited them.
Pulling Together New Pieces
Some images that stood out to me, even when I first made them, ultimately got rejected because they didn’t fit. They didn’t align with the mood of a series or disrupted the visual rhythm of a curated set. I tend to think in collections, in sequences that build a narrative or emotional thread, so single images, even ones I love, often fall to the side if they don’t serve the broader arc.
But over time, some of those “orphans” begin to find each other. I keep a specific folder of images I know I want to return to. Now and then, a pairing emerges – two frames taken at different times that speak the same language. I particularly love creating diptychs this way, searching for images that connect, either visually or thematically (or both). I also have ongoing bodies of work that I revisit and add to as new images find their place.
Editing as a Return
Sometimes the change isn’t in the image itself but in how I approach it. I re-edit photos that once felt flat or boring, using a different approach or allowing for more texture or contrast. What felt off before starts to feel more honest, giving each image its own voice.
I used to be very intentional in trying to create a cohesive style across my portfolio and would discard images if I couldn’t make them fit my preconceived idea of how my work should look. I understand now that my style becomes mine when it is true – if I shoot what I am drawn to and edit through genuine exploration then it fits, even if that means letting go a little. When I look over my work now, I can still see all the through lines that pull it together, even when there is more variation in style, subject matter or technique. Social media in particular has influenced us to think that we have to find a niche and stick to it, but humans are deeper and more nuanced than that and our art should be too.
The Practice of Looking Again
There’s value in circling back. Creative work doesn’t always resolve itself in the moment, and that’s okay. Sometimes the strongest perspective isn’t the most immediate. Returning to old work can reveal ideas that weren’t clear before, or give a second chance to something that didn’t quite land the first time around.
Sometimes looking back also serves as a reminder that creativity isn’t always about moving forward at full speed. In a world that pushes us to produce, to publish, to keep moving, there’s something quietly radical about giving something time to evolve. Opening up those old folders can become a creative practice in its own right.
Some of my favourite images have come from revisiting old photos. The distance gives me space to see more clearly, to notice the parts I’d once overlooked, or to find new meaning in the work.