Photography as a Way of Noticing

A car sits on the steep incline of a quiet street in the Balat neighborhood of Istanbul, Turkey, March, 2025

I didn’t start taking photos to be a photographer. I just wanted to see more clearly.

I think I was afraid of missing things. Not the big moments — those are hard to miss — but the small ones. The way a doorway frames a stranger. The way light filters through leaves at the end of the day. The kind of moments that slip past unless you’re paying attention.

The camera helped me pay attention.

At first, it was just something to bring along. A reason to look up, to wander a little farther, to stop and stay a little longer than I otherwise would. But it didn’t take long before I noticed something else: I wasn’t just taking pictures. I was changing the way I moved through the world.

With a camera in my hand, I walked slower. I watched more. I didn’t always know what I was looking for — and that was the point. I was open. Awake.

That shift didn’t just affect my photography. It affected everything.
I started finding meaning in quieter places. I started finding stories in things I used to walk right past.

Now, even when I’m not shooting, I still notice. I still catch the rhythm of a clothesline in the breeze, or the way a man sits alone with his coffee, lost in his own silence. I don’t always take the photo. But I always see it.

That’s the gift photography gave me. Not a gallery. Not a career.
Just the chance to be present, to witness small truths, to practice staying open.

And maybe that’s enough.