There was a moment while making my latest YouTube video when I realised something.
The video wasn’t really about printing photographs.
It was about slowing down.
For years, I was like many photographers. I’d head to the zoo, spend a wonderful day photographing wildlife, carefully edit my favourite images in Lightroom, share a few online, and then move on to the next outing.
The photographs became files.
Beautiful files, perhaps.
But still just files.
It wasn’t until I began printing them that my relationship with my own photography changed.
Holding a photograph in your hands is a surprisingly different experience from viewing it on a screen. The image suddenly occupies space. It has weight. It becomes something you can leave on a desk, place on a shelf, or return to months later.
It becomes part of your everyday life.
That was the idea behind my latest YouTube video.
But there was another story unfolding quietly behind the scenes.
Learning to make films, one afternoon at a time
One of the biggest changes I’ve made over the past few months has been giving myself permission to stop treating YouTube like an event.
Instead of trying to film everything in one exhausting weekend, I began slowly collecting moments.
One afternoon, I filmed my Canon Selphy printer slowly producing a photograph, layer by layer.
Another evening, I recorded myself spreading a collection of freshly printed wildlife photographs across my desk.
Another day, I filmed an old photo album coming off a shelf.
A coffee mug being placed beside a pile of prints.
A hand lingering over a favourite image.
None of these clips took very long.
But together, they slowly became a film.
It reminded me of photography itself.
Great photographs are rarely rushed.
Perhaps films don’t have to be either.
The unexpected lesson
If I’m honest, I don’t think the biggest lesson from this project was about printing photographs.
It was about finding my own voice.
When I watched the finished video for the first time, I noticed the little imperfections immediately.
A tiny pop in the audio.
A transition I’d probably edit differently next time.
Small technical things that every creator notices in their own work.
Then, after a minute or so…
I stopped being the editor.
I simply watched.
And somewhere during those four minutes, I realised something.
This felt like me.
Quiet.
Unhurried.
Reflective.
Not trying to compete with the loudest voices on YouTube.
Just telling a story in the way that feels most natural to me.
That was an unexpectedly emotional realisation.
The first response
Not long after the video was published, someone left a comment saying it had inspired them to print some of their own wildlife photographs.
Reading those words made me stop.
As photographers, we often wonder whether our work matters.
Whether anyone really connects with what we’re trying to say.
That single comment answered the question better than any view count ever could.
If one person finishes the video and decides to pull a favourite photograph off a hard drive and turn it into something they can hold…
Then I think the video has already done exactly what I hoped it would do.
A quiet beginning
I don’t know where this YouTube journey will eventually lead.
Perhaps these videos will reach hundreds of people.
Perhaps they’ll reach thousands.
Or perhaps they’ll become a collection of thoughtful films that a small group of people return to whenever they want to slow down for a little while.
I’d honestly be happy with any of those outcomes.
Because somewhere along the way I realised I wasn’t trying to become “a YouTuber.”
I was simply trying to create work that feels honest.
And I think that’s a far more interesting journey.
If you haven’t seen the video yet, you can watch it here:
And if you’re a photographer…
I’d love to ask you a question.
When was the last time you printed one of your favourite photographs?