Living in a Box
labels, expectation, and the art of noticing
27th January 2026
Hello,
I’ve been thinking a lot about labels lately. Not the ones stitched into the inside of coats or printed on tins in a supermarket. The other kind — the ones people put on you. The neat little boxes we’re meant to live inside. The shorthand for what we are, or rather, what they think we are.
For years I’ve taken landscape photographs. Hills, coasts, long views, storms rolling over fells, fog that moves like it’s alive. And woodland too — those quiet mazes of trunks and moss and filtered light, the places you can stand in silence and watch the air change colour. It’s where I’m happiest and probably where most people have filed me away. “Landscape and woodland photographer.” Simple. Contained. Box ticked.
But late last year I picked up another camera, smaller and lighter. Something that slips into a coat pocket and goes everywhere with me. It’s become my EDC — everyday carry — and with it came a shift I didn’t really expect. Suddenly the photographs I was making weren’t the grand scenes I used to chase. They were small moments, tiny details, odd corners of streets, gutter reflections, a ripped poster, a pigeon on a roof, someone’s window lit at dusk. Most people would probably call it “urban” or “street.” I call it everyday life photography.
It’s funny how changing something as simple as your tool can change how you see. Or maybe it doesn’t change anything at all — maybe it just shows you what you were ignoring.
And then there’s the question of what happens when you dare to show it. Post a picture online that doesn’t fit your usual “box.” Does it do well? Does it crash? Does it make people scroll past because it wasn’t the woodland or the long exposure they expected? Social media has made audiences impatient. They want familiarity — the thing they know you for. Anything outside that can feel like disruption, or worse, disappointment.
So you end up asking yourself: should photographers label themselves at all? Landscape. Street. Urban. Documentary. Fine art. Why do we need the categories? Are they helpful, or just a way to keep us predictable?
It’s easy to say a label doesn’t matter — until you realise how much of the photography world trades on them. Camera brands want ambassadors with niches. Social media wants clarity for the algorithm. Magazines like tidy genres. People like to know what they’re about to get. But isn’t the whole point of photography to look, and then look again? To see, not to comply?
The longer I do this, the more I think the label is a prison as much as it’s an introduction. Maybe the better title is simply “photographer.” No box attached. No explanation needed.
Because the truth is, all photographs are about life. Sometimes life looks like mountains and dramatic skies. Sometimes it’s woodland in autumn when everything is copper and wet. Sometimes it’s a crisp packet in a puddle with a perfect reflection. Sometimes it’s somewhere in between. Why should we pretend only one kind counts?
Maybe social media doesn’t reward curiosity anymore. Maybe audiences don’t want to be challenged. Or maybe we underestimate them. Maybe what we really need is to stop waiting for permission to be more than one thing.
I’m not sure what box I’m meant to live in now. Landscape? Documentary? Urban? Everyday life? Maybe all of them. Maybe none. Maybe boxes are for packing away gear, not people.
So watch the edges, not the centre — it’s usually where the interesting things happen.
Boxes are for objects, not observers.
Boxes are for objects, not observers.
Joy.