Post-processing is where a photograph really starts to come alive.

When you’re getting started in digital photography, it’s common to let the camera do most of the work. Shooting JPEG means the camera decides things like contrast, colour balance, and sharpening before you even see the image.

But when you’re ready to take creative control over your photos, the first step is getting off of the “auto” setting on your camera to control things like depth of field and shutter speed. The next step is to start shooting in RAW format to take control of the post-processing decisions.

At first, this can feel frustrating because RAW files often look dull, flat and generally grey. That’s normal. The camera is no longer defining things like colour saturation and contrast. Those decisions are now yours to make in post-processing.

The key is knowing how far to go.

My motto is this: Don’t use post-processing to try to fix a bad photo. Use it to bring out the best in a good photo.

There are many programs you can use to process your photos. I like to use Lightroom. But no matter which one you choose, they all have similar basic settings, like the ones mentioned in this post.

Here are some of the most common post-processing mistakes photographers make, and how to avoid them.

1. Lifting the Shadows Until the Image Looks Flat

It’s always best to get a good exposure in camera whenever possible. Starting with a well-exposed image will always produce better results than trying to fix exposure problems later.

That said, the shadows slider can be very useful for bringing out detail in darker parts of an image.

The mistake happens when shadows are lifted so much that the entire image ends up with the same brightness.

Contrast is what gives a photograph depth and drama. When shadows and highlights become too similar in brightness, the photo can start to look flat and unnatural.

Shadows don’t always need to be rescued.

2. Pushing Colours Too Far

A small boost in colour can make a photo feel vibrant and lively. That’s why the saturation and vibrance sliders are so tempting. The trouble starts when every colour in the image is pushed too far at the same time.

When colours become too intense, they stop looking believable. Greens turn radioactive. Blues become electric. Skin tones or natural elements start to look strange.

This problem can be solved in one of three ways.

1. Choose the vibrance slider instead of the saturation slider. Vibrance increases the intensity of the more muted colours in your image, while leaving already saturated colours mostly alone. This helps avoid pushing colours too far.
2. Think about which colour actually matters in your scene and adjust only that one. You can adjust individual colours using the colour mixer or the HSL panel. Saturation is the S part of HSL (which stands for Hue, Saturation, and Luminance).
3. De-saturate the less important colours. If the subject is a red flower, instead of enhancing the reds, consider desaturating other colours in the scene, such as the greens. Let one colour shine.

Selective adjustments almost always produce a more natural result.

3. Sharpening the Entire Frame

Sharpening can make details in a photograph stand out nicely. It works especially well for textures like feathers, rocks, bark, or foliage.

But sharpening doesn’t belong everywhere in the frame.

Smooth areas like skies or soft backgrounds usually look better without sharpening. Applying the adjustment globally can add grain and noise where you don’t want it.

Instead, try applying sharpening only to the parts of the photo that actually benefit from it.

In Lightroom or Camera Raw, the Masking slider in the Detail panel makes this easy. When you hold down the Option (or Alt) key while adjusting the slider, you can see exactly where sharpening will be applied in the frame. The white areas will receive sharpening, while the black areas will remain smooth.

Another method is to use the masking tool to select your main subject and apply sharpening only to the subject.

This is a great way to keep skies and soft backgrounds looking clean while enhancing the detailed areas of the image.

4. Cropping Away All the Breathing Room

The crop tool is extremely useful for improving composition. It can remove distractions along the edges of the frame or help straighten a crooked horizon.

But sometimes photographers crop so tightly that the image loses its sense of balance.

Not every photograph needs the subject to fill the frame. Leaving some space around your subject can make the composition feel more natural and give the viewer room to explore the image.

Instead of cropping aggressively, think about the relationship between your subject and the surrounding space. Often that extra space is an important part of the photograph.

Negative space also helps create a sense of atmosphere and scale.

5. Smoothing Away All the Texture

High ISO images sometimes contain visible noise, especially in darker areas of the frame. Noise reduction tools can help soften that grain. The problem happens when noise reduction is pushed too far.

Heavy smoothing removes fine detail and replaces it with blotchy textures. Grass, feathers, leaves, and other detailed surfaces can start to look like they’ve been painted with a soft brush.

Not every image needs to look perfectly smooth. A small amount of grain is often far less distracting than the plastic look created by excessive noise reduction.

Try reducing noise just enough to make it less noticeable, while still preserving the natural texture of the scene.

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Anne McKinnell Photography

The air quality in California’s Central Valley can be rough, so we always tried to get through Sacramento and Stockton as quickly as possible. But each time we passed through, I kept noticing birds in the fields, especially when the fields were flooded.

Eventually, curiosity won.

In 2024, we finally decided to stop and explore. What we discovered was a network of wildlife refuges that has since become my favourite new spot for bird photography. I’ve been back three times now and have quite a collection of photographs to share.

The Sacramento National Wildlife Refuge is the largest of the refuges in the area. It’s part of a network of protected wetlands spread across the northern Central Valley, each one supporting the birds that travel the Pacific Flyway.

Stretching across more than 10,000 acres of wetlands, grasslands, and riparian habitat, it’s a seasonal haven for hundreds of thousands of waterfowl, and a haven for birdwatchers and photographers too.

I first visited in the spring of 2024, then returned again in the fall, and once more in the spring of 2025. Each time felt different. The light changes with the seasons, the water levels rise and fall, and the species change. Every time I am impressed by the number of birds that can exist right alongside crops, roads, and towns.

Loggerhead Shrike

Snowy Egret

Most visitors experience the refuge by driving the 6-mile Auto Tour Route, a gravel road loop that winds through wetlands and seasonal pools. It’s designed to let you explore without disturbing the wildlife, which means you’re required to stay in your vehicle except at designated stops. There are a few places where you can get out and enjoy short walking trails and viewing platforms, but for much of the tour, your car becomes your blind.

And that’s part of the magic.

At Sacramento National Wildlife Refuge, your vehicle becomes your blind.

Usually, I begin with a slow drive around the loop, just taking it all in. The first pass is for noticing what’s happening and where the birds are. This is when I love to capture environmental and landscape shots. These wider frames tell the story of place. Then, after I’ve had my overview, I decide where I want to spend some time watching.

The first lap is for noticing. The second is for photographing.

Clark’s Grebe

After that first slow circuit, I shift gears.

Because you’re not allowed to get out of your vehicle along most of the route, I have to get creative. Some people use bean bags balanced on open windows, turning their car window into steady shooting platforms. It’s a great system, but in our truck, I prefer a different setup.

I climb into the back seat with my 500mm lens mounted on a monopod. From there, I can pivot and photograph out either side of the vehicle. I don’t use the window technique, I put my camera on a monopod to take the weight. The back windows in our truck are tinted, and I like having the full window to look through, not just a narrow opening, especially for bird-watching. It allows me to track movement more easily, to anticipate takeoff, and watch behaviour unfold.

And luckily, Ray drives.

There’s a teamwork to getting some of these images. He edges the truck forward or stops gently when I whisper, “Hold on.” We roll slowly enough that the birds don’t spook. Often, they’re surprisingly tolerant of vehicles, more so than people on foot, so a vehicle becomes a moving hide that lets you observe intimate moments.

It’s not just birds, either. One of my favourite images from these visits is a deer standing at a watering hole, its reflection perfectly mirrored in the still water. We’ve also seen rabbits and turtles. Each trip reveals something new.

White-faced Ibis

In the fall, the air feels electric with arrival. Flocks gather. The refuge swells with sound. In spring, there’s a different energy: courtship displays, nesting behaviour, new growth pushing up through shallow water.

This place reminds me that wild places don’t have to be remote mountain ranges or distant deserts. Sometimes they’re in the middle of the action, near a highway or a city, sustaining life on a massive scale.

Western Cormorant

Ruddy Duck

Killdeer

Northern Mockingbird

The refuge is not dramatic in the way cliffs or crashing surf can be. Its beauty is more subtle and expansive. It’s become my favourite new spot for bird photography. Not because it guarantees a particular species or a perfect shot, but because it invites you to sit, watch, and be present inside your own small metal box while the wild world carries on around you.

And somehow, that feels like a metaphor for so much else.

I was able to capture a wealth of photos at the Sacramento National Wildlife Refuge, but that wasn’t all. It is part of a larger complex of protected lands scattered across the valley. I have even more photos from the Colusa National Wildlife Refuge, and even the campground where we stayed was so full of birds, I spent a couple of days photographing there. 

There’s something beautiful about spending a few days immersed in landscapes like this, where the edges between “destination” and “everyday” begin to blur. When even the campground feels like a birding hotspot, I know I’ve found something special.

More photos from Colusa, and a glimpse into camp life, are coming soon.

Wish your photos had more impact?

If you’re ready to move beyond snapshots and start making photographs that truly stand out, my eBooks The Compelling Photograph (Books 1 & 2) will help you get there.

These eBooks will help you understand the principles of good image design, exploring the elements of design along with creative techniques and composition ideas — all explained with clear lessons and plenty of visual examples, so you can start composing with intention and impact.

Learn More

Anne McKinnell Photography

a reflection on art, AI, and whether making things still matters

The start of a new year always brings a kind of reckoning.

We look ahead with a mix of hope and unease, trying to imagine what the coming months might hold. Lately, the world feels especially loud. Politically tense. Economically uncertain. Emotionally exhausting. It’s hard to know where to place your focus when so much feels unstable, and when every headline seems designed to pull your attention in a different direction.

I’ve also noticed another worry surfacing among artists and photographers. With AI now able to generate technically perfect images in seconds, many people are asking a question that feels both practical and existential: What’s the point anymore?

On the surface, the fear is about technology and whether photography still matters when machines can create flawless images on demand. But underneath that, I think the fear is deeper. It’s the fear that the thing we care about, the thing that once helped us make sense of the world, might lose its meaning. That the act of creating might somehow become irrelevant.

I don’t see it that way.

Photography was never really about making perfect images. Not for me. It has always been a way of paying attention. It’s how I slow down enough to notice how light moves across water at dawn, or how weather reshapes a familiar landscape, or how wild places have their rhythms regardless of what’s happening in the news. 

Long before social media algorithms entered the conversation, photography gave me a way to focus on the good things the world. That hasn’t changed.

What matters most to me isn’t the photograph itself, but the experience of making it. Being outside. Slowing down enough to notice changes in light, weather, and mood. Letting the world reveal itself over time. Photography deepens that experience. It requires me to be present in a way that few other things do.

We’re not trying to rush past the world in search of snapshots to check off our list. We’re trying to create something that matters. That’s why I’ve always said I make a photograph, not take one. “Take” implies removing something. What I’m really doing is bringing something into existence that wasn’t there before.

What matters most isn’t the photograph itself, but the experience of making it.

As I step into this new year, I find myself thinking a lot about attention, not as something passive, but as a deliberate choice. There are so many things we don’t control: politics, markets, global events, technological change. We can stay informed, but we can’t fix everything, and pretending otherwise only leads to exhaustion.

Some days, I’ll be honest, I want to turn off the news forever. It often feels like it makes my life smaller rather than more informed, filling my days with anxiety and a sense of helplessness. And yet, I don’t believe disengaging entirely is the answer either. We do have a responsibility to pay attention to what’s happening in the world, if only because awareness is part of citizenship and care.

The reality, though, is that one person’s direct influence is limited. For many of us, it’s only on voting day that our impact on the larger system feels concrete. Outside of that, the question becomes more personal: How do I live in a way that reflects the world I want to see?

I keep coming back to the idea of sphere of influence. I can’t steer the course of history, but I can choose how I live within it. I believe that if more people paid attention to the rhythms of nature, cared about wildlife, lived a little more simply, and treated each other with kindness, the world would look very different. So I try to lead by example. I try to live a good life. To pay attention to the land, the weather, the light, and the creatures moving through it. To stay connected to the natural world. That feels like a form of influence that’s actually within reach.

This is also where my thoughts keep circling back to art.

I worry sometimes that people will stop making art. Not because they’ve lost the desire, but because their feeds are suddenly full of perfect, synthetic images, that were made in seconds with prompts. When everything looks flawless, it’s easy to believe that what we make, with all its imperfections, no longer matters.

I don’t believe that either.

Our art is about staying in a relationship with the real world. Human art carries traces of attention, effort, and care. It reflects time spent looking, waiting, noticing. Those things don’t disappear just because technology changes.

Our art is about staying in a relationship with the real world.

Living well, paying attention, and continuing to create may be small acts, but they matter. In their own way, they are acts of resistance. Resistance against numbness, disengagement, and the idea that perfection is more important than meaning.

This brings me back again to attention, because attention is one of the few things we truly control. What we follow. What we linger on. What we reward with our time. Our social media feeds are not neutral; they are shaped by what we choose to look at and engage with. In that sense, attention is a kind of daily vote.

If we want a world with more care, more beauty, and more humanity, then we have to choose to look at human things. We have to support real people making real work. We have to follow artists, writers, photographers, and thinkers who help us stay connected to what matters, rather than what is sensationalized to create a reaction.

Focusing on beauty during difficult times isn’t denial. For me, it’s orientation. It’s a way of remembering what we’re trying to protect in the first place. Nature is still here. Seasons are still turning. Birds still migrate. Light still finds its way through clouds. These things don’t fix everything, but they remind me that not everything is broken.

Photography remains the tool I use to focus on the good things in the world. Not to produce perfection, but to practice attention. Making art, for me, is less about the result and more about the way it teaches me how to be in the world.

Making art teaches me how to be in the world.

If you’ve been wondering whether it’s still worth making art, I hope you keep going. Do it for yourself, for the experience. And share it, so that real images of the real world don’t disappear into the noise.

Making real art based on real experiences feels like a small thing, but it’s the part I can do. And it may be more important than ever.

Anne McKinnell Photography

I went into it with pretty realistic expectations, but I was honestly impressed. For a one-click tool, it did a remarkable job.

Here’s the full video where I walk through the setup, show the before-and-afters, and compare Luminar’s new AI Photo Restoration with Photoshop’s restoration tools.

How I Digitized the Photos

These prints are fragile, faded, and in various stages of falling apart. I’ve scanned negatives before, and while scanning works, it’s incredibly time-consuming. And honestly, the original image quality on these old prints is so low that scanning at ultra-high resolution doesn’t actually give you anything extra.

So instead, I photographed everything using a simple overhead setup:

• My Sony A6000 on a tripod with a Neweer Boom Arm
• Neweer Video Lighting Kit
• A remote shutter release so I wasn’t touching the camera
• Sony Imaging Edge to tether the camera
• A Lightroom watch folder so every photo imported automatically

My brother helped too. He’d place each print on the table, hit the shutter, and pass it along to me so I could add keywords and notes. It made the whole process much faster and a lot more enjoyable.

Luminar vs Photoshop: How the Restorations Compared

Once all the digitizing was done, I tried restoring the images in both Luminar and Photoshop and the differences were interesting.

Luminar AI Photo Restoration (2025 Update)

Luminar really surprised me. On many of the photos, the results were honestly astounding. It cleaned up scratches, fading, dust, and damage with a single click, and the overall impact of the restoration was much stronger than what I got out of Photoshop.

That said, there were a couple of drawbacks:

• Faces – sometimes Luminar handled them beautifully, but other times it created strange expressions and wonky eyes that weren’t in the original photo.
• The exported images come out at a lower resolution than the files I brought in, which is something to keep in mind if you need maximum detail.

Even with those quirks, the speed and quality were impressive. Keep in mind that this is a brand new tool from Luminar and I expect that in the future the tool will get even better.

Photoshop Photo Restoration Neural Filter

Photoshop produced more natural-looking faces, and I appreciated having sliders so I could fine-tune the results. It also kept the files at their original resolution.

But Photoshop had its own limitations:

• The results weren’t as sharp or dramatic as Luminar’s.
• There’s no colourizing option in the Neural Filter.
• The overall effect, while clean, didn’t quite have the same “wow” factor.

Bottom Line

Luminar delivered the most striking restorations overall – sometimes perfect, sometimes not. Photoshop was more consistent and controlled, especially with faces, but lacked the punch that Luminar created so easily.

Try Luminar

If you’re interested in trying Luminar’s photo restoration tool, pick up the free trial here. It’s a great tool that I use it all the time for other effects like Glow, Mystical, and the new Light Depth tool.

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Final Thoughts

This project felt like such a gift – not just to preserve some old family history, but also to see what’s possible with the new restoration tools we have today. Luminar made the process incredibly fast, and Photoshop added refinement when I needed it.

If you have a stack of old family photos sitting in a shoebox somewhere, now might be the perfect time to bring them back to life.

Anne McKinnell Photography

You’ve made this photo before.

Maybe not exactly, but close enough. The same composition, the same light. Sometimes it starts to feel like you’re just going through the motions.

If you’re feeling stuck with your photography right now, I get it. I’ve been there too.

These are the times I like to give myself a small assignment, a constraint or a little rule to follow, and I see where it leads. These are exercises I return to again and again. They don’t require travel, or fancy gear, or perfect light. Just a willingness to experiment and look a little closer.

The next time you’re feeling stuck, pick one of these, and let it take you somewhere unexpected.

1. One Lens, One Walk

This is one of the easiest ways to reset your eye. Take one lens and go for a walk. Leave the rest of your gear behind.

We have a tendency to get into habits and reach for the same lens all the time. Instead, pick the lens in your bag that you use the least and go exploring with it.

The constraint is what makes this powerful. Suddenly, you stop trying to photograph everything and start asking, “What can I do with this?” You’re forced to work within limits, which – oddly – opens things up. You stop switching lenses all the time and find out what you can do with the one lens you have.

And that’s the point.

A wide lens forces you to step into the scene – to get close to something and fill the frame with intimacy or scale. A telephoto compresses everything, flattens the space, and makes you look further out instead of closer in. A prime keeps you honest and forces you to move your feet to get the composition you want instead of using a zoom.

Every lens comes with its own way of seeing. Its own challenges and gifts.

Instead of chasing the perfect shot, you’re learning how to make something within a constraint.

And that shift, from control to cooperation, is where things often open up.

2. One Subject, Ten Frames

Find one subject in the landscape that draws you in. A tree. A tide pool. A boulder. It doesn’t have to be dramatic, just something that holds your attention.

Then, photograph it ten different ways. This time you can use all the lenses in your bag.

At first, it might feel obvious. You’ll shoot it the way you always do. But then you’ll run out of ideas, and that’s where it gets interesting.

Step closer. Shoot through something. Blur it. Crop it oddly. Change your angle. Make it abstract. Let go of the idea that each frame has to be beautiful. Instead, treat it like sketching: rough, exploratory, and a little messy.

This is one of my favorite ways to push past the surface of a subject. You don’t get to know something by glancing at it once. You get to know it by circling it slowly, from all sides.

3. Follow a Colour

Pick a color and go on a photo walk searching for only that colour. This can be a little more difficult if you are out in the wilderness, but works great if you are in a city.

It’s like the red car effect. As soon as you start looking for them, they’re everywhere.

This kind of exercise slows you down because you’re not chasing a shot – you’re following a thread. It turns a walk into a search, and that search pulls you deeper into noticing.

And at the end of the day, put your photos together in a collage, just to see what your eyes found.

It’s a simple and fun way to reconnect with curiosity.

4. Photograph Only Reflections

Some days, the obvious views feel like they’ve gone quiet. The mountain is still there. The light is fine. But it all just feels… flat.

This is when I start looking for the landscape turned inside out.

Reflections are an easy way to make the familiar feel strange again. Shoot puddles, wet rock, glassy lakes, or even ice. Notice what disappears when the image is doubled. What gets distorted. What shows up behind you, without meaning to.

You can shoot reflections clean and crisp, or abstract and blurred. You can play with angles until the reflection becomes more interesting than the subject itself.

There’s something disorienting about it in the best way. It reminds you that photography is never just about what’s there. It’s about what you choose to show.

5. Collect Textures

Sometimes the wide view is too much. The weather’s wrong, the light’s too harsh, or you’re just not feeling the scale of it all.

That’s when I zoom way in.

Start looking for texture instead of subject. The cracked skin of a dry riverbed. The grain in weathered wood. Frost clinging to pine needles. Smooth stones. Rough bark. Patches of moss.

Photograph them as plainly or as abstractly as you like. There’s no “scene” to capture here, just surfaces, patterns, and the tactile memory of where you’ve been.

This is where you really start noticing the details you might have walked right past before.

6. Make a Diptych

This one is about pairing. Try to represent a place in only two photos.

They might come from the same scene—a wide shot and a close-up. A shadow and the object casting it. A bold shape and the space around it. Or they might come from totally different places, but feel like they belong.

You’re not just pairing photos here. You’re making a relationship. A conversation between images. Side by side, they carry a rhythm. A call and response.

Diptychs are a quiet practice. They ask you to slow down, to see not just in isolation but in connection.

Try printing a few and laying them out on a table. Or place them together on a screen. The right pairings will hum a little. Like they’ve been waiting for each other.

7. Tell a Short Story (Photo Essay)

This is where you step back and think in sequence.

Pick a mood or moment in the landscape like a fog rolling in, sunlight moving through the trees, or the tide receding on a rocky beach. Or simply pick a location.

Then, photograph it like a short story. Take three to ten images that together say something you couldn’t say with just one.

Start wide. Then get closer. Then maybe something abstract. Look for a beginning, a middle, and an end.

Don’t force a grand narrative. Sometimes the story is just: this is what the light did, before it went.

There’s a real satisfaction in laying those images out and watching the story emerge – not in words, but in shape and tone.

8. Look for One Element of Design

Choose one design element – like line, symmetry , or frame in frame – and go hunting for it in the landscape. Let that element shape how you frame things.

This is a great way to train your eye and build composition skills without overthinking it.

This exercise is especially helpful when you feel like your images are getting too comfortable, too similar. It adds just enough structure to knock you out of your usual habits.

If you want a deeper dive into this, I wrote a full tutorial on using the elements of design elements in landscape photography.

One Last Thing

None of these exercises are about getting the shot. They’re about showing up with curiosity, paying attention, and letting the land reintroduce itself.

If you try one of these and it doesn’t spark anything, try another. Or repeat the same one tomorrow. The point is not to perform, or impress, or produce. The point is to remember that you are a person who sees.

Sometimes, all you need is a reason to look differently.

Wish your photos had more impact?

If you’re ready to move beyond snapshots and start making photographs that truly stand out, my eBooks The Compelling Photograph (Books 1 & 2) will help you get there.

These eBooks will help you understand the principles of good image design, exploring the elements of design along with creative techniques and composition ideas — all explained with clear lessons and plenty of visual examples, so you can start composing with intention and impact.

Learn More

Anne McKinnell Photography

I remember standing in front of Kilchurn Castle in Scotland for the first time. The sky was alive with clouds, the light was dancing on the hills, the waters of Loch Awe sparkled in the foreground. So many beautiful things happening at once, and yet… when I lifted my camera, something felt off. My eyes saw magic, but my photo didn’t.

This is the constant challenge as photographers: figuring out how to create compositions that convey the feeling of a place. Making an image isn’t about capturing everything in front of you. It’s about deciding what is important and finding the details, shapes, or structures that will bring order and impact to the scene. Sometimes that means leaving things out. Other times it means noticing what you can include to give the image strength. It’s about choosing what belongs in the frame with intention.

Making an image isn’t about capturing everything – it’s about choosing what belongs.

The world is full of visual clues to guide your photographer’s eye if you slow down enough to notice them. Clues about how to arrange your frame, guide a viewer’s eye, and turn a snapshot into fine art. These clues are the elements of design, the building blocks of composition, and once you start looking for them, you’ll see them everywhere.

Let me walk you through a few of the ones I return to again and again.

Lines

Lines are like invisible arrows. They tell the viewer where to look and guide how the eye travels through an image. A powerful element of graphic design, different kinds of lines have very different effects.

You’ll find horizontal lines almost everywhere: like stairs, fences, piers, even lines in the sand. They carry a sense of calm, the way a still landscape makes you exhale.

Vertical lines, on the other hand, feel different. They rise up with a kind of strength. Think of skyscrapers pushing into the sky, or tall trees standing like pillars in a forest. Even a waterfall plunging straight down can give that same impression of power and grandeur.

Diagonal lines, unlike the steadiness of horizontal or vertical lines, a diagonal adds energy and movement. It’s the kind of visual force that makes an image come alive.

And then there are curves that lead the eye through the frame in c-curves, s-curves, circles, spirals or arches. They are very pleasing to the eye like a river winding its way home.

Sometimes you’ll even find leading lines that point the way to your subject.

Colour

If lines guide the eye, colour stirs the heart. It sets the tone, mood, and feeling of a photograph.

Think about how calming a sea of blues feels, or how a splash of orange instantly demands attention. Some of the strongest images come from pairing opposites. Try looking for complementary colours: the cool quiet of blue with the fiery heat of orange, the play between purple and yellow, or red and green. These combinations make the image hum.

When you’re out with your camera, try noticing not just what you’re photographing, but what colours are speaking the loudest.

Complementary colours, like blue and orange or red and green, create instant impact.

Patterns

Our brains love rhythm. Just as music feels satisfying when it repeats, our eyes are drawn to repeating shapes, colours, and textures. A row of windows, a line of trees, even the texture of cracked mud – all of them create visual rhythm.

Filling the frame with a pattern transforms ordinary subjects into something mesmerizing. It’s order carved out of chaos.

Symmetry

Photographers are often told to avoid putting their subject in the middle of the frame, to keep things dynamic and slightly off balance. And yet, symmetry has always carried a timeless appeal. When it’s done well, it can be breathtaking. The kind of composition that feels instantly harmonious and meditative.

In a symmetrical image, the subject usually sits right at center stage. The viewer’s eye naturally circles around the frame, returning again and again to the balance you’ve created. It’s calm, orderly, and feels deeply satisfying.

But here’s the challenge: symmetry only works when it’s exact. A photo that’s almost symmetrical tends to feel off, even dull. But when every detail lines up from corner to corner, background included, it can leave the viewer in awe.

That means photographing symmetry takes more care than you might think. It requires slowing down, really studying the scene, and being ruthless about what belongs in the frame and what doesn’t. Often it’s the tiny details, like the amount of space you leave on either edge of a doorway, that can make or break the effect. Careful use of the crop tool in post processing will help make it perfect.

The reward is worth it. Perfect symmetry has a way of transforming an ordinary subject into something quietly extraordinary.

Frame in Frame

Every photograph already begins with one frame: the edges of your image. Adding a second frame inside that boundary can transform your composition completely. 

It’s a way of guiding the viewer’s eye deeper into the image by placing your subject inside another frame such as a doorway, an arch, a window, even the branches of a tree. It adds layers, draws the viewer in, and makes the photo feel dimensional.

Of course, not every scene offers this kind of opportunity. But the more you practice looking for them, the more often you’ll start to notice potential frames hiding in plain sight. A gazebo framing a garden, the opening between two rocks revealing the ocean, even a background that frames something in the foreground.

Adding this extra boundary can be a simple but powerful way to make your subject stand out and to draw your viewer deeper into the image.

This is one of my favourite techniques and it turned out to be the answer for my scene at the Kilchurn Castle. From where I stood, there was a random tree off to the side. I had been tempted to walk in front of it, to get it out of my way, until I realized from a slightly different angle, it would frame my beautiful castle.

Bringing It All Together

The next time you’re out with your camera, instead of rushing to snap the obvious shot, pause. Take a breath. Look for one of these design elements: a line, a colour contrast, a repeating pattern. Play with it. Let it guide your composition.

Because in the end, photography isn’t about capturing everything in front of you. It’s about noticing what matters, and arranging your frame so the viewer notices it too.

Once you start looking for design elements, you’ll see them everywhere.

That moment at Kilchurn Castle taught me this: the world will always feel chaotic at first glance. But when you learn to seek out the elements of design, you will find the hidden order in the chaos, and in that order, the impact you were looking for all along.

I recommend giving yourself an assignment: go out with your camera with the goal of finding just one of these elements of design. Don’t try to remember them all. Once you’ve done an outing for each of these, noticing them will start to feel like second nature.

And this is really just the beginning. There are more elements of design than the few I’ve shared here, each one another way of bringing intention and impact to your photographs. If you’d like to explore them further, I’ve gathered more lessons and examples in my ebooks, The Compelling Photograph Books 1 and 2.

Wish your photos had more impact?

If you’re ready to move beyond snapshots and start making photographs that truly stand out, my eBooks The Compelling Photograph (Books 1 & 2) will help you get there.

These eBooks will help you understand the principles of good image design, exploring the elements of design along with creative techniques and composition ideas — all explained with clear lessons and plenty of visual examples, so you can start composing with intention and impact.

Learn More

Anne McKinnell Photography

This time, while anchored in Blind Channel hoping to photograph a bear that never appeared, I was surprised by something I had never seen before. It came up right beside the boat: a fried egg jelly, pulsing slowly beneath the surface like a glowing yolk adrift in the green water.

Having explored the waters off Vancouver Island for decades, it’s rare to spot a creature I’ve never encountered. That’s what makes coastal wandering endlessly rewarding – there’s always something waiting to surprise you. 

Did you know they’re not called jellyfish anymore? Now it’s just “jellies” or “sea jellies” since they are not fish at all, but invertebrates. I don’t think it’s an official change, just one of those terms being quietly phased out in favour of something better. Like how “skunk cabbage” has become “swamp lantern.” So much better!

A shift in words that changes the way you see – much like a shift in expectations can change the way you experience a place.

Topside shots wouldn’t do this unusual creature justice, so I grabbed my underwater camera, hopped in the dinghy, and gave it a try.

This one was a big one! About two feet across, with tentacles stretching fifteen feet. It moved like a slow heartbeat through the water, unhurried and unconcerned.

There’s a lesson in that about slowing down, being present, and letting things unfold instead of chasing them.

My little action cam is perfect for this kind of work. I attach it to a pole, set it to timelapse mode (a photo every five seconds), and sweep it through the water. I can’t see the screen from that angle, so I never know what I’ve caught until later. That uncertainty used to frustrate me, but now it feels like part of the gift.

Photography, like life, is full of missed shots and false starts, but if you’re willing to surrender the outcome, sometimes you’re rewarded with something better than you imagined. We can’t control everything. Sometimes the best images, and the best days, come from letting go of control.

Downloading the photos later always feels like opening a present. Some frames are messy, some are nothing at all, and every so often one stops me in my tracks.

Processing the photos, on the other hand … that’s another story. Underwater there’s so much debris and speckling that can be distracting and make an image look murky. Cleaning up these imperfections is tedious, but with a little patience, a work of art emerges.

I have some tricks to make the process of cleaning up underwater images faster. If you’re curious, I’ve shared them in a tutorial: Underwater Photography For Everyone: No Fancy Gear Needed! At the end, there’s a post-processing video demonstration showing how I speed up my workflow.

One day I’ll get myself a drysuit so I can sink below the surface and meet these creatures on their own terms. Until then, this little camera-on-a-pole keeps me leaning toward the unknown, searching for what waits just out of sight.

Photography isn’t just about making pictures. It’s about paying attention to the present moment. Sometimes the thing you came looking for never appears. But if you stay open, the unexpected has a way of carrying more wonder than anything you were chasing.

Next time you’re out with your camera, or even just walking without one, notice what stops you. What takes your breath away when you weren’t expecting it. That’s where the best photographs begin. Not in the gear, but in the awe.

Anne McKinnell Photography

The drone didn’t always get to fly. Weather, timing, and the thick moods of the coast often had their own plans. But when it did, it caught something of the stillness I felt at water level.

These are the coves, bays, and inlets where we dropped anchor and stayed long enough to breathe. Some we had to ourselves. Others offered surprise visits from dolphins, curious seals, or or fellow boaters – people who pulled alongside to share a story, a weather update, or a happy hour on board.

Below the video, you’ll find links to the blog posts that go into more detail about each of our stops, including those that didn’t make the video.

A little flight over a big adventure.

Click here to watch on YouTube

Posts from our 2024 trip to the Broughton Archipelago:

Anchors Aweigh: Our First Full Season Living Aboard Vestri

Orca, Sea Stars, and Windswept Days at Von Donop Inlet

Octopus Islands Marine Park: Where Wildlife Meets Wild Art

North to Forward Harbour: Dolphins, Bears, and a Heartbreaking Sight

An Unexpected Test and Triumph in Port Harvey

Bears, Birds, and the Blow Hole: Exploring Potts Lagoon

A Rare Wolf Encounter in the Village Islands

A Near Miss at Stubbs Island & Discovering Madrona Anchorage

Dwarfed by the Wild: Exploring the Sheer Majesty of Kwatsi Bay

Emerald Waters and Wild Things in Simoom Sound

Echoes of the Past at Billy Proctor’s Museum

The Sea Otters Are Back and So Is the Kelp: A Surprise off Port McNeill

Blackfish Sound: Where the Whales Have Always Been

Dusky Cove: Sleep Lost and Beauty Gained

Seeking Shelter at Lady Boot Cove

Anne McKinnell Photography

August 17, 2024

I wish I had a lovely little GPS breadcrumb trail for you like in my other posts, but I accidentally left my Navionics chart app running for over a day (classic move). The track became so dense with data points it was too big to import into my special google map for the trip. Bummer. 

Instead, here’s a map showing where Lady Boot Cove and Eden Pool sit on Eden Island – two favourite anchorages next door to each other.

The Ride In: A Wildlife Parade

Even with the storm brewing, the Broughtons were in full performance mode on the way in. Gulls, surf scoters, and other seabirds swirled around schools of tiny fish. It was an airborne feeding frenzy.

Up in the trees, bald eagles watched the show with a casual detachment that only comes from being full to the beak.

I imagined them sighing: “I couldn’t eat another fish”

We passed Health Lagoon, a place where a thriving Indigenous village once stood. Now, only fragments remain: weathered pilings, a sunken boat, the echo of a shoreline that once bustled with life.

Eden Pool: A Favourite Anchorage

Earlier in the trip, we had anchored in Eden Pool, and it immediately became a favourite. The water was mirror-still and the view, layered islets veiled in fog, was pure dreamscape. It’s the kind of place that lingers in your mind long after you’ve left.

The Calm Before

On our second visit, we chose the “bomb-proof” anchorage just around the bend in Lady Boot Cove and settled back into that same stillness, this time on the edge of a coming storm.

It was eerily calm, the kind of hush that makes you question your weather app. I took the opportunity to send the drone up and was rewarded with some breathtaking aerial shots. I so wish I could have flown it high enough to capture the actual boot shape of the cove, but that would mean a bigger drone, a proper licence, and a whole lot more paperwork. Maybe one day.

The morning light, the silence, and the glassy water, made it all feel suspended in time. Then, right on schedule, the wind picked up, the rain arrived, and we battened down, grateful for the protection the cove offered.

After the Storm

Once the squall moved on, it left behind the thing I love most about this part of the coast: mist. Everything softened again as fog clung to the treetops and drifted low over the water.

Enjoy my drone video from Lady Boot Cove. I think it captures the magic of the stillness before and after the storm.

And for some behind-the-scenes and Ray’s always-fun take on things, check out his video below:

This post marks the tail end of our journey through the Broughton Archipelago in 2024. Next up, I’ll be sharing a compilation of drone footage from all the anchorages we visited. A little visual love letter to this incredible stretch of the British Columbia coast.

From here, we begin heading south, retracing our steps and revisiting a few familiar places I’ve written about before.

But the adventure’s not over. It’s never over.

In the underwater stillness of Blind Channel, I spotted a creature I didn’t recognize. One new to me, and maybe to you too.

It reminded me how much there still is to discover, even in places we think we know.

We’ve already begun the 2025 boating season, and there are plenty of this year’s stories still to come – not to mention everything that happened over the winter!

Anne McKinnell Photography

It also came with a little gamble.

August 13, 2024

Dusky Cove lies on the exposed western coast of Bonwick Island, and while it offered unbeatable access to open water, it’s not what you’d call a cozy anchorage. It’s wide open to the elements, and you feel that exposure immediately. Still, the forecast was calm, and we were lured in by the promise of easy access to the waters we had come to love.

The first two nights reminded us that the weather doesn’t always read the forecast.

Huge rollers came in from the west, and because of the way the current pulled the boat, we were taking them broadside. Vestri was being tossed from the beam like some kind of top-heavy bathtub toy, and we both nearly rolled out of bed more than once. Sleeping was… theoretical.

But daytime made up for it.

We took the dinghy out and paddled quietly into the back of the cove, and there, lumbering along the shoreline, was a black bear with three cubs in tow. They paid us no mind, which is one of the joys of watching wildlife from the water. We stayed quiet and let the moment stretch.

Cormorants crowded the nearby rocks, while oyster catchers flashed their bright orange beaks and let out sharp cries as they skimmed past.

An osprey perched high in a massive cedar caught my eye. It was too hidden for a photograph so I waited until it finally leapt into flight and soared overhead. It was the first time I’ve had the opportunity to photograph one in BC.

I even found a species of bird I’d never seen before: surfbirds. Perfectly camouflaged, they blended so seamlessly into the rocks that I only noticed them when they started to scurry around. It took some patience, but eventually a few stepped into the light.

By the third night, we’d studied the way the current ran through the cove and found a new, more protected, anchoring spot in a little pocket of calm just off to the side. That made all the difference. The boat settled down. So did we.

On the last evening in the little cove we were rewarded with the best sunset of the entire trip. Dusky Cove opens wide to the west, and as the light melted into the sea, we sat up on deck, finally still, watching the sky catch fire.

Next Stop: Lady Boot Cove

Anne McKinnell Photography