I first learned the basics of photography on a Nikon camera that I used to borrow excessively from my then-boyfriend, now husband. Like most beginners, I stayed firmly in the auto setting at the beginning. It was often frustrating because my photos rarely turned out how I wanted them to, so I would take about a hundred photos to get one that was close to what I wanted. At some point, I realized that if I learned the technical aspects of photography, I would be able to get closer to my ideal image without relying on early spray-and-pray techniques. Without any real photography guidance, I decided that reading the manual would be the best place to start. I was 18 or 19 at the time, so my problem-solving skills were better suited to calculus than to life. Reading the manual helped me learn how to access every function on the camera, but it didn’t help me understand the basics of photography.
Here is everything I wish someone had explained to me when I was starting, especially about aperture, shutter speed, and ISO.
Understanding Aperture
Aperture controls how much light is let into the lens and directly affects the depth of the field. Photos with a soft, blurry background—known as bokeh—generally have a low aperture, such as f/5.6 or below. Most of my early confusion about aperture came from the language photographers use to describe it. Since aperture refers to how much light is entering the lens, photographers often say they’re shooting “wide open,” which means they’re using a low aperture or f-stop like f/1.4. I find it easiest to talk about aperture in terms of f-stops since it’s more precise and avoids confusion. Describing it as “wide open” or “really high” can be misleading. I used to nod along, pretending to understand, even though I didn’t. In hindsight, that was a silly concern—of course, I didn’t know what I was doing yet.
Another source of confusion was figuring out how to consistently create bokeh in images. I quickly understood that I needed a low f-stop, but sometimes I couldn’t achieve bokeh even when using settings like f/1.8. It took time to realize that distance plays a role, too. To achieve bokeh, you need to be close to your subject, and the background should be far away. If the background is close to the subject and you are farther away, it will be difficult to achieve that soft blur. This is useful in low-light situations where you want everything to remain in focus.
For example, I once shot two photos at f/1.4. In the first, the horse was close to me, and the background was several feet away. The result was a beautiful, blurred background. In the second image, I hadn’t changed my settings, but the horses had moved further away. The result lacked the dreamy bokeh because the distance between me and the subject was too great.
Your lens also affects the quality of bokeh. Many portrait photographers prefer using an 85mm prime lens because it produces beautifully soft backgrounds. Understanding aperture involves more than just numbers; it’s about positioning, lens choice, and lighting conditions.
Grasping Shutter Speed
Shutter speed refers to how long the shutter stays open to capture an image. It controls the sense of motion in your photo. While aperture took me a while to grasp, shutter speed made intuitive sense from the beginning. A slower shutter speed means more motion blur and a longer exposure. For example, I once captured a scene at 1.6 seconds—long enough to show light streaks and soft movement. I rarely shoot long exposures now because I dislike carrying a tripod, but that day, I balanced my camera on a cement block to get the shot.
Those silky-smooth waterfall photos you often see online are typically shot with slower shutter speeds, like 1/4 second, often combined with a neutral density filter to reduce the light during the daytime. On the other end, fast shutter speeds freeze motion. They are useful for photographing sports, fast-moving pets, or wildlife. I use fast shutter speeds to capture fleeting moments with animals. It helps freeze action and increases the number of usable frames in unpredictable situations.
One practical guideline: try not to shoot below the reciprocal of your focal length multiplied by two. If you’re using a 50mm lens, keep your shutter speed at 1/100 or faster to avoid motion blur from hand shake. This is not a strict rule but a helpful baseline when you're getting started. Understanding shutter speed means balancing light and motion to capture the image you envision.
Introduction to ISO
ISO determines how sensitive your camera sensor is to light. In film photography, ISO was fixed per roll—if you loaded ISO 400 film, you stayed at ISO 400 for the entire roll. In digital photography, you can adjust ISO for each shot, which gives you more flexibility. When I moved from Nikon to Canon, one of the most notable differences was how easily I could access ISO settings. On Nikon DSLRs, ISO adjustments were buried in the menu, forcing me to pause and dig through settings. On my Canon 5D Mark III, I can change aperture, shutter speed, and ISO with just my right hand, all without stopping.
Early on, I read that you should keep ISO as low as possible to reduce grain or digital noise. Articles often include comparison images taken at different ISO levels, with small areas blown up to show noise differences. I would squint at those magnified sections, trying to see what the big deal was. Over time, I realized that I have never zoomed into an image ten times to analyze noise when admiring a photo. Practical results are far more important than theoretical perfection.
Keeping ISO low is useful, but it should not stop you from getting the shot. Higher ISO will let you shoot in low-light situations when adjusting aperture and shutter speed isn’t enough. Once you understand how ISO interacts with the rest of your settings, you’ll gain the confidence to use it when needed rather than fear it.
Combining the Three Elements
Once I had a basic understanding of aperture, shutter speed, and ISO, the real challenge was putting them together. I usually start with the aperture, deciding how much depth of field I want. Then I adjust the shutter speed to balance the light and use ISO if I need to brighten or darken further. Most of the time, I shoot in manual mode and tweak settings as I go. If I’m photographing people in changing light, I sometimes switch to aperture priority mode to let the camera automatically adjust the shutter speed.
Understanding these three elements—aperture, shutter speed, and ISO—is key to taking control of your camera. But no matter how well you grasp the theory, nothing replaces actual practice. Once you’re comfortable with the basics, take your camera out and shoot as much as you can. That’s how the knowledge becomes instinct.
Building Confidence in Manual Mode
Once I became more comfortable with aperture, shutter speed, and ISO, the next hurdle was learning how to apply them in manual mode. At first, I found the concept overwhelming. The idea of juggling three variables to achieve a well-exposed image seemed like trying to solve a puzzle in real-time. I stayed in aperture priority mode for months, which let me control the depth of the field while the camera handled the shutter speed. ISO was usually on auto, though I started making manual tweaks as I improved. Aperture priority was a great stepping stone because it gave me creative control while taking away the stress of managing everything at once.
Eventually, I began experimenting with manual mode during low-stakes situations—sunny days in open spaces or quiet walks through the neighborhood. I didn’t need every shot to be perfect. I just wanted to practice adjusting my settings without pressure. Manual mode requires you to anticipate changes in light and movement, which feels intimidating at first. But the more I practiced, the faster I became at evaluating a scene, dialing in the settings, and reacting when things changed. I learned to read the light meter in my viewfinder and interpret whether I needed to brighten or darken the image. Over time, this stopped feeling like guesswork and started feeling intuitive.
Today, manual mode is second nature to me, and I rarely think about it. I know how to evaluate a scene and get the shot I want quickly. That confidence didn’t come from reading guides or watching videos—it came from hundreds of small mistakes, blurry frames, and missed moments that gradually taught me how to see like a photographer. Mistakes aren’t failures; they’re feedback. Every bad photo showed me what to fix. That is the real value of shooting manually.
Lighting Conditions and the Exposure Triangle
Natural light is a beautiful but unpredictable partner in photography. The quality and direction of light change constantly, and understanding how to adjust your settings to adapt is crucial. Golden hour—the period just after sunrise or before sunset—is famous for its soft, warm tones. During golden hour, I often shoot with wider apertures and slower shutter speeds because the light is gentle and shadows are soft. On the other hand, harsh midday sunlight can create sharp shadows and blown-out highlights, especially if you’re shooting portraits. In those conditions, I narrow my aperture, increase shutter speed, and may drop the ISO to retain detail in bright areas.
In indoor or low-light situations, I often find myself pushing ISO higher than I’d like or slowing the shutter speed as much as I can without introducing blur. Aperture also plays a major role here. A lens with a wide maximum aperture, like f/1.8, can be a lifesaver in dimly lit environments. The ability to let in more light gives you more flexibility with shutter speed and ISO. When light is limited, your priority is usually to find a workable balance without sacrificing too much image quality.
One technique I use frequently is spot metering. This allows me to tell the camera to evaluate exposure based on a specific area, usually my subject’s face. Spot metering ensures that the subject is correctly exposed, even if the background is much brighter or darker. It’s particularly useful when photographing people in backlit situations or scenes with uneven lighting. Understanding how your metering mode works in conjunction with the exposure triangle gives you more control and helps you avoid overexposed skies or underexposed faces.
Common Mistakes and How to Fix Them
One of the first mistakes I made was relying too much on auto settings. While it can be convenient in some cases, it often results in unpredictable exposure, especially in tricky lighting. Auto mode tends to average everything out, which can flatten contrast and create dull results. Learning to take control of my camera settings allowed me to create images that matched my vision. Another mistake was neglecting to check the histogram. I used to rely only on the preview image on the back of the camera, which can be misleading. The histogram gives you a visual representation of exposure. If it’s heavily skewed to the left, your image is likely underexposed; if it’s bunched up on the right, it may be overexposed.
Motion blur is another common issue. When I started shooting indoors or during early evenings, I would often get unintentional blur because my shutter speed was too slow. I learned to set a minimum shutter speed for handheld shots and keep an eye on the light as it changed. Using a wider aperture helped me maintain faster shutter speeds without needing to raise ISO too much. Another issue was noise in low-light photos. I was hesitant to increase ISO, thinking it would ruin the image. Over time, I learned that modern cameras handle high ISO remarkably well, especially when noise reduction is applied in editing. It’s better to get a properly exposed image with some grain than a dark, underexposed shot with less detail.
Lastly, I often forgot to reset my settings between sessions. I’d finish shooting on a sunny afternoon and later pick up the camera in the evening, only to discover all my settings were still configured for bright light. Now it’s second nature for me to quickly check aperture, shutter speed, and ISO before starting a new shoot. Developing this habit has saved me from countless lost shots and frustrations.
Learning to See Like a Photographer
Understanding camera settings is one part of photography. The other part is learning to see creatively. This means training your eye to recognize interesting compositions, light, and moments worth capturing. In the beginning, I focused so much on technical accuracy that I often missed the magic in a scene. Over time, I learned to slow down, look around, and notice details—the way light hits a wall, how shadows stretch across a floor, or how colors interact in a frame. I started experimenting with framing, perspective, and negative space.
Composition plays a crucial role in turning a snapshot into a compelling photograph. I began studying classic compositional rules like the rule of thirds, leading lines, symmetry, and framing. At first, I followed these rules strictly. Eventually, I learned when to follow them and when to break them. Understanding composition helped me create images that feel balanced and intentional. I also practiced shooting from different angles—crouching low, shooting from above, or moving closer to fill the frame. Changing perspective often transforms a mundane subject into something striking.
Lighting also shapes how we see. I began to understand that photography is about capturing light more than anything else. I started watching how light falls across a subject’s face, how it changes the mood of a room, or how it shifts throughout the day. The more I paid attention, the more intuitive it became. I no longer saw light as just brightness but as a storytelling tool. Shadows, highlights, and contrast became elements I could use creatively.
One of the best ways to improve your ability to see like a photographer is to shoot consistently. Practice with intention. Choose a theme for a day—photograph only shadows, look for patterns, focus on reflections. These mini-challenges sharpen your eye and help you develop a personal style. As you shoot more, you’ll begin to notice that your understanding of light, composition, and exposure starts to blend. That’s when photography becomes more than a skill—it becomes an extension of how you experience the world.
Understanding How Your Gear Affects Results
At a certain point in my photography journey, I started to notice how much my gear impacted the results I was getting. This wasn’t just about having a more expensive camera—it was about knowing how to make the most of what I had. For example, when I used the kit lens that came with my Nikon, I struggled to get the soft, blurry background I admired in professional portraits. Later, I realized that lens choice had a massive effect on depth of field and overall image quality.
When I upgraded to a prime lens, everything changed. Prime lenses typically have wider maximum apertures, like f/1.8 or f/1.4, which allow in more light and produce more pronounced bokeh. The clarity was better, the colors looked richer, and I suddenly had much more control in low-light situations. One of my most-used lenses today is the 35mm f/1.4. It gives me just enough wide-angle perspective while still offering a shallow depth of field. It’s sharp, fast, and lightweight enough to carry on long walks or travel days.
Another gear upgrade that made a difference was switching camera bodies. I started with an entry-level DSLR, which was perfect for learning. Eventually, I moved to a full-frame camera. The larger sensor gave me better low-light performance, more dynamic range, and a clearer separation between subject and background. This doesn’t mean that great photos require expensive gear. A good photographer can create powerful images with even basic equipment. But understanding what your gear can and can’t do helps you make informed decisions and set realistic expectations for your results.
Tripods, filters, and accessories also started to make more sense as my photography evolved. For example, I used to dismiss tripods as bulky and unnecessary, but I later found that they opened the door to long exposure photography, self-portraits, and more deliberate compositions. Neutral density filters helped me slow down my shutter speed even in bright conditions, which was perfect for creating motion blur in water or capturing clouds drifting across the sky. Gear isn’t about status—it’s about possibilities. As your skills grow, your tools can grow with you.
Developing a Consistent Shooting Workflow
The more I photographed, the more I realized that having a consistent shooting workflow saved time, reduced mistakes, and gave me better results. Before a shoot, I now take a few moments to check my battery levels, memory card space, and clean my lens. These small steps prevent frustrating interruptions and help me stay focused once I start shooting. I also review my camera settings to make sure they’re appropriate for the situation. Nothing ruins a moment like realizing you’re still at ISO 3200 from the night before.
Once I start shooting, I try to slow down and observe the light, movement, and subject. If I’m photographing a person, I talk to them to build comfort before diving into photos. If I’m in a landscape or street photography setting, I pause for a few minutes before taking the first photo. This gives me time to absorb the mood and decide what story I want to tell. Shooting slowly and with purpose helps me avoid taking a hundred photos that all feel the same.
During the shoot, I continuously check my exposure settings and histogram. I’ve developed a habit of toggling between looking through the viewfinder and reviewing the image preview. If I notice something is off—highlights blown out, motion blur where I didn’t want it, or colors that feel flat—I adjust immediately. Shooting in RAW format gives me more flexibility in editing, but I still try to get the best possible version in-camera to minimize post-processing time.
After the shoot, I back up my images right away—usually to two separate locations. I lost a batch of photos early in my journey due to a corrupted memory card, and since then, I’ve taken backups seriously. My editing process usually starts with culling—selecting the best frames and discarding duplicates or test shots. Then I move into color correction, contrast, and fine adjustments. Having a consistent system for shooting and editing has made my workflow faster, smoother, and more enjoyable.
The Emotional Side of Photography
Photography is more than exposure settings, lens choices, and file formats. At its core, photography is emotional. It’s about seeing something ordinary and choosing to elevate it by capturing it in a meaningful way. As I developed technically, I started noticing how emotion played a bigger and bigger role in my work. Whether it’s a quiet moment between friends, the light falling on a windowpane, or the stillness of a foggy morning—these scenes resonate not because they’re technically perfect, but because they make you feel something.
I used to chase perfection in every image. I wanted tack-sharp focus, perfect composition, and flawless exposure. But over time, I realized that some of my favorite images were far from perfect. Sometimes the light was uneven, or the subject was slightly off-center, or there was a hint of motion blur. But they felt honest. They captured a mood or a fleeting emotion that would have been lost if I had hesitated. This changed the way I approached photography. I stopped trying to impress others and started trying to express myself.
Photographing people, in particular, brought me closer to this emotional aspect. When you capture someone genuinely smiling, lost in thought, or just being themselves, the result is powerful. To get those kinds of moments, you have to connect with your subject. You have to create trust, give space, and sometimes wait for the right moment rather than trying to force it. The best portraits I’ve taken came from shared moments, not from elaborate setups or technical tricks.
Nature and travel photography also gave me a way to process and express emotions. Being alone in a vast landscape, watching a storm roll in, or seeing the first light of morning—those are moments that photography helped me hold on to. Sometimes I don’t even look at the photo afterward. The act of taking the photo, of being fully present, and choosing to document that moment, is enough. Photography becomes a way of grounding yourself, of seeing clearly, and of creating a visual journal of your life.
Learning Through Feedback and Reflection
One of the best ways to grow as a photographer is to seek feedback. Early on, I shared my images with friends who didn’t know anything about photography. Their reactions were valuable because they responded emotionally, not technically. Later, I joined online communities and local photo groups where I could get more specific feedback. Sometimes the comments stung. Other times, they opened my eyes to patterns in my work I hadn’t noticed. Over time, I learned to separate personal identity from artistic critique. Constructive criticism became something I welcomed.
I also began reviewing my work more critically. After every shoot, I’d go through my images and ask myself what worked, what didn’t, and why. I’d make notes about lighting challenges, gear limitations, or choices that didn’t pay off. This kind of self-reflection turned every shoot into a lesson. I started keeping a photography journal—not to log technical settings but to jot down what I learned, how I felt, and what I wanted to try next. This process deepened my understanding and helped me track my creative evolution over time.
Looking back at older work is another helpful exercise. Sometimes I cringe at the edits, framing, or concepts. But I also recognize progress. I can see how my style has changed, how my understanding has improved, and how my eye has matured. It reminds me that growth is gradual. No one wakes up a master. You learn through effort, repetition, curiosity, and a willingness to keep showing up.
Studying other photographers has also been a powerful teacher. I don’t mean copying their work—I mean analyzing what draws me to their images. Is it their use of light, their color palette, or the emotion they evoke? Looking at work that inspires me helps me identify what I value and how I can incorporate those elements into my style. Inspiration isn’t about imitation; it’s about learning to see through someone else’s lens and using that insight to sharpen your own.
Evolving Your Style and Finding Your Voice
As I kept practicing photography over the years, something unexpected happened. Without really trying, I started to notice patterns in the kind of photos I loved taking. I wasn’t aiming to develop a “style,” but certain elements kept showing up in my work—soft light, muted colors, quiet moments. I realized that I was beginning to see the world through a consistent visual language. It wasn’t about filters or presets. It was about intention. My photos were becoming a reflection of how I saw and felt things, and that’s when photography started to feel more like a voice and less like a craft I was still learning.
Finding your style doesn’t happen by copying what you see on social media or by downloading the same editing tools your favorite photographers use. Style is something that develops organically as you make choices again and again—what to include in the frame, what to leave out, how to use light, how to tell a story. If you let go of the pressure to be original and instead focus on being honest, your voice will find its shape. Sometimes people told me my work looked “calm” or “nostalgic,” and that helped me understand what I was naturally drawn to. I started leaning into that—choosing locations, light, and subjects that felt emotionally in tune with what I wanted to say.
Part of developing your voice is also knowing what not to shoot. There are genres I admire but don’t personally connect with. I permitted myself to let go of styles that didn’t feel authentic. Photography is a long-term relationship. You have to like what you’re creating. When your style is rooted in who you are and what you care about, it becomes sustainable. It also becomes recognizable. People start to associate a feeling with your work, and that’s a powerful thing.
Staying Inspired Without Burning Out
It’s easy to fall into creative slumps, especially when you’re working on personal projects or trying to improve without a clear deadline. I’ve gone through seasons where nothing I shoot feels right. I question my talent, my ideas, and sometimes even my interest in photography itself. But through each of those periods, I’ve learned that inspiration isn’t something you wait for—it’s something you create. The key is not to stop photographing. Instead, change the rules for yourself. If you always shoot portraits, try architecture. If you rely on color, shoot in black and white for a week. Give yourself small creative challenges that have nothing to do with outcomes and everything to do with exploration.
Sometimes I go out with a single lens and only allow myself to take ten photos. Other times, I choose a theme for the day, like shadows or symmetry. These exercises force me to pay attention in new ways. When you break out of your routine, even briefly, you see familiar places differently. That shift in perception is often enough to spark new ideas. I’ve also found that inspiration often comes from things outside photography—films, poetry, long walks, music. The more I nourish my overall creativity, the more I find to say through my images.
Rest is just as important as shooting. It’s easy to feel like you have to be constantly producing to prove your growth. But some of my biggest leaps came after taking time away. When you pause, you process. You give yourself room to reflect on what’s working and what you want to change. If photography starts to feel like a burden, it’s okay to step back. The goal isn’t to be constantly inspired—it’s to build a sustainable creative life that supports who you are.
Sharing Your Work with Confidence
One of the scariest parts of growing as a photographer is putting your work out into the world. In the beginning, I shared mostly with friends and family. Their encouragement was helpful, but I also knew they didn’t see my work the way another photographer might. When I first started posting images online or entering contests, I felt incredibly exposed. What if people didn’t like what I created? What if they thought I had no idea what I was doing? These fears are normal, but they shrink as you keep sharing.
The truth is, not everyone will connect with your work, and that’s okay. You’re not trying to please everyone. You’re trying to reach the people who resonate with your perspective. When someone says your photo made them feel something or helped them see something differently, that’s the connection that matters. Sharing your work publicly also creates accountability. It pushes you to be thoughtful, intentional, and proud of what you’re creating. Over time, it builds your confidence, not because people praise your work, but because you see your growth reflected in you.
I also learned the value of curating what I share. Not every photo needs to be posted. Sharing is about communication. I try to ask myself what I want someone to feel or understand when they look at the image. That guiding question helps me be selective. Some images are for the world, some are just for me, and both are important. Photography isn’t just about capturing moments—it’s about choosing how and when to present them. That choice is part of your voice as a creator.
The Long Game: Staying Curious and Evolving
The more I learn about photography, the more I realize how much more there is to explore. This art form is deep and ever-evolving. New techniques, tools, and genres constantly emerge. But rather than feeling overwhelmed by what I don’t know, I feel energized. The fact that photography keeps offering something new is what keeps it interesting. It’s a craft you can grow with for a lifetime. Your style, your subjects, your reasons for picking up the camera—all of it can evolve as you do.
Curiosity is the fuel that keeps me going. I still shoot for fun, still make mistakes, still experiment. I’ve photographed things I never imagined I would. I’ve collaborated with people I admire. I’ve had work published and also had shoots where nothing turned out. Each of those experiences has shaped who I am as a photographer. Progress isn’t linear. Some seasons you grow fast, some you just hold steady. But as long as you’re curious about light, about people, about stories, you’ll keep moving forward.
The journey of becoming a photographer is never really finished. That’s the beauty of it. You’re not working toward a final product. You’re building a lifelong relationship with observation, creativity, and storytelling. Every photo you take is a small record of that journey—a quiet affirmation that you’re seeing the world and choosing to preserve it with intention.
Whether you’re just starting or have been shooting for years, the heart of photography remains the same: pay attention, feel something, press the shutter.
Conclusion
Learning photography is less about mastering settings and more about learning how to see. At first, the numbers and terms—aperture, shutter speed, ISO—can feel like a foreign language. But over time, they become tools you instinctively reach for when trying to capture the way something feels. Understanding how light works, how your gear responds, and how to anticipate a moment transforms the camera from a technical device into an extension of your perspective. The most important thing to remember is that every photographer starts where you are. No one is born knowing how to expose an image or frame a subject. Growth happens through repetition, reflection, curiosity, and practice. You will take thousands of photos that don’t feel quite right before you start taking ones that do. The process is slow, often invisible, but deeply rewarding. Each photo you take is a step forward, even the ones you later discard.