After over a decade of doing architectural photography, I still look back and re-evaluate
everything about my career. It usually tends to happen when I’m feeling down in life.
Recently, I read an article by Kalina Prelikj published in Architizer about the influence of Instagram on architectural photographers. As I was reading, for some reason, it got me thinking:
What is my job really about? What is the purpose and function of what I do as a [built environment] photographer?
To answer this, many clarifications pass through my mind, mostly highlights from books by writers and industry icons. For instance, Jeremy Till’s quote: “Architectural photography lifts the buildings out of time rather than freezes time.” I admire his angle of approach, although it doesn’t provide clarity; instead, it creates more ontological obscurities about the nature of images for me.
Another popular notion about architectural photography is: “It is not just documentation but rather a translation of space onto a flat surface” (though I can’t recall the original source of this quote). For a long time, I defined my photography practice around this concept.
Yet another perspective is: “It’s a mirrored reflection of the scrounging reality,” which kind of reminds me of Susan Sontag’s notes.
I personally admire the curated texts of Liz Wells on Constructed Place, which can also be applied to built environment photography in both commercial and artistic forms. My key interpretation of her book, Critical Introduction to Photography, is:
The place is not just a physical location but also a social and cultural construct. Photographs don’t merely record places, they shape our perceptions of them. Through
framing, composition, and context, photography influences how we interpret and emotionally connect with a place.
But are these debates actually capable of defining the function of my career in actual practical terms?
To move forward on this journey of exploring different perceptions of my work as a
photographer, I am also inspired by Roland Barthes’ way of defining the image. To simplify it in the context of architectural photography: each image of architecture should be a product of my emotional response at an unconscious level, and each decision I make could stem from a purely artistic mindset rather than from neutral documentation of buildings.
This concept is not easy to fully grasp either. I’m not planning to delve deeply into the critical theories of photography; however, as someone with an M.A. in photography, it is natural for me to define my career through renowned theories of photography throughout history.
If I continue along this path, there are certainly a multitude of inspirational statements describing architectural photography in its commercial and artistry form, all aligned with similar schools of thought like the examples mentioned above.
Even by now, you might be recalling other debates from your own experience, and I believe that, in certain ways, each one of them holds some truth.
However, my main question still remains: Can these theoretical debates be applied in practice to define the functions of an architectural photographer’s work? Could their simple yet meaningful theories unlock the challenges not only in artistic projects but also in commercial assignments, which exist in a state between art expression and the client’s needs?
All the discussions above happen when I’m sitting on my couch, having a coffee, and feeling high-minded about my job. But what about when I’m actually at work, facing unexpected changes or creative thoughts? Would these theoretical debates help me in those moments?
In other words, would something like Liz Wells’ book help me compose a picture while I’m on a shoot? It may be inspiring, but I see my career as a creative practice rather than an intellectual debate about its theory and medium.
Bear with me—I’m about to get to the point. This is meant to end with a practical result, not just a theoretical reflection.
Deep down, when I’m present in the interior space or surrounded by its elements, every theoretical concept gives way to a swirling storm of creative decisions. I realize that debates are merely subjective words, often far removed from the reality of the moment when you’re observing the project and contemplating the sequence of images you’re about to deliver.
After many years, I’ve come to believe that what I offer as an architectural photographer, in practical terms, is simply to provide solutions for visually capturing the architectural projects that I’m assigned for. It’s safe to say this is the simplest answer to what I do as a photographer when I’m in action behind the camera rather than immersed in books.
To properly convey what providing solutions means to me, allow me to draw an analogy from my experience in graphic design. Through experimenting with various methods as a designer, I have learned that successful design results from effective interaction and collaboration between myself and my client.”
If I were assigned the same job [let’s say designing a logo] but with different clients, the outcome would dramatically change each time the client changed. A graphic designer’s ideas must take a backseat to the client’s needs and requirements. It’s safe to say that fifty percent of the creative process is shaped by the client and the project’s demands. I like to refer to this approach as a practice that provides solutions. It is not a pure form of art; it is visual communication, after all.
When it comes to architecture and interior design photography, the process is quite similar. Capturing the same space with different clients often leads to vastly different results. This is because each client brings a unique aesthetic approach to their project. Moreover, the type of client can significantly influence the photographer’s approach.
As we know, depending on the client’s line of work and intentions, some may request a greater focus on conveying the sense of place and demonstrating the spatial experience, while others may prioritize highlighting materials and products within the space. As a result, our client’s approach inevitably affects our own.
However, when I use the term “providing solutions,” I’m also referring to another crucial
variable in each project: the space itself. Regardless of the client, every architectural setting presents new circumstances for the photographer to navigate.
This is what makes each project unique and exciting. I can’t simply approach all my projects with the same strategy and expect consistent results. The circumstances [whether limitations or opportunities] that each project presents also shape the meaning I, as a photographer, have trained myself to navigate or, in my case, provide solutions for.
Some of these circumstances could be dealing with varying light conditions, tight spaces,
unexpected layouts, or high contrast between elements and light sources that often
presents challenges. The absence of key furniture, the difficulty of finding [or choosing from] multiple perspectives can further complicate the process. These factors heavily influence the outcome for each project.
As a photographer, these are just a few examples of the internal dialogue I constantly engage in to create the best narrative, both as a sequence and through individual shots. This ongoing dilemma is what brings both challenge and excitement to every project I undertake.
Finding solutions begins by being fully present in the space, evaluating the circumstances that limit my decisions based on the skills and experience I have developed. In essence, I must explore and uncover the possibilities that make each project unique while reflecting the designer’s vision.
This is how I truly view my role as an architectural photographer. Before attempting to “translate reality” into my frame, I need to provide practical solutions for every challenge I encounter during the process. Only if I succeed can my photographs become a reflection of whatever meaning they may hold — allowing a keen viewer to interpret them through their own philosophy.
This theory may have evolved over time, but I still recall something my graphic design professor once said: “Don’t create the meaning. Play with visual elements, and the meaning will emerge in the viewer’s mind.” I believe this idea applies to any form of visual art as well. By focusing on making the best possible decisions during the process, the resulting images can transcend into a greater form of media.