I said in two different posts now that I wasn’t going to talk about the A7R VI’s dynamic range until I’d actually tested it, not just read the number on the spec sheet. Switzerland was the test, on the Swiss Photo Adventure, one of the workshops I lead through Photo Workshop Adventures. Sigma Adria lent me their 24-70mm f/2.8 and 14-24mm f/2.8 for this trip and the Croatia one that followed, so the lens side of this test wasn’t just the usual kit either. It showed up clearest shooting sunset in Zermatt, where the town itself was underexposed by roughly 3-4 stops relative to the sky and the Matterhorn behind it.

What mixed alpine light actually asks of a camera

That gap showed up clearest on the Zermatt file itself. At ISO 100, masking just the town in Capture One and pushing the shadows slider to +20 brought the streets and windows back with zero noise. That’s more of a shadow lift than I’d have trusted on the Fuji, or even the A7 V, without it turning to grain. The sky and the Matterhorn behind it never needed touching. They held their own exposure the whole time.

Zermatt at dusk — the town lit up in the valley against the darkening sky, Matterhorn behind it.

This is the same thing I noticed with the A7 V on skin tones during the CPA portrait project — it doesn’t show up in a spec comparison, it shows up later, when you’re pulling detail out of a file you expected to fight with and don’t have to.

The resolution side of it

The same Zermatt frame answered the resolution question too. The shot below is a heavy crop out of that file, isolating just the Matterhorn, and the rock, the snow, and the cloud wrapping the summit all held their detail at that crop. I didn’t need a longer lens on site. The extra resolution meant I could decide the framing back at the computer instead.

Matterhorn detail, cropped from the same Zermatt file above.

The rest of the list

Dynamic range and resolution are the two things worth a whole section each, because they’re the two I said I’d wait to test before writing about. The real reason this camera fits how I work is a shorter, less glamorous list:

• Battery — new cell, noticeably better life. I get through a full shooting day on one battery now, where the old body needed a swap partway through.
• Charger — new fast dual charger, built for travel. Two batteries charged fast without extra bulk in the bag.
• EVF — bigger, brighter, and HDR now, 9.4 million dots. Judging exposure and detail in the field is just easier.
• LCD screen mechanism — new multi-angle, 4-axis tilt. Covers everything from low-angle shooting to selfie video, and flips inward to protect the screen when it’s not in use.
• Ergonomics — comfortable to hold through long workshop days.
• Dual CFexpress Type A card slots — two fast cards in at once. On paid work, that’s the backup that actually matters.
• White balance processor — AI-driven now, gets it right in mixed light straight out of camera.
• Autofocus chip — new, and it holds up in real shooting.
• Pre-capture — buffers frames before the shutter press. Built for sports, useful anywhere something happens fast.
• Custom mode dial — there’s a new asterisk (✳) position on the mode dial, sitting between the standard modes and C1/C2. I park the dial there and never touch it again. A custom button handles the actual mode switching instead, and the screen or EVF shows the full exposure info for whatever’s selected, A/S/M included, across 10 nameable custom slots. Photo, video, and S&Q each get their own set of 10, so that’s 30 configurations off one button. I also hid AUTO and P from the mode list entirely, since I never use them.

 The asterisk (✳) position on the mode dial, parked there permanently — a custom button does the actual mode switching from here.

None of this shows up on a spec sheet the way dynamic range or megapixels do. It’s the stuff I actually live with every time I’m shooting, travel or workshop or paid job. That’s why this camera fits how I work.

Now it’s back to work — Croatia

The Switzerland trip was ideal for testing the camera because nothing about it was staged: nine days, five locations, whatever light showed up. But that’s still workshop shooting. The real test of whether any of this matters is what happens when the camera goes back to paying work.

This one is the Croatia Photo Adventure, the workshop I lead through Photo Workshop Adventures, and it runs the length of the country: Zagreb down through Plitvice, Šibenik, Split, and Korčula, into Dubrovnik, then across into Montenegro. Plitvice is continental lake-and-waterfall light. Everything after it is Adriatic coast. By the time the group crosses into Montenegro it’s a third kind of light again. That’s a wider spread of conditions in one trip than Switzerland gave me, and it’s exactly the kind of run where dynamic range either matters on paper only or actually earns its keep.

Dubrovnik at dusk, old town walls and rooftops from above.

Plitvice came early on the route. Tripods are banned in the park, and even if they weren’t, the boardwalks are too narrow and too crowded with tourists to plant one anyway. Everything there gets shot handheld or not at all. The travertine cascades are moving water over moss-covered rock, and I wanted it pulled smooth instead of frozen. Handheld on the Sigma 24-70, 1/8s at f/7.1, ISO 50, 26mm — a shutter speed I wouldn’t have trusted handheld without the shot coming back soft. It didn’t. The water reads as smooth, silky motion, and the moss and rock around it stayed sharp the whole time.

Plitvice, handheld at 1/8s — the water smoothed out, the moss and rock around it still sharp.

Šibenik Cathedral was the opposite problem: a dim, vaulted interior, shot on the Sigma 14-24 at f/3.2 and 14mm to get the whole carved ceiling in frame, which pushed ISO up to 800. I went in assuming these files would need noise reduction in Capture One before they were usable. They didn’t. The stonework in the vaulting, the folds in the carved figures, the texture in the marble font below — all of it held at ISO 800 straight out of the file, nothing pulled back for noise.

Šibenik Cathedral, straight out of camera at ISO 800 — no processing, no noise reduction.

Same file, processed — pulling out the detail and testing what the Sigma 14-24 could resolve in that light.

Primošten, on the coast road south of Šibenik — the Adriatic light the intro promised.

The resolution question got a harder test than Switzerland gave it, in Budva, once the group had crossed into Montenegro. This is the full frame of an old-town stone wall, shot on the Sigma 24-70 straight out of camera at f/2.8, 24mm, ISO 100.

Old-town stone wall, full frame. The red box marks the section cropped to 300% below.

I cropped that same marked section down to 300% and the wall texture held: individual block edges, the mortar lines, the weathering in the stone, none of it turning soft or smearing the way a crop that aggressive usually does.

Same file, cropped to 300% — the block edges and weathering still resolve instead of smearing.

Where this leaves me

The spec sheet said the A7R VI had more dynamic range and more resolution than the A7 V. I said in two posts that I’d wait until I’d actually tested that before writing about it. Switzerland and Croatia were the test, and now I’ve seen what those numbers mean in a real file: shadows recovered clean in Zermatt, a Matterhorn crop that held its detail, a Šibenik ceiling shot at ISO 800 that needed nothing pulled back, a Budva wall that survived a 300% crop, water in Plitvice smoothed out handheld because a tripod was never an option. The rest, the battery, the dial, the card slots, is why I reach for this camera every day regardless of any of that. I said I’d give the verdict once I had it. This is it: the A7R VI is my first choice now, and that’s not changing.

I’m a photographer first. I shot some video along the way on this trip too, but this camera’s job for me is photo. There’s a video project coming up, and that’s the one that’ll actually tell me how it holds up on that side.

If you want to see what these files actually look like before you take my word for it, that’s exactly the kind of thing we go through hands-on at Croatia Photo Academy.

People ask what’s in my bag more than almost anything else I get asked. I don’t always answer it well, because the honest answer is: it depends on the trip. What I carry for a hotel shoot an hour from Zagreb isn’t what I carry for nine days across the Swiss Alps.

This isn’t a gear review, and it isn’t the Switzerland story either. That one comes after I’m back. This is just how I actually get ready for a trip like this one.

The lesson that shaped how I pack

Years ago, my luggage didn’t make it to a destination with me. More than once, actually. If everything I needed for the shoot had been in that checked bag, I wouldn’t have seen it for days, and I wouldn’t have been in the same place a few days later to wait for it. That’s the moment the gear that actually matters stopped riding in checked luggage, no matter what else does.

The system itself hasn’t changed in years. My Samsonite hard suitcase, checked, carries clothes, shoes, and the tripod. The backpack carries what I might need to pull out quickly: camera bodies, lenses, laptop, batteries, the small stuff, and it mostly stays at the hotel once I’ve settled in. Packed flat inside the suitcase is an empty Tenba shoulder bag, another Solus brand, which becomes my actual everyday bag once I’m on location, the thing I actually carry around all day. If the suitcase is late, I can still shoot. Clothes and the tripod are replaceable on the road. A missing camera body isn’t.

What’s coming with me this time

Main body is the Sony A7R VI now, the camera I wrote about switching to. I’m also bringing the X-Pro3. Small body, built for exactly this kind of street and travel shooting, and the hybrid viewfinder means I can switch between the digital view and a classic optical finder depending on what I’m shooting. For lenses, Solus lent me two Sigma pieces for this trip: the 24-70mm F2.8 DG DN II Art again, and the 14-24mm F2.8 DG DN Art for the wide mountain landscapes this trip is built around.

Storage and power round out the bag: two Samsung T7 SSDs for backing up files on the road, and my laptop for editing as I go. I’m also bringing a new EcoFlow battery pack to keep my phone charged, and an EcoFlow RAPID Pro charger that handles the laptop and the camera batteries at the same time, so I’m not fighting over one outlet at the end of a shooting day.

One more thing that always makes the cut, not for photography: my Sony headphones. Good for isolating myself at the airport when I actually need to get laptop work done, just as good on the flight itself, and even better on the rare occasion a connecting flight doesn’t get my luggage there with me, and I’m stuck waiting it out.

A spare T-shirt goes in too, just in case.

Where this trip actually goes

Nine days, five stops: Geneva, Zermatt, Wengen/Lauterbrunnen, Luzern, Lausanne. I’m traveling with Neil Stead and Brett Whitelaw, and the route is built around a handful of places I’ve wanted to shoot properly for a while.

One thing worth knowing before you go: Switzerland isn’t actually an EU country. It’s in the Schengen Area, so there’s no border checks moving through it, but the currency is Swiss francs, not euros, and it’s worth having some on hand since not everywhere takes euros, and where they do, the exchange rate isn’t doing you any favors. Small infrastructure things are ahead of a lot of the EU too. Zurich Airport rolled out new CT scanners this June that let departing passengers leave laptops and liquids in their bag through security entirely, no tray, no 100ml limit. Geneva has it on some lanes now as well, though not every one yet. Little thing, but it’s the kind of gap you notice standing in a security line comparing it to home.

Riffelsee, above Zermatt, for the Matterhorn reflection at first light. The plan is to be there around 7 AM, before the water moves. The Gornergrat railway up for a different angle on the same mountain. Trümmelbach Falls, glacier water running inside the mountain itself. Jungfraujoch, the highest railway station in Europe, which is going to eat the better part of a day on its own. Chapel Bridge in Luzern’s old town on the way through. Mount Pilatus if the schedule leaves room for it.

Why I’m not worried about testing new gear on the road

This is exactly the kind of trip where a camera either holds up or it doesn’t: mixed alpine light, early starts, moving between five locations in nine days. It’s the same reason the A1 test in Sicily and Cinque Terre told me more than any spec sheet did. I’ll have a much better answer on how the A7R VI handles glacier light and mountain dynamic range once I’m back, and that’s going into the deep-dive post I’ve already promised.

For now, the bag’s packed, the route’s set, and I’m looking forward to actually being there instead of planning for it.

If gear decisions and trip planning like this are the kind of thing you want to talk through in person, that’s exactly what happens at Croatia Photo Academy.

Camera systems are supposed to be a long-term relationship. You pick one, build years of glass around it, and mostly stay put. In this business, brand loyalty runs deep, and switching gets treated like a bigger decision than it needs to be. I’ve been shooting the Fujifilm X system since 2018. Right now I have three bodies, a bag full of lenses built up over years, and no real plan to change any of it. If you had asked me in early spring which system I’d be recommending by the end of the year, I probably would have laughed. I wasn’t looking for a new camera. I already had one I trusted.

This isn’t a camera review. I’m saving the A7R VI’s spec sheet and the dynamic range numbers for a separate post, once I’m back from Switzerland. This one is just about how I got here. It started with a sponsorship conversation, not a spec sheet.

It started as a partnership, not a pitch

Sony’s Zagreb office and I were talking about something bigger than gear: a potential sponsorship for Croatia Photo Academy. Nobody was trying to sell me a camera. Somewhere in those conversations, they offered to send me an A1 with the 12- 24 mm F4 for two workshop trips I already had booked: Sicily and Cinque Terre in April, then Portugal in May after CPA Edition I. Not a spec demo. A real loaner, used on real work.

That part mattered. I wasn’t testing a camera in a studio against a checklist. I was using it on the road, doing the same unplanned, reactive kind of work I write about in Two Coastlines, One Instinct. The A1 was in my hands for exactly the kind of shooting where a camera either stays out of the way or starts costing you pictures.

It stayed out of the way. The 12- 24 mm wasn’t the only glass doing the work, either. I also shot those trips with two Sigma lenses, the 24-70mm F2.8 DG DN II Art and the 35mm F1.4 DG DN Art, which I wrote about separately in Beyond the Postcard for Sigma Adria. Looking back, that stretch changed more than I expected. It changed which lenses I reached for, and slowly, which body I wanted behind them.

The second test: after CPA, with the A7 V

Sony came on as Platinum sponsor for CPA Edition I, and not long after, I had their new A7 V in hand for a portrait project. I wasn’t looking for a reason to be impressed; I’d shot enough portraits on Fuji to know what I liked about its color science. But the skin tones from the A7 V caught me off guard. They needed less correction than I expected, and that’s the kind of thing that matters when you’re editing a full shoot, not just eyeballing a single sample image.

That kind of thing rarely shows up in a spec comparison. It shows up later, when you’re editing the files and realize you’re spending less time fixing something you expected to fight with.

The project that actually convinced me

The one that settled it wasn’t a portrait or a coastline. It was a villa on the Adriatic: architecture and interiors, the core of what I do for hotels and properties. Full-frame’s dynamic range advantage is obvious on paper. What surprised me was the color correctness. I’d always considered that one of Fuji’s strongest points, a big part of why I’d stayed loyal to the system for years. But shooting that villa, working through the RAW files afterward, Sony held its own in exactly the area I thought was Fuji’s home turf: mixed light, deep shadow detail in stone interiors, highlight recovery on the coastal side of the building. That was the moment the decision stopped feeling theoretical.

For someone whose specialization is interiors, reading a room’s light and holding onto shadow and highlight details at the same time isn’t a nice-to-have. It’s the job.

One more thing worth mentioning: ergonomics were never a problem on any of these bodies. Sony keeps the buttons and the overall layout close to identical across every new A7 body, so moving from the A1 to the A7 V to the A7R VI, the muscle memory just carried over. The viewfinders are excellent too, big and clear, especially on the A7R VI, and I’ll get into that more in the deep-dive review post. The autofocus is probably the best on the market right now. It was good enough on its own that I never felt the need to run a real comparison against Fuji’s system.

Why I didn’t sell the Fuji gear

I still have all three Fuji bodies and most of the glass. It’s not sentimentality; I genuinely don’t know yet if I’ll need them again, and the X-H2S in particular is too good a video tool to let go of on principle. 6.2K, open gate. There’s no reason to sell a tool that still does its job better than most alternatives just to prove a point about brand loyalty.

I switched because the work told me to, not because I needed to burn a bridge to make the decision feel real. My main camera is a Sony A7R VI now. The Fuji gear sits ready in case a project calls for it again.

Where things stand now

Sony was Platinum sponsor for CPA Edition I, and they’ve already confirmed for Edition II. That partnership grew alongside my own switch. One didn’t cause the other; both stemmed from the same habit: testing gear against real work rather than a press release.

What I’d tell anyone thinking about switching systems

Don’t switch because of hype, and don’t switch on a spec you haven’t tested against your own work. Test it on the projects that actually matter to you, the ones where a camera either solves a problem or it doesn’t. You don’t have to sell everything the day you decide, either. My Fuji bag is proof of that.

I’ll go deeper on the A7R VI itself, what the dynamic range actually looks like in practice rather than the number on paper, in a follow-up post once I’m back from Switzerland. This one was just about how I got here.

If you’re curious about the gear conversations behind projects like this, and want to see it discussed live, not just read about it, that’s exactly what happens at Croatia Photo Academy.

A few months ago I clicked through a hotel’s “virtual tour” link on their website. It looked exactly like the last five I’d seen — same grey dot navigation, same generic loading screen, same faint watermark in the corner that wasn’t the hotel’s brand. It could have been any property, anywhere. Nothing about it said this hotel, this view, this feeling of walking through the lobby at golden hour.

That watermark belonged to a third-party platform. The hotel didn’t build that tour — they were renting it.

That’s the part most hotels don’t realize until it’s too late: with Matterport and platforms like it, you don’t own your tour. You lease access to it, month after month, on someone else’s infrastructure, wrapped in someone else’s interface. Cancel the subscription, and the tour disappears — along with whatever SEO value or guest engagement it built up.

What “renting” actually costs you

It’s not just the monthly fee, though that adds up. It’s four things hotels quietly give up:

Control over the experience. The navigation, the UI, the loading screens — all generic, all identical to every other property using the same platform. Your five-star boutique hotel and the budget motel down the road get the exact same interface.

Data. You can’t see which room guests lingered in longest, which spaces made them stop scrolling, what actually drives someone from “just browsing” to “let me check availability.” That’s the single most useful signal for improving your listing, and it’s locked away on someone else’s dashboard — if it exists at all.

Ownership, period. It’s not on your domain. It’s not really yours. It’s a link you’re borrowing.

Search visibility. This is the one hotels almost never think about. When a tour is embedded from Matterport or a similar platform, the guest’s actual session — the minutes they spend looking around the lobby, the room, the pool — happens inside a third-party iframe. As far as Google is concerned, that engagement isn’t happening on your domain at all. The tab effectively goes quiet the moment a guest starts exploring the embedded frame. Your site gets no credit for the time, the interaction, or the interest — none of it feeds back into your own domain’s signals.

What “custom” actually means

When I build a 360° tour for a hotel, none of the above applies — by design:

• 12K to 21K resolution. Not the compressed, slightly-blurry standard most tour platforms ship with. Guests notice texture, light, detail — the difference between “nice enough” and “I can already picture myself there.”
• Shot properly, not with a one-shot 360 camera. Aerial spheres are captured by drone at 21K. Every other sphere is shot with professional photo equipment on a motorized panoramic head — multiple high-resolution exposures stitched together, not a single instant capture. That’s what gives the dynamic range and image quality of a proper camera system, rather than the flat, compressed look of consumer 360 cameras.
• Designed around your brand, not a template. Navigation, colors, typography — matched to your actual brand book, not a generic skin.
• Deployed on your own domain. The tour lives where you say it lives — no subscription to cancel, no rented URL, and no iframe swallowing the session. Every minute a guest spends walking through your lobby happens on your domain, which means it actually counts: Google indexes and credits that session duration to you, not to a third-party platform. Embed a tour from Matterport instead, and that same engagement happens inside their frame — your domain gets none of it.
• Built-in Google Analytics. You see exactly how guests move through the tour — which room gets the most attention, how long they stay, where they drop off. That’s not a nice-to-have; it’s information you can act on.
• Loads instantly, despite the resolution. This is the part people usually don’t believe until they see it: spheres at 12K–21K resolution, 10–30MB each, opening in milliseconds. Most people assume “custom and high-res” means “slow.” It doesn’t have to.

Beyond the walkthrough

Once a tour isn’t locked into someone else’s platform, a lot more becomes possible — because you’re not limited to whatever features that platform decided to ship this year:

• Booking system integration. If you already run a booking engine, it can be embedded directly into the tour as a web window — a guest exploring a room can check availability and book without ever leaving the tour.
• Hotspots and interactions. Click-triggered info panels, room details, amenity call-outs — placed exactly where they’re useful, not wherever a template happens to allow.
• Marketing pop-ups. Seasonal offers, upgrade prompts, event announcements — surfaced inside the tour itself, at the moment a guest is actually paying attention.
• Embedded video and 360° video. A regular video window, or a full 360° video moment, dropped directly into the tour wherever it adds something a still sphere can’t.
• A fully offline version. The same customized tour, built to run with zero internet connection — ideal for trade fairs, exhibitions, or any presentation where you can’t rely on wifi. This is the same system I built into physical 3D glasses for Capital Hotel’s lobby: guests put them on and walk through the space completely autonomously, no connection required, anywhere.

None of this is bolted on afterward. It’s part of the same system, built to fit what a specific hotel actually needs — not whatever a subscription tier happens to unlock.

Why I believe in this

I didn’t arrive at this approach from a marketing brief. Since 2019, I’ve been actively looking for a real alternative to the default, out-of-the-box design every portal like Matterport forces you into — the same navigation, the same UI, the same limits, regardless of what the space actually is or who it’s for.

It took years of testing possibilities and options before I found a system that actually let me program tours the way I wanted — and more importantly, the way that’s actually best for the client, not just whatever the platform allows. Part of that is how the spheres themselves are captured: aerial shots come from a drone at 21K, and every ground-level sphere is built from a professional camera on a motorized panoramic head, not fired off in one shot with a consumer 360 camera. It takes longer, but it means the dynamic range and detail match what you’d expect from a proper camera — not the compressed, flattened look most instant 360 cameras produce.

The other part of that system is loading speed: those 12K–21K spheres, 10–30MB each, open instantly. No spinning loader, no waiting for a “high quality” tour to catch up to itself.

That’s the piece that took the longest to solve, and it’s the one I care about most — because a custom tour that’s beautiful but slow just trades one frustration for another.

I’ve since carried this same approach into the charter industry — boats and marinas have the exact same problem hotels do: a generic walkthrough doesn’t sell the feeling of being on board, but a considered, high-resolution, instantly-loading one does.

The real question

It’s not “should we have a 360° tour” — most hotels already sense they should. It’s “do we want to own it, or rent it.” A rented tour looks fine on day one. An owned one keeps paying you back — in data, in brand consistency, in something that’s actually yours five years from now.

If you’re a hotel weighing this decision, I’m happy to show you what a custom tour looks like for a space like yours — no obligation, just a conversation. Explore examples →

Modern photography has a technical problem. We obsess over histograms, wait for the “perfect” light, and pack our gear like it’s surgical equipment — all while the actual moment happens somewhere behind the viewfinder, unshot.

I didn’t always think this way. Two decades in management taught me to plan everything, and my early photography followed the same instinct: control every variable, eliminate every risk. Leaving that world behind meant making a different kind of promise to myself — to shoot without a safety net, and trust what’s in front of me over what a manual says I should do.

This spring, three workshops—two through Photo Workshop Adventures in Sicily and Cinque Terre, and one along the Portuguese coast—tested that promise across two very different landscapes.

Sicily: leaning into the noise

Every visitor to Lisbon wants the same clean shot of the yellow Tram 28. But a living city resists postcards. Standing on the cobblestones, I let the overhead wires, the flat grey sky, and the steep pitch of the street shape the frame instead of fighting them.

That instinct followed me to Sicily. Street photography only works if you’re willing to get close — physically and socially. Hiding behind a long lens fifty meters back might feel safer, but it costs you the actual subject. The eccentric artist in wraparound goggles, the vendor serving food in heart-shaped glasses — these are the people who define a place, and you can’t shoot them from a distance.

Autofocus can lock onto a face in a fraction of a second. It can’t manufacture the moment of eye contact that makes the photo worth taking.

Portugal: the trap hiding in plain sight

Photographing a chef at work in Portugal, I noticed something that’s become impossible to ignore on these trips: a phone screen, held up between a person and the thing actually happening in front of them.

It’s everywhere on these workshops now — travelers watching light move across a wall through a six-inch rectangle, checking footage instead of watching it happen. The moment a screen gets between your gut reaction and your surroundings, you’ve stopped making photographs and started making content.

For this stretch of travel, Sony Croatia handed me their latest Alpha body to shoot with — not in a studio, but in exactly this kind of unpredictable, fast-changing light, where a camera either keeps up with instinct or gets in its way.

One test came from an old blue three-wheeled Ape truck rattling past me on an Italian side street. The safe move is 1/1000th of a second — freeze it, keep it sharp. I dragged the shutter to 1/30 and swung the camera with it instead, letting the motion blur do the work a “correct” exposure never could.

Where the coasts diverge

Most travel photography today looks over-processed — flattened, oversaturated, stripped of texture. When students stand in front of a Sicilian cathedral’s heavy shadow, or watch the sky over Portimão and the Algarve catch fire at sunset, my advice is the same: stop shooting the version of the place you’ve already seen in a brochure.

The goal isn’t to document what a place looks like. It’s to get close enough to the mood that a viewer can feel the damp salt air, or the particular silence that settles in right after the light goes.

Sometimes that means pulling color out entirely — letting contrast alone carry the weight of a place’s history, the way it does in the stark geometry of Belém Tower standing against the tide.

The actual lesson

If your camera’s sitting in a bag waiting for ideal conditions, you’re missing most of what this work has to offer. Shoot in weather that makes you uncomfortable. Get close enough to strangers that it feels like a risk. Let a highlight blow out if it means keeping the energy of the moment intact. The settings matter less than you think — the instinct matters more.

I’d genuinely like to hear from you: when you’re shooting somewhere unfamiliar, what pushes you further out of your comfort zone — unpredictable weather and terrain, or the nerve it takes to approach a stranger on a crowded street? Tell me about it in the comments.

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