Should We Train Our Eyes to See Like a Camera? — JudithBloom Photography
While listening to National Geographic photographer Michael Yamashita speak recently, one statement caught my attention: "Train your eye to see as your camera does." It made me stop. While I understand what he means, I found myself thinking the opposite.
While listening to National Geographic photographer Michael Yamashita speak recently, one statement caught my attention:
"Train your eye to see as your camera does."
It made me stop. While I understand what he means, I found myself thinking the opposite.
Perhaps we should use our camera to see what our eyes — and our hearts — already see.
A camera doesn't experience wonder. It doesn't notice the scent of a rose, the hush of an early morning garden, or the memories stirred by an old family heirloom. It records light. Nothing more.
We do the seeing.
Our eyes are drawn to moments long before we ever lift the camera. We notice the lone flower blooming among hundreds. We pause at weathered hands holding something precious. We are moved by light filtering through ancient trees or by the quiet conversation between a farmer and his cow.
The camera has no idea why these moments matter. We do.
Of course, there is great wisdom in Yamashita's words. As photographers, we absolutely need to understand how our cameras interpret the world. We learn how different focal lengths change perspective, how aperture shapes depth, how shutter speed captures or softens motion, and how the sensor sees light differently than our eyes. That technical knowledge is essential.
But I don't believe it should come first.
I believe photography begins with seeing as a human being. Only then do we ask, "How can I use my camera to communicate what I felt?"
Three Steps
Notice beauty. Notice emotion. Notice connection. Let curiosity guide you.
Choose the lens, the light, the aperture, the shutter speed, and the composition that best communicate your vision.
Craft an image that allows someone else to experience what first caught your attention.
The camera is not the storyteller. It is the translator.
Our eyes gather moments. Our hearts give them meaning. Our cameras preserve them. And our photographs become our interpretation of what we experienced.
Perhaps that is the real art of photography — not teaching our eyes to think like a camera, but teaching our cameras to express what our eyes and hearts have already discovered.
I'd love to hear your thoughts. Do you believe we should train our eyes to see like our cameras… or use our cameras to reveal what our eyes already see?
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