Athens Taught Me to Pause Before Judging
I’ve been taking photographs for a long time now. Photography has taken me to a lot of places. Every trip, I come home with more pictures than I know what to do with. Some I keep for myself, some go into competitions and photo salons, some get printed and shown, some end up in collaborative books, and from a few trips I’ve even put together my own travel books.
But lately I’ve noticed something simple: a journey doesn’t always end when we get home and put the camera down. Some experiences stick around longer than I expect, not just because of the photos, but because of the questions that come afterward. The way I see things shifts slowly, and sometimes I don’t even notice it happening. A journey doesn’t just move us from one place to another, it also, slowly, shifts the way we see the world.
I’ve been taking photographs for a long time now. Photography has taken me to a lot of places. Every trip, I come home with more pictures than I know what to do with. Some I keep for myself, some go into competitions and photo salons, some get printed and shown, some end up in collaborative books, and from a few trips I’ve even put together my own travel books.
But lately I’ve noticed something simple: a journey doesn’t always end when we get home and put the camera down. Some experiences stick around longer than I expect, not just because of the photos, but because of the questions that come afterward. The way I see things shifts slowly, and sometimes I don’t even notice it happening. A journey doesn’t just move us from one place to another, it also, slowly, shifts the way we see the world.
I’ve been taking photographs for a long time now. Photography has taken me to a lot of places. Every trip, I come home with more pictures than I know what to do with. Some I keep for myself, some go into competitions and photo salons, some get printed and shown, some end up in collaborative books, and from a few trips I’ve even put together my own travel books.
But lately I’ve noticed something simple: a journey doesn’t always end when we get home and put the camera down. Some experiences stick around longer than I expect, not just because of the photos, but because of the questions that come afterward. The way I see things shifts slowly, and sometimes I don’t even notice it happening. A journey doesn’t just move us from one place to another, it also, slowly, shifts the way we see the world.
When the Journey Doesn’t End
I’ve been taking photographs for a long time now. Photography has taken me to a lot of places. Every trip, I come home with more pictures than I know what to do with. Some I keep for myself, some go into competitions and photo salons, some get printed and shown, some end up in collaborative books, and from a few trips I’ve even put together my own travel books.
But lately I’ve noticed something simple: a journey doesn’t always end when we get home and put the camera down. Some experiences stick around longer than I expect, not just because of the photos, but because of the questions that come afterward. The way I see things shifts slowly, and sometimes I don’t even notice it happening. A journey doesn’t just move us from one place to another, it also, slowly, shifts the way we see the world.
I’ve loved writing since I was a kid, jotting down experiences, feelings, small things I came across. Out of that came a kind of conversation with myself, a quiet way of figuring out what I was going through. When I started photographing and visiting different places, that urge to write came back. I wanted a space that could hold not just photos, but the thoughts that come up along the way too, a place where photos and writing could exist side by side. Photos hold what I see. Writing helps me understand what I’m actually experiencing.
Sometimes a place doesn’t give up its meaning right away. It takes time. Often it’s only after coming home, once things have quieted down, that I start seeing a trip differently, and that’s usually when I realize there are things a photo alone can’t hold. That’s where writing finds its place.
Writing helps me keep hold of things that slip away easily: a small feeling that shows up somewhere, a question that suddenly comes to mind when I look at something, gratitude that arrives without warning. If I don’t write it down, the moment often just passes.
This journal isn’t an attempt to explain the world. The world’s too big for that. For me, it’s more like a space to sort out how I understand things. The writing here won’t always be complete, won’t always be polished. Sometimes it’s just a fragment of thought left over from a trip. But that’s where the honesty is, really.
I’m not writing to look like I know things. I’m writing so I don’t stop learning how to see.
And maybe, for me, that’s the most honest reason to start this journal.
