Choose a camera that fits your needs

On paper, a new piece of camera gear can be very tempting. Tech gets better, numbers go up, and whatever we already own starts to feel obsolete. But is the newest and greatest what we need to make what we want?

Ever since the Sony ZV1ii I bought off eBay failed on me a few weeks ago, I've been searching for a small video camera to pair with my full-frame setup. When you're filming yourself, a second camera can make a big difference (different angle, timelapse...).

One that keeps coming up, one that almost every influencer out there seems to own and love, is the DJI Pocket. I actually bought the very first iteration of that line (it was called the DJI Osmo back then) many years ago. It was a cool idea, but it came with serious downsides that are still present today.

I was hoping the Pocket 4, which was announced yesterday, would fix some of the issues that kept me from going back to that series of cameras. But it was not meant to be, the main flaws that make it a no-go for me are still there: no swappable battery, no weather sealing, too fragile.

I know I’d wreck that camera within weeks. There’s no way that gimbal survives a few outings with me. If the rain or the cold doesn’t kill it first, of course. And in the very unlikely case it survives being tossed around in the car and into random bags, the occasional drop, and the frequent bad weather, the battery will eventually degrade to the point of making the camera unusable.

On paper, it's nearly everything I want and need. Great image quality, ease of use, features that would actually make my life easier in the field. But paper and reality are not the same thing, a distinction we must be aware of before falling for the latest and flashiest piece of gear.

So the search continues. A Sony ZV1iii with 10-bit and S-Cinetone to match my full-frame camera would be ideal, but in the meanwhile, the ZV1ii and the Canon V1 are the strongest candidates.

Neither can match the Pocket's stabilization, and both are bigger and heavier. But I don’t have to hold my breath when I toss them in a bag, or throw them around in the car. Swappable batteries mean they'll still be usable many years from now.

Spec sheets are useful, to a point. Bigger numbers don’t mean anything if the piece of equipment doesn’t fit your workflow. The best camera is the one you will actually bring, use, and abuse without losing sleep over it. Choose wisely.

I wasn't inspired, so I bought a new camera

The way out of a creative rut is new camera gear. Or is it?

Last chance for these old lenses

I have way too much camera equipment, and most of it I don’t even use, so I’ve been on a selling spree lately. I sold a few things including some lenses, but when I found these two sitting on a shelf in the closet, they made me pause. They are the Zeiss 16-70mm f/4 and the Sony G 70-350mm. I made so many good images with these two back in the day… but I haven’t touched them in a while. So, to decide whether I love them or list them, I’m taking both out to Lake Michigan to shoot some amazing winter scenes and see if they can still perform.

This lens might finally retire my beloved Tamron 28-200mm

For the last few months, I've been using the Tamron 35-150mm f/2-2.8. It's a wonderful lens, but it comes with serious drawbacks. Will it replace my all-time favorite Tamron 28-200mm f/2.8-5.6?

So it does happen...

I panicked, a little bit.

They weren’t the most important photos and footage, but it wasn't easy to take them. I’d woken up at 5am and hiked (there’s no other way to describe walking in San Francisco) with two tripods and two big cameras and lenses on my back, while gaining almost 700 feet of elevation.

That’s why I was a little upset to find a cryptic “A7IV_3902.RSV” with zero bytes on the memory card, instead of the photos and videos I had made.

So it does happen, after all: memory cards get corrupted, or something like that.

After more than 3 years using a camera with dual memory card slots, I was about to find out if the feature was worth it. I inserted the second memory card into the laptop, and to my huge relief, there they were. All the photos and videos I had worked hard to make. Phew.

Going big and heavy

I got two new lenses. Big, heavy, fat lenses. I’m still not sure why I did it. It’s not because I needed them; I didn’t.

My best guess is that I wanted a change. For the past five years, I’ve taken the vast majority of my photographs with a superzoom: my beloved Tamron 28–200mm.

I love that thing: simple, versatile, reliable. So good that it’s boring. I wanted something I could use instead of this little gem, to switch things up.

So, I picked up the Tamron 35–150mm. A much bigger, much heavier lens. Surprisingly, the weight hasn’t bothered me as much as the narrower reach. It’s faster and definitely sharper, but I’m still trying to figure out if the trade-off is worth it.

I also grabbed the Tamron 150–500mm. For the last six years, I’ve relied on the Sony 70–350mm for telephoto work, but I wanted an upgrade with more reach. Still, I’m not sure I’ll keep it long term. At almost 2kg (4lbs), it’s not something I’ll be carrying around all the time, so we’ll see.

This road trip I’m on now seemed like the perfect time to test them out. I bought them used, both good deals, I think. Especially with camera prices going up because of the tariffs. The upside is, if I decide they’re not for me in a couple of months, I should be able to get most of my money back.

I have no idea whether my images will get better or worse. Most likely, they'll be very similar to the ones I was making before. If nothing else, I might get bigger arms from this experiment. Who knows. I'll keep you updated.

Mastery through consistency

“The fact is that relatively few photographers ever master their medium. Instead they allow the medium to master them and go on an endless squirrel cage chase from new lens to new paper to new developer to new gadget, never staying with one piece of equipment long enough to learn its full capacities, becoming lost in a maze of technical information that is of little or no use since they don't know what to do with it” — Edward Weston

I’ve talked about consistency many times on this blog.

We need to give our tools and style some time to mature, we need to give ourselves enough room to grow with our current tools. Don’t try to photograph everything, focus on a few things.

A unique lens for unique images

I got to try something different, a reflex lens. This Kase 200mm f/5.6 is a prime, fixed aperture reflex lens, and it's able to do some crazy stuff. The bokeh it creates can lead to very interesting photographs, and it opens a new whole new world of creative possibilities.

These are some of the images I've made with this lens.

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6 unexpected ways more megapixels help my photography

More megapixels doesn't mean better photographs... but in many ways, high resolution sensors can make our lives as photographers much easier, and enable us to do things we couldn't do with fewer pixels.

On Fuji cameras, dials, and the lost art of consistency

Fuji is getting a lot of attention thanks to the recently announced GFX100RF. What caught my attention from that camera wasn’t the fixed-lens, the medium format sensor, or the $5,000 price tag. It was the new “aspect ratio dial”.

This seems to be part of a new trend with Fuji cameras. Just a few months earlier, the X-T50 was the first to introduce a dedicated “film simulation dial”.

I celebrate when a manufacturer tries something new, but I can’t help but wonder what these new dials might be revealing about the times we live in.

Are photographers nowadays switching aspect ratios and film simulations so often that they need a dial for quick access?

It feels like a reflection of the modern creative mindset: constantly changing things, never sticking with something long enough to master it. There’s always a new, shiny trick that promises to change the game. Except it never does.

I’m starting to feel old-school when I advocate for consistency: the value of committing to a tool, a format, or an aesthetic for some time.

If one photo is 3:2 and color while the next is 1:1 and black and white, our work might end up feeling cluttered and directionless. It’s not just about cohesion in a portfolio, it’s about developing a personal vision.

A style doesn’t emerge from constantly switching things. It comes from working within some boundaries, constraints that force us to solve problems through creativity, instead of avoiding them.

Experimentation is good. But there’s a difference between thoughtful evolution and constant indecision. Sometimes, we just need to commit to something.

Photography is not a recipe

I’m currently reading a photography book where the author lists their settings for every image. Normally, I’m skeptical about sharing that information, but an educational book seems like the one place where it might be justified to do so.

Many photographers seem obsessed with this kind of technical data, though. Not just the settings used but camera, lens, film stock, developing recipe, even the paper used for the final print. It’s not uncommon to see this information attached to photographs on social media; and even worse, in photo books.

The usual argument made for this is that it helps others learn how the image was made. But what do we really gain from knowing that a heavily compressed Instagram photo of a distant mountain was taken at f/7.1 and 1/250s?

If we truly want to offer insight into how an image was made, there are far more useful details we could share instead: Where and when was the image taken? Do those conditions happen often, or was it a rare occurrence? Tell me more about the story behind the shot: Why did you go there? Did you hike for hours, or did you pull over on the side of the road? If it was a hike, was it easy, or hard? What about the crowds? Seeing the original, unedited RAW file alongside the final image would also provide far more value. And most importantly: how did you feel when you were shooting your subject?

If the goal is to teach and inspire, this kind of information is infinitely more valuable than a list of settings.

Don’t get me wrong: settings matter. But most photographs could have been taken with different settings and they’d still look nearly the same. Because what truly shapes an image isn’t the aperture or shutter speed--it’s the light, the conditions, and the story told in the frame.

So why do we fixate on the settings?

I think it comes down to photography’s eternal struggle to be seen as an art. Some photographers might believe that sharing technical choices makes their work look more intentional, more serious, especially to those who don’t even know what they mean. The settings are the “secret ingredients” that the artist came up with to make the final result possible.

But photography isn’t a recipe. Greatness isn’t defined by the choice of ISO or shutter speed. A great photographer is insanely curious about the world. They notice what others overlook. They recognize beauty in front of them and know how to translate it into an image. They anticipate a moment unfolding and are ready to capture it.

You can recognize a great photographer not by what they say about their camera gear or settings, but by the passion in their eyes when they talk about their subjects.

Shoot wider than you need

Whenever I have a composition I like framed in my camera, before pressing the shutter I like to either zoom out, or take a step back.

While you can always crop in post (especially with a high-resolution camera), you can never “zoom out” after the fact.

By shooting wider than I need, I give myself room to fine-tune the framing later. Sometimes, I realize the composition needs more negative space; other times, a slight shift left/right, or up/down, makes for a stronger image.

Whenever possible, give your future self some wiggle room to experiment in post. They’ll thank you.

“It’s not ready yet” is a form of avoidance

A couple of blocks from where I live, there’s a van built for the outdoors: rugged tires, gas canisters, solar panels... the whole package. I’ve seen the interior a few times as well, and it looks extremely nice. Everything is shiny and brand new.

The van has been sitting on the street since I moved here a year ago.

I’m sure it still has things that need work, but at some point, “it’s not ready yet” becomes an excuse.

Surely, a rig like that would make my photography road trips easier and more comfortable. I can’t afford it, though, so I make it happen with a $45 mattress and a big battery. I spent three months sleeping in my car in Norway, two months in Scotland, and have taken countless trips across the U.S. with that setup. Yes, it is challenging, even miserable at times, but the inconveniences fade over time. What’s left are the memories... and the images.

When I fall into the trap of over-preparation, it’s usually in areas of my life I’m less excited about. Procrastination becomes a way to avoid doing something I don’t really want to do. It’s easy to convince myself that one more thing needs to be done before I start.

But we need to ask ourselves: do we actually want to do it, or do we just like the idea of becoming that person who does things like these?

If we spend more time shopping for hiking gear than looking at maps -and actually hiking-, maybe we don’t love this activity as much as we think. Perhaps we just like imagining ourselves as hikers.

If we spend more time reading about cameras and lenses than exploring or looking for new subjects, maybe we don’t love taking photos as much as we think. Perhaps we just like the idea of being photographers.

The best way to know what we truly want is to start. Start small, with whatever you have now. Build momentum. Buy new gear as you need it, when your current equipment is really holding you back. Only by taking action do we discover what truly drives us, rather than chasing what others say should.

Logos and visual clutter

A few years ago, my in-laws were doing some repairs on their house. Their yard was littered with signs from all the construction companies involved in the project. Half-joking, I asked if they were getting a discount for the free advertising. I was surprised to learn from one of the contractors that this common practice is actually part of the contract.

I've always disliked how companies treat us like walking billboards. Look around, and you’ll see logos everywhere: from cars to clothes to most everyday objects. As I write this, I can easily spot over a dozen logos on my desk: my water bottle, notebooks, pens, hard drives, desk fan, phone charger, monitor, laptop, keyboard, and even the desk itself. There's so much visual clutter everywhere.

As you might have guessed from my photography work, I appreciate minimalist design, and I believe that most logos cheapen an otherwise well designed object. The best designs are probably those that are immediately recognizable without the need of a logo.

Bringing it back to photography: my Sony camera has 3 logos on it; plus at least a couple more on whatever lens I might be using. This is on top of other clutter like the model name, or things like "4k steadyshot inside". The tripod will have at least another two, one of the legs and another one on the plate. And so on.

I personally like to cover much of my camera gear with tape. I can't tape over everything, for example tape on the tripod will eventually start to slide and leave sticky residue everywhere. Still, I think cameras look better when they're as simple as possible.

I know, I know. This all might sound silly to most of you, but I find it incredibly distracting. I'm far from living a logo-free life, but I'm trying my best here.

I watched a review of my favorite lens and it ruined my day

The Tamron 28-200mm is, without a doubt,my all-time favorite lens. It’s rarely left my camera since I bought it 4 years ago, coming with me to several countries and through all kinds of conditions -- from the heat of the desert to bitterly cold blizzards. It’s never let me down, and I’ve take thousands of photographs I truly love with it.

I was perfectly happy with this lens... until I made the mistake of watching an old review of it. The reviewer found it soft at certain focal lengths, too slow, lacking optical stabilization, incapable of resolving detail for high-res sensors, and more. Their tests were clear and convincing, too.

What followed were a couple of days of unnecessary self-doubt. I’m dramatizing a bit here, but I wondered whether there was something wrong with me, how come I can’t see the flaws they were talking about in my photos?

To find out, I compared the Tamron to another one I own, the Sony 35mm GM, a lens that had gotten glowing reviews. The results were clear: the Tamron was soft.

And yet, that was not noticeable in the actual images or the prints I made of them. You have to zoom in to 200%, or beyond, to spot that softness in certain parts of the frame. If anything, the 35mm was too sharp.

After wasting a few hours running silly tests at home, I’m happy to report that I love my lens again, perhaps even more than before.

Take gear reviews with a big grain of salt. There’s nothing wrong with researching and understanding what is that you are getting for your money, especially when you are trying to decide between two similar lenses. But don’t forget to consider your unique needs.

That shiny prime lens might be sharper than the zoom, but will it help you get the shots you want? That big, fast zoom might be technically superior, but will the added weight leave you exhausted after an hour of shooting?

After all, photography is not a science.

Buying cameras and taking photos are two very different hobbies

After years of sharing my work online -my images, my workflow, my opinions, my successes and my mistakes- it still surprises me that most of the little “hate” I’ve received has been about how I treat my cameras.

This happens less now that I’ve switched to digital -apparently, no one seems to care about the fate of a soulless Sony camera. But it was a different story when I used to shoot film with my beloved Bronica SQ-Ai. You’d think I was committing some kind of crime whenever I showed that camera getting rained on. I probably caused some panic attacks the day I dropped it on a sandy beach.

And because the work I created with that beauty is still out there, every once in a while I get another message along those lines.

Whenever I get one of these messages, I think of something I read a while ago about books, which I’ve adapted to cameras: “buying books and reading books are two completely different hobbies”.

There’s nothing wrong with appreciating and loving the design of a beautifully crafted camera, even if it only serves as decoration on a shelf. Just don’t expect everyone to feel the same way towards devices that were meant to take photos out in the field, in the real world.

I broke my one rule... and it cost me

I didn't follow the rules I've set up for myself... and I missed a couple of good shots.

Why I shoot with a high resolution camera (A7Riv)

For the past five years, I’ve been using high-resolution full-frame cameras for my photography -- starting with the A7Rii, and now the A7Riv. This choice might seem surprising, especially given the type of images I create.

The reason is very simple: cropping.

I crop every single photograph I take, even when I get the perfect framing in-camera. Creating square images means I “discard” a third of the pixels, every single time.

A7Riv’s 61MP let me crop even further, and I often do. Switching to APS-C mode gives that extra reach I sometimes need, effectively turning my 28-200mm superzoom into a 28-300mm, while still producing large, detailed files.

In fact, in APS-C mode, the A7Riv matches the 26MP of a dedicated crop-sensor camera like the a6700. This means I can mount a lens like the 70-350mm and get an equivalent 525mm focal length in a compact setup -- much smaller than the full-frame counterparts. Or mount a prime like the 35mm 1.4 and "switch" to 50mm with the press of a button.

So, it’s not about having 61MP images; I couldn’t care less about that. It's about the flexibility those megapixels give me: I don't have to carry as much gear; or I can shoot in bad weather and not have to worry about switching lenses to get the focal length I need. I like camera gear that gets out of the way, because I can focus on what really matters: subject and composition.

This compact camera changed the way I do photography

I've used all kind of cameras over the years, from medium format film monsters to smartphones. All of them taught some valuable lessons about this art, but the camera that changed my photography forever was a tiny compact one. I lost it years ago on a beach in Oregon, but now, we are reunited again!

Spring cleaning

After years of doing this, one thing is pretty clear to me: more gear, more problems. A lesson I should’ve learned a long time ago, and yet, here we are.

During my most recent road trip across the US, despite lugging around 8-9 lenses, I did most of my photography and video work with just 2 of them. Add a couple of primes and the telephoto for those rare images that needed them, and the math tells me I’ve got 4-5 too many lenses.

But it gets worse, because of all the accessories and other gadgets cluttering up my bag: from the neglected 360 camera to the wireless mic that my phone could easily replace. It’s all excess baggage.

So, it’s time for a spring cleaning. I went through my bag (and closet) and decided to part ways with a bunch of stuff. Letting go is the easy part, though. The real challenge will be to resist the temptation to fill those now-empty spaces back up with new and shiny objects. To stay light.

Because out there, when the hike gets tough, when the weather takes a turn for the worse, when you are tired and exhausted after hours of chasing the shot... less is more. Always.