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

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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.

The most harmful belief I had as a beginner photographer

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I used to think that good photographers consistently take great photographs, and only rarely they make something subpar. Surely, their “keeper rate” was much better than mine.

This was one of the most harmful beliefs I held when I was taking my first steps in photography. Because when you don’t allow yourself to fail, you play it safe; and when you play it safe, there’s no growth.

Making a bad photograph is not the risk: the lack of experimentation and play is the real danger.

How Japenese Ink Painting influences my photography

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A few years ago, I discovered an art form that transformed my approach to photography: sumi-e, or the art of Japanese Ink Painting. This ancient art taught me to capture the world in a simpler, yet more powerful way. By studying sumi-e paintings, I learned to harness the power of suggestion and simplification in my own work, inviting viewers to engage and connect on a deeper level.

The gift of the desert

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Weather and chance lead me to Central Oregon, the next destination on my road trip across the American West. But this leg of the journey wasn't going to be as smooth as I was hoping for.

There, far away from everything and everyone, I fight the elements and an even more powerful enemy: my inner demons. I doubt myself, my photography, and even my purpose. An accident that resulted in a broken lens didn't make things any better; neither did a very cluttered mind after spending several days trapped inside the car.

The isolation of the desert was another unpleasant layer, but as the days went by, and with no other option but to embrace it, it became exactly the medicine I needed. It was the gift of the desert.