Finding Extraordinary in the Ordinary

Dec 24

It’s the final week of the year, and if you’re anything like me, your mind is likely drifting toward "elsewhere." We spend so much of our creative energy planning for the next big trip, the next dramatic mountain range, or the next bustling city we’ve never visited. We convince ourselves that our cameras are at their best when they are pointed at something new, something novel, or something far away from the mundane routine of our daily lives.

But there is a trap in that mindset. When we only look for beauty in the exotic, we accidentally train our eyes to be blind to the world we actually inhabit.

The truth is, novelty does a lot of the heavy lifting for us. When you stand in a new city, the photos almost take themselves because everything is fresh and striking. The real challenge and perhaps the most rewarding part of being a photographer is learning to find that same level of inspiration in the things you’ve walked past a thousand times before.

Familiarity often breeds a kind of visual numbness. We stop seeing the way the morning light catches the textures of a brick wall on our street, or how a single, bare tree in a local park carves a perfect silhouette against a grey winter sky. We label these things as "ordinary" and move on.

This is where the power of monochrome truly shines. Black and white photography is a natural tool for stripping away the labels we give to our surroundings. When we remove the color of the neighbor’s house or the familiar hue of a local storefront, we are left with the skeleton of the world: light, shadow, texture, and geometry.

Suddenly, a quiet street corner isn't just a place you pass on your way to the grocery store; it becomes a study in high contrast shapes. The way a shadow stretches across a familiar sidewalk becomes a dramatic leading line. The ordinary world hasn't changed, but your way of seeing it has.

Finding the extraordinary at home is a forcing function for presence. It demands that you slow down and stop hunting for an obvious "subject." Instead, you begin to photograph the energy of the light itself. You start to notice the subtle poetry in the way a curtain of rain hits a familiar window or how the fog transforms a local path into a scene from a dream.

During this reflective time between the years, I want to encourage us all to put down the travel brochures and the gear wishlists for a moment. Take your camera and walk into the world you know best. Look for the glint of silver in the mundane. Look for the "quiet" masterpieces hiding in plain sight.

The best shot of your year might not be waiting in a distant country. It might be waiting exactly where you are, just waiting for you to see it with fresh eyes.