Thoughts on AI and image processing
TL;DR: I believe personal and authentic photography, like most creative acts, is rooted in patience, presence, and lived experience in the field. While artificial intelligence is a powerful modern tool, I limit its use to minor corrective tasks—clearing small, transient distractions to reveal the objective structure of the land. For me, a lighter touch honors both the reality of the natural world and the authenticity of the solitary moment.
Interstitial, October 2025
The widespread use of heavy-handed editing techniques, made effortless by Photoshop and artificial intelligence, has sparked intense debate within photography circles regarding ethics. I understand the pushback. On one hand, digital artists embrace a "no limitations" mindset. On the other, many argue that AI is not genuinely creative, as it merely represents a statistical amalgamation of existing data. Where should creators draw the line—assuming a line should even exist? It is a controversy many photographers struggle with, and one I consider often.
I believe true creativity is a manifestation of authenticity and honesty. After spending so much time living and experiencing the wilderness while making photographs, it strikes me as a little absurd how much fame and fortune falls to digital deceivers who claim their images were captured with real cameras in real, majestic places. Ultimately, they spend their precious moments behind computer screens, while traditional photographers retain the privilege of living meaningful experiences. Let them eat algorithms.
The photographic process does not stop when the shutter is released; the shutter is actually the birth of the image. From there, it can develop in infinite ways or branch into myriad creative directions, depending entirely on the photographer’s propensity for nurturing it.
Using AI to further the message of a photograph is a valid choice. It is simply one more tool in the bag. It can get a photographer to Point B much faster than traditional digital processing tools like spot-removal or cloning. That said, I personally do not mess with AI unless it is the absolute best option for removing small, distracting objects.
As a last resort, for example, I’ve used it to take out a strange-looking leaf floating on the surface of a pond. My eye kept jumping to it instead of the design I wanted to emphasize, so I zapped it. Even though it was tiny and didn't impact the overall composition, its presence was a distraction. Another time, I removed a bright, dried-out branch off to the side to keep the viewer's eye from drifting out of the frame. And once, I utilized AI spot-removal to clear a stubborn sky highlight poking through the canopy. Even though it was a natural occurrence, the highlight looked unnatural upon later review. (“How the hell is it that much brighter than all the other highlights?”)
On those evenings, I slept just fine. I didn’t feel I’d crossed an ethical line, nor did I fear being called out by some mythical boardroom of revered photography elders. Even if I were, I knew I wouldn’t care very much.
My photographs are made with patience and presence in the field, surrounded by trees and small creatures, to the sound of wind-blown branches and distant birdsong. Behind each image is a sensory, emotional, and intellectual experience that is uniquely mine. They are authentic creations that will one day help me recall years spent exploring in solitude. The images’ origins and underlying meanings aren’t cheapened by minuscule applications of new technology to barely noticeable, transient objects.
The way I see it, AI is like anything else in life that seems scary at first but can be put to judicious use. In my case, it boosts expressive authenticity. It can even help an image look and feel more objectively “real” than a flat RAW file, or even the memory of the physical experience itself.
It is up to every photographer* to determine their own thresholds for using AI, and to come to terms with the inevitable fluctuations of those boundaries. Not every moment, photograph, mood, or desired outcome is the same, so we shouldn't pretend a single set of guidelines applies to every image we make. Simultaneously, we must remain conscious that the overuse of editing technology quickly leads to deception—the very antithesis of authenticity.
The best editing tool remains the one behind the camera: the living, breathing, thinking photographer, making creative decisions in the present moment.
*I use the word "photographer" here to distinguish them from digital artists. This is best represented as a spectrum:
Photographer <——--(Me, for now)————————————> Digital Artist
You could easily replace "Photographer" with adjectives like “Documentary,” “Literal,” or “Representative.” Likewise, you could swap "Digital Artist" for descriptors such as “Impressionistic,” “Abstract,” or “Ambiguous.”
For me, a photographer uses a camera to make an image, then utilizes post-processing to bring that image into its own. No matter how it is edited, the result remains clearly recognizable as a photograph. Digital artists, on the other hand, don’t necessarily have to start with a camera asset. If they do, the photo is manipulated so heavily that the original image is significantly lost, leaving only traces of texture or outline to enhance a grander artistic vision. I am in no way asserting that one form is more valid, ethical, or authentic than the other.
I aim to land somewhere left of center, but not too far left. I want to convey a sense of reality and detail because I want my viewers to grasp the nuanced beauty of nature. I am deeply moved by the objective qualities of the natural world. At the same time, I need to stay true to my creative sensibilities—especially those that cannot be easily expressed with physical objects or words.
The pulling tension created by these two opposing poles is more than a mere byproduct of my process; for what I aspire to achieve with my work, it is foundational.
On processing - February 2023
To a large extent, our mental health—and by extension, our survival—depends on our ability to process experiences and feelings in ways that protect the psyche. In this way, I consider my images to be emotive expressions rather than documentary snapshots. They must be recognized, appreciated, and nurtured regardless of their outward “beauty.” They must be cared for if I am to continue developing as a human, connecting with myself, and realizing my role in the natural world.
Using post-processing software, I do my best to honor the subject while conveying my subjective memory of the experience. It is a challenging but rewarding balancing act. After shooting a scene that resonates with my sensibilities, I will use post-processing to cool or warm its tones, experiment with saturation and contrast, or apply dodging and burning. These are quick adjustments that take roughly 10 to 30 minutes, though selective masking can extend that time. When color doesn’t contribute to a photograph, I like to see what the patterns, textures, and composition have to say in black and white.
Just as when I’m in the field, I usually end up playing around and following intuition. I enjoy letting an image marinate for days, weeks, or months before finalizing my processing. Slowness is important to me.
The use of extreme techniques, such as dropping in fake AI skies or employing unrealistic compositing, sucks the joy and authenticity out of photography for me. These methods feel like working for a lousy, demanding company where everything is about bombastic, short-term achievement with little regard for the big picture. My sensory and emotional experiences, combined with personal meaning, are too valuable to counterfeit.
Ultimately, a balanced, lighter touch serves my message most authentically. Heavy-handed approaches that yield loud yet predictable results are not going to take me where I need to go. I am generally turned away from images that shout.
