For months, nothing I made behind the camera felt right. Then, one morning, I stopped trying to photograph the sunrise — and just watched it instead.
Sometimes we get lost. Not just as photographers or artists — but as people.
I’ve been there.
The reasons might differ, but the feeling is the same: a loss of identity, a draining of confidence. For creative folks, it’s especially cruel.
For several months, I couldn’t create a photo I liked. Everything I tried felt forced. My hands felt clumsy behind the camera. Compositional decisions felt like a chore instead of a joy. The camera didn’t inspire me — it frustrated me.
One morning, I went out to photograph a sunrise. It was stunning — perfect clouds, beautiful color, the kind of sky we dream about. But nothing I tried worked. I fumbled every shot. Eventually, I packed the camera back into the bag and sat on a nearby rock. And then… I just watched.
I didn’t photograph the sunrise — I witnessed it. And somewhere in those quiet moments, as the sun rose and painted the sky, I realized I hadn’t been fighting the camera. I’d been fighting myself.
I didn’t pick up the camera for nearly a month after that. But I was healing. With each passing day, I started to feel like me again.
One Sunday afternoon, the itch to create returned. The forecast looked promising. I loaded up the gear and hit the road. The clouds were brooding and moody — not dramatic just yet, but full of potential.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the clouds ignited. Deep grays gave way to fiery color, and I knew the moment had come.
I set my ISO to 100 to get the cleanest file I could. F/11 gave me the depth of field I wanted. I mounted the camera on a tripod, used a cable release, and let the light dictate the shutter speed. The meter settled at 1/30 of a second.
I made a deliberate choice to let the bridge remain a silhouette. I didn’t need to see every bolt or beam — the shape was enough. The real magic was in the sky.
With the technical stuff dialed in, I played. I adjusted the framing, moved the horizon, zoomed in and out — looking not just for a photograph, but for the photograph.
And the one you see here? That was it. That was the one that felt like me again.
The takeaway: Sometimes creative burnout isn’t about the camera at all. Putting it down for a while can be exactly what brings you back to it.
This fiery sky over the Newport Bridge is the photograph that marked my return after a long creative dry spell — a bold, emotionally resonant piece for anyone who’s ever needed a reminder that the light comes back. See the print options.