I have always believed that photography is more than just pressing a button. It is more than a camera, more than a sensor, more than a never-ending debate about megapixels, crop factors, and frame rates. Photography is a story—one that begins long before you pick up your camera and continues long after the shutter clicks.
And yet, here we are in an age where numbers seem to dictate everything. The internet is flooded with endless discussions about whether full-frame is superior to APS-C, whether a certain camera is “crippled” by a crop in 4K, or whether a lack of 8K video recording makes a camera obsolete. These debates rage on as if they define the very essence of photography.
But do they?
If history has taught us anything, it is that great photography is rarely about the technical perfection of the tool. When André Kertész first photographed that alley in Meudon, he was unsatisfied. The composition lacked life, the moment was missing something. Instead of blaming his camera or chasing better specifications, he returned and reframed the scene. This time, he included people in the foreground, a train passing in the distance. The image came alive. His vision materialized—not because of a higher resolution sensor or better dynamic range, but because of his curiosity, patience, and willingness to adapt.
Even some of the most famous photographs in history were not the result of perfect planning. Robert Capa’s D-Day images were blurry and grainy, yet they became some of the most powerful war photos ever taken. Henri Cartier-Bresson’s most celebrated street photographs were not meticulously set up, but captured in the moment—perfectly imperfect. Photography has never been about achieving flawless execution. It has always been about capturing something real.
I have had countless moments like this myself. Times when I set out with a vision, only to realize that reality had other plans. I once believed I would never photograph flowers—until one day in Stockholm, when I found myself standing beneath the cherry blossoms in Kungsträdgården, captivated not by the flowers themselves, but by the sheer joy of the people around them. The story was not in the petals but in the faces, in the hands reaching up to capture the moment, in the quiet wonder of strangers sharing a fleeting experience.
I had come for one thing but found something far more meaningful.
And so, after more than three decades with Nikon, I now find myself stepping into a new world, transitioning to Sony. Not because one brand is better than the other, not because I am chasing the latest and greatest specs, but because I am adapting—to how I shoot today, to what excites me, to how my photography has evolved over the years. The best camera isn’t the one with the biggest sensor or the most megapixels—it’s the one that fits where you are in your creative journey.
So let the debates continue, let the numbers be dissected and compared. Meanwhile, I will be out there—chasing the light, embracing the unexpected, and reminding myself that the most important tool in photography has never been the camera.
It has always been the photographer.
