Instinct Over Composition
Yo, what’s poppin’ people? Dante.
Today I’m thinking about instinct and photography.
This thought has been rattling through my monkey brain over the past few days about instinct. And I just wanted to articulate some thoughts around it because ultimately instinct isn’t necessarily something you can think about or talk about.
I mean, obviously you can, right?
But I think instinct is all about doing. It’s about action. It’s about removing your mind and responding to your gut.
And so in order for me to talk about instinct, I almost feel like I have to demonstrate it. I have to be out there moving. Photographing. Responding. Because that’s kind of the paradox of instinct — the second you over-explain it, you leave it.
Photographing Blind
One thing I’ve been thinking about lately, especially while using a camera like this with no viewfinder, just an LCD screen…
I’ve actually stopped looking at the screen most of the time.
Like 90% of the time now, I’m photographing blindly.
And honestly?
I think that’s closer to how we actually see.
When we’re walking through the street, we’re not seeing perfect compositions. We’re not walking around analyzing Fibonacci spirals or leading lines. We’re not rationally arranging geometry in real time.
Life is too fast for that.
The moments we photograph are fleeting fragments of reality.
The camera interprets them for us.
And our experience of life moment-to-moment is imperfect. It’s unstable. It’s moving. It’s embodied.
So when I photograph, I’m not thinking:
- “Does this follow compositional rules?”
- “Is this balanced?”
- “Is this technically correct?”
I’m responding physically.
The Physicality of Photography
What interests me most about photography is the physicality of it.
You have to be outside in embodied reality. Moving through life. Actually existing in the world.
And I think compact cameras amplify that feeling because they integrate with your body so seamlessly.
A compact camera on a wrist strap is the closest thing to not having a camera.
It becomes part of your body.
When I’m photographing, I’m adjusting the flick of my wrist. Leaning into scenes. Moving left. Moving right. Bobbing and weaving through moments.
And I think compositions emerge from that.
Not from intellectual thought.
But from physical positioning.
The photograph becomes a reflection of:
- where your body was,
- how you moved,
- when you clicked the shutter,
- and the irrational instinct that pulled you toward the moment.
Style emerges where thinking dies and instinct begins.
That’s what I believe.
Ping Pong & Flow State
Honestly, the best analogy I can think of is ping pong.
If you’ve ever played ping pong, you know there’s no time to think.
The ball is flying at you and your body just responds automatically.
You flick your wrist.
You move.
You react.
Your body understands before your mind does.
And I genuinely think instinct in photography works the same way.
Mediocre photography often falls flat because the photographer is trying too hard. Thinking too much. Rationalizing every frame.
But when you let go…
When you forget everything you think you know about photography…
That’s when something interesting can happen.
You enter flow state.
And flow state is where instinct lives.
The Footprint Photograph
I remember photographing this footprint on the ground while people were climbing a greasy pole in South Philadelphia.
There was chaos everywhere.
People screaming.
Bodies climbing.
Emotion on faces.
And instead of photographing the obvious action, instinct pulled me downward toward this footprint in the dirt.
Rationally, it didn’t make sense.
But instinctively, it felt right.
And I think we should trust that feeling more often.
That irrational pull.
That strange sensitivity we develop while photographing.
Because sometimes your body notices meaning before your conscious mind understands why.
Photography as a Way of Seeing
I don’t think we truly see reality with our naked eyes.
Everything moves too quickly.
Moments vanish instantly.
Photography almost becomes a tool for seeing beyond normal perception.
The camera captures these split-second fragments that we could never fully process in real time.
And through those imperfections — the blur, the timing, the awkward framing, the accidents — we discover something magical.
That’s what keeps me going back out there.
The surprises.
The mystery.
The enchantment of seeing reality transformed through the medium.
Flow State Is the Goal
For me, photography is really about entering flow state.
That’s the peak human experience.
No past.
No future.
No overthinking.
Just:
you,
the street,
and the shutter.
When you’re fully in flow, your body begins responding automatically.
You stop forcing.
You stop calculating.
You stop trying to make photographs.
And suddenly the photographs begin making themselves through you.
That primal bodily response…
that vitality…
that instinct…
That’s what excites me most these days.
Because honestly?
You don’t need your brain to arrange a frame.
You need your body.
Flux Mini Zine Generator
Also — quick side note.
I just dropped the Flux Mini Zine Generator on my website.
You basically drag six photos into the generator, add your title, issue number, photographer name, optional QR code URL, and it automatically creates a printable mini zine.
Shout out to Igor from the community because he described these mini zines as almost being like an EP in music terms.
And honestly?
That’s exactly what they feel like.
A small photographic album.
A tiny visual statement.
I also have another zine generator that creates 36-frame zines arranged like contact sheets on 8.5 x 11 paper — kind of an homage to 35mm film.
I’m accepting submissions to the catalog too, and I invite people into the private community where we’re sharing work and discussing photography.
Still figuring everything out technically though.
I’m basically learning in real time and throwing shit at the wall every day while building these tools.
So bear with me if stuff breaks.
Folding the Zine (Disaster)
I tried folding the mini zine on camera for the first time and completely failed.
Like absolutely catastrophic.
I had no idea what I was doing.
I folded it backwards.
Cut it wrong.
Started improvising.
Somehow invented an entirely new fold by accident.
It was honestly hilarious.
But also weirdly beautiful because that’s kind of the spirit of all this stuff:
making things,
messing up,
figuring it out physically.
That’s the energy.
And honestly?
I fucking love this shit.