Waiting Room Abstract Photography

Experimentation is the soul of artistic expression. It’s how we stretch the limits of what we know, forcing our brains to make new connections — the same impulse that gave rise to music, religion, and art itself. Every day offers a chance to try something different. That all sounds wonderful, but the challenge, of course, is actually doing it.

Lately, I’ve been drawn to abstract photography, especially the kind that embraces imperfection — motion, blur, and light trails that feel almost painterly. It’s not what I usually shoot, but it’s become a welcome break from my usual street work. A kind of visual palate cleanser. It gives me something to explore when I’m between projects or just waiting for the next spark to hit. There's freedom in it and a thrill to have no idea what the final image will be until later.

Staying Inspired - The Struggle is Real

Staying inspired isn’t always easy. My mind is constantly scanning for compositions — the way light falls across a building, a fleeting gesture on the street — but that constant searching can sometimes dull my ability to see. I get so focused on finding something interesting that I forget to pause and simply look. It’s a strange realization, but one that’s helped me become more aware of my own creative habits.

Recently, I went days without picking up my camera. Not in any meaningful way, at least. That creative drought feels heavier than you might expect — a quiet guilt that builds in the back of your mind. My inner critic tells me I should be creating no matter what. Feeling uninspired? Push harder. Feeling down? Work through it. But those motivational clichés rarely help. Sometimes, they just make the stillness louder.

My camera is always nearby and like a 7/11— always “open,” but not always doing business. This morning, while traveling, I found myself taking small detail shots around the house we’re staying in. The simple act of doing — of noticing texture and light again — felt like a reset button. It reminded me how creativity often returns when you stop forcing it and start playing instead. It reminded me of some photos I had taken a week earlier. So I decided to revisit them.

A few days earlier, I drove Naomi to a dental appointment. Left to my own devices, I get restless — I start wandering, inspecting, looking for things to occupy my curiosity. So, instead of doom-scrolling my phone, I pulled out my camera. I asked myself, Can this space be useful? What can I do with what’s right here?

That question turned the waiting room into an unexpected studio.

Abstract Photography & Camera Movement

I remembered a few recent experiments I’d done with slow shutter speeds and intentional motion blur — and how much I’d enjoyed the results. The technique transforms ordinary scenes into swaths of color and rhythm, something closer to brushstrokes than pixels. The sensor records light in motion, but the final image feels closer to paint than photography.

As I panned the camera across reflections, chairs, and shifting light, the compositions started to feel alive. On the back screen, they looked rough — maybe even unremarkable. But when I pulled the files into post later, new textures emerged in the sweep of color. Tonal shifts revealed unexpected harmonies, and color grading brought out subtleties I hadn’t seen while shooting. The blur transformed the mundane into something lyrical — a kind of visual jazz riff improvised in real time.

The Point of Creative Experiements

That small experiment reminded me why I create in the first place. Not every photo needs to be perfect, or even good. Sometimes it’s just about staying in motion — staying engaged. The act of creating, even casually, keeps the artistic muscles from seizing up.

Maybe that’s the real point of creative play: to remind ourselves that inspiration doesn’t always strike like lightning. Sometimes, it arrives quietly, in a waiting room, when you decide to stop waiting.