Have you ever been on a photoshoot and suddenly realized that everything around you had gone quiet?

You’re no longer just taking pictures.

You are feeling the moment.

Some of the most meaningful photographs I have ever made, happened when I stopped trying to take a photograph and...allowed myself to experience what was in front of me.

This has happened to me many times while photographing old buildings. Old structures have a presence about them. They are more than wood and nails — they are stories that have survived time.

Every weathered board carries fingerprints of the past. Every crooked beam reflects someone’s dream, sacrifice, or survival. When I photograph these places, I often find myself wondering about the people who once lived there.

What was the builder thinking when that first piece of timber was set in place?

Each time I photograph a structure like this, I feel a quiet connection — as if the building itself is whispering its story to anyone willing to listen.

One photoshoot stands out above the rest.

It was an old homestead scheduled to be demolished to make way for a new subdivision. The early summer light was just beginning to spill over the mountains, and the rising sun created a soft backlight that wrapped the building in a warm glow.

Standing there, I could almost see the ranch family gathered on the porch. It felt less like a photoshoot and more like stepping into another time.

Then I noticed something that stopped me in my tracks.

Behind the house stood Old Glory — worn, faded, and tattered — but still standing.

The flag had been left behind when the family moved away, as if it had been assigned one final duty: to stand watch over what remained.

There was something deeply moving about that sight.

This weathered old flag had endured sun, wind, storms, and time — just like the homestead it guarded. It was no longer perfect, but it was still proud.

Still standing.

Still telling a story.

I set up my composition carefully, framing the house with Old Glory guarding the rear flank — a silent sentinel watching over the past.

After capturing the image, I couldn't bring myself to walk away and leave the flag behind. Knowing the house would soon be demolished, I gently rolled it up and brought it home with me.

Today, that flag hangs on the wall of my office — not as decoration, but as a reminder.

A reminder that the most powerful photographs are not captured by the camera alone.

They are captured first by the heart.

If you want your photographs to truly mean something, you must allow your emotions to guide you.

Slow down.

Relax your shoulders.

Listen to the quiet around you.

Let your imagination step into the past.

Feel what the scene is trying to tell you.

The camera records light — but emotion records meaning.

When you allow yourself to fully experience a moment, something remarkable happens:

The viewer may never know why an image moves them.

But they will feel it.

Because emotion leaves a signature that technique alone never can.

Let your emotions capture the moment.

Your camera will follow.
And your audience will feel the story long after the shutter closes.

Happy shooting…

Martin