What kind of photographer are you?

It's a question photographers are asked surprisingly often. For many of us, the answer comes easily: I'm a landscape photographer.

It's a useful label. People instantly understand the kind of photographs we make and the places we're drawn to. But for many landscape photographers, not everything we want to create fits neatly within that definition.

Perhaps you've found yourself captivated by a weathered doorway, an old barn, or an intimate detail that says more than the grand view ever could. Then comes the thought:

"That's not really landscape photography."

Without even realising it, we begin editing our ideas before we've taken the photograph. Instead of following our curiosity, we start shaping our creativity around an arbitrary definition.

The Box We Build

At first, calling ourselves a landscape photographer is simply a convenient way to describe the photographs we enjoy making. But over time, the description becomes an expectation. 

We feel it from camera clubs, competitions, social media, and even other photographers. 

People begin to know us as "the landscape photographer," and without noticing, we start protecting that identity. We reject ideas that don't fit. We leave the camera in the bag because "that's not really landscape photography." 

The box isn't built by other people. It's built every time we choose the label over our own curiosity.

The Thread That Connects Your Work

If genre isn't what holds a body of work together, what is?

It's you.

The photographs that matter most aren't connected by subject matter. They're connected by the stories you choose to tell, the questions you keep asking, and the moments that repeatedly capture your attention.

To someone else, the connection might not be immediately obvious. That's perfectly fine. Great art rarely fits neatly into a box. Instead, it invites us to see the world from someone else's perspective.

The next time you find yourself thinking, "That's not really landscape photography," try asking a different question instead:

"Does this photograph say something that matters to me?"

If the answer is yes, take the photograph. Let your curiosity, not your genre, decide what belongs in your portfolio.

Photography Without Boundaries

When we stop worrying about whether a photograph belongs to a particular genre, we become free to photograph what genuinely resonates with us.

Our portfolios become more varied, but more importantly, they become more personal. Instead of collecting images that satisfy an expectation, we begin creating photographs that reflect our own interests, experiences and way of seeing the world.

Ironically, stepping beyond the label often gives our work a stronger identity, not a weaker one. The connection between our photographs isn't the subject they depict, but the person behind the camera.

And perhaps that's what makes a photograph truly meaningful. Not that it fits neatly into a category, but that it reveals something of the person who made it.

Genres have their place. They help us describe our work, discover other photographers and organise competitions, exhibitions and books. There's nothing wrong with calling yourself a landscape photographer.

The danger comes when the label stops describing what you've created and starts dictating what you're allowed to create next.

So by all means, celebrate the landscapes that first inspired you to pick up a camera. Just don't let a label stop you from exploring wherever your curiosity leads.

Because the most meaningful photographs are rarely connected by genre.

They're connected by the person behind the camera.