Blog #19 – Who’s It For, Really?

There’s a bit of a rhythm to how I do things now. I take the photos, tidy them up, publish them, and repeat. Sometimes there’s a bit of a plan, sometimes I’m just following wherever the camera leads me that week. One weekend it’s motorsport, the next it’s football, then a landscape or a quiet street scene, or something completely different like an arts show or market. I’ve never been one to stick to a single niche, and that’s fine. It keeps things interesting, even if it does make it harder to explain what kind of photographer I actually am.

I like to think of it as an ongoing experiment. I’m still figuring it out, saying yes to whatever catches my eye. But every so often, usually when I’m editing late at night or scrolling through my own posts, a thought creeps in: who’s all this actually for?

That question hit a bit harder this week.

A few days ago, I posted some shots from the CP Football European Men’s semi-final. It was an impressive event to cover, both from a sporting and human side. The matches were fast, the energy was high, and it felt like I was documenting something genuinely meaningful. The photos came out well, the action looked sharp, and after a quick edit in Lightroom, I was happy enough to share them.

When I put them on Instagram, I tagged the International Federation of CP Football and invited them as a collaborator. Within a few hours, the post had over a hundred likes. For me, that’s a good bit of traction. The analytics looked even better: more than six thousand views, and nearly all of them from non-followers. It felt like a win.

Then I looked closer. No comments, no shares, no saves. Just likes.

I realised the attention wasn’t really about the photos or about me. It was about visibility. The federation’s tag boosted the reach, but it didn’t spark a single conversation. It looked successful, but it didn’t feel like much of anything.

That’s not a criticism of the event or the audience, just a reminder that numbers rarely tell the full story. I’ve shared work I’m proud of that barely gets seen, and other posts that take off for reasons that have nothing to do with the images themselves. I’m learning that the stats measure reach, not value.

Then yesterday, I went to the C3 Arts Collective pop-up market in Leicester. I’d attended the first one last month, camera in hand, just documenting the people, the stalls, and the atmosphere. Afterwards I’d posted a few shots online and sent some of the images directly to the artists and organisers. Nothing fancy, just a few messages saying thanks for letting me take your photo.

This time, walking back into that space, I realised what a difference that had made. People recognised me. They stopped to talk about the photos I’d taken before. They asked how I got into photography, what cameras I used, and how I edit. I even got asked if I teach photography, which made me laugh, and someone else wondered if I’d ever thought about running a photo walk around town. A few wanted to know how they could buy prints of my images.

It was all completely unexpected, and honestly, a bit overwhelming in the best way. These were real conversations with real people who’d seen my work and cared enough to say something. No algorithms, no analytics, just connection.

A few people mentioned my blog too. One said, “I’ve been reading your stuff, it’s really good.” I genuinely thought almost no one read it. I don’t write it for clicks, but it’s comforting to realise it’s quietly finding its way into a few people’s days/

At one point I was chatting with someone about vintage cameras and ended up showing them the Zeiss Ikon from 1939 that I’d brought along, with a roll of film halfway through. They had stories of their own, cameras they’d inherited, shots they wished they’d kept. That conversation spiralled into a whole group of us talking about the smell of old leather cases, expired film, and the joy of not knowing if anything you’ve shot will come out.

When the event wrapped up, I went to the pub with the organiser, and we just sat there for a while talking about photography, learning, and all the small frustrations that come with trying to make progress at something you care about. No agenda, no plan, just a bit of honest conversation. That’s when I thought, maybe this is what it’s all about.

It’s easy to get caught up in the digital side of things. Likes, followers, reach, impressions, all of it feels measurable and neat. It gives you something tangible to hold on to. But connection doesn’t show up in those figures. It lives in the quick chat at a market, the nod of recognition from someone who’s seen your work, or the shared enthusiasm when someone tells you about their own creative project.

When I started I’m a Camera Guy Now, I didn’t have a grand plan. It was just a way to share what I was learning, to keep myself accountable, and to have a creative outlet that didn’t involve work or deadlines. Somewhere along the way, it gathered small moments like this, chats at events, messages from people who’d dusted off an old camera, and the occasional comment from someone saying the blog helped them pick up photography again.

None of that shows up in the analytics, but it’s what keeps me going.

I think the truth is that I still don’t know exactly who the work is for. That’s probably fine. Some weeks it’s for me, to slow down, to make sense of things, to feel like I’ve achieved something creative in between the rest of life. Some weeks it’s for the people in the photos, to give them something to look back on. And sometimes, it’s just for whoever stumbles across it at the right time.

But I’ve realised that sharing matters as much as creating. Posting a photo isn’t about proving anything; it’s about putting something out there that might connect with someone else.

People talk a lot about finding their niche. I understand why, it helps you focus, it makes your work easier to label. But I’ve started to think that not having one might be the point. The variety keeps me curious. Life doesn’t sit neatly in one box, so why should my photography?

The sports work pushes me technically, the landscapes slow me down, the arts markets remind me that creativity is social, and the old cameras teach me patience. Each one feeds the other in some way.

Every now and then, something lands, a message, a chat, a small moment that sticks. Those moments feel genuine. They’re not like the quick buzz of a post doing well online. They last longer.

I think back to that CP Football post again. The likes were nice, the numbers were big, but there wasn’t a story attached. Compare that to standing in a market surrounded by people who actually want to talk about what you do, and it’s no contest.

That doesn’t mean one’s right and the other’s wrong. They just serve different purposes. One gives reach; the other gives connection. But I’m starting to care more about connection.

It’s funny how it evolves. At first, you create because you want to improve. Then you share because you want to be seen. Eventually, you just want to feel part of something.

I’ve spent enough time chasing that internal approval that comes from posting something I think is “good enough.” Then I look back at photos from the begining of this project and realise half of them were completely over-edited, slightly out of focus, or framed like I was holding the camera with my elbows. It’s humbling, but also encouraging. Progress is slow, but it’s there.

If I had to sum it up, I’d say the work’s for me first, and for anyone else who cares, second. I’ve built projects and challenges to give myself structure, but the best bits still happen naturally, through conversations, shared curiosity, and the occasional pint at the end of a long day.

Photography has this quiet way of connecting people without needing much explanation. You show someone an image, and they either see what you saw or something completely different. Either way, it starts a dialogue. That’s where the meaning sits, somewhere between what I intended and what someone else finds in it.

So who’s it for, really? I don’t think it matters that much anymore. It’s for anyone who finds something in it. The players on the pitch, the artists at the markets, Bow looking back one day at all this and understanding a little more about what I was trying to do. And yes, it’s for me, because it helps keep my head in a better place.

It’s a balance between wanting to be seen and wanting to see. Maybe the sweet spot is right there in the middle, when you’re doing the work because it feels right and sharing it because someone else might enjoy it.

So if you’ve ever looked at one of my photos, read a blog, or said something kind in passing, that’s who it’s for. If you haven’t, that’s okay too. I’ll still be out there taking the photos, tidying them up, publishing them, and repeating.

Because maybe the answer to who it’s for is simple. It’s for anyone who finds something in it, even if that’s just me.