Removing Friction

Why simplifying your approach to photography leads to better photographs, and a more meaningful experience

One thing I’ve noticed while leading night photography workshops is that the first photograph of the evening is rarely delayed by the weather.

Or the hike.

Or even the darkness.

More often than not, it’s delayed by uncertainty.

As the first stars begin to appear, I often see photographers standing beside their tripods, headlamps glowing, scrolling through camera menus or double-checking settings. They’re wondering if everything is configured correctly before they press the shutter for the first time.

I’ve been there too.

That’s when I realized the biggest obstacle isn’t usually technical ability.

It’s friction.

There has never been a better time to photograph the night sky.

Today’s cameras produce remarkably clean images at high ISO. Editing software is more powerful than ever. Planning apps can tell us exactly where the Milky Way will appear, when the moon will rise, and even whether clouds will move in before midnight.

Ironically, astrophotography has never been more accessible.

Yet for many photographers, it has never felt more complicated.

Spend just a few minutes online and you’ll quickly find yourself buried beneath an endless stream of advice. One photographer recommends a star tracker. Another says you should shoot panoramas.

Then comes focus stacking, foreground blending, AI noise reduction, AI sharpening, plugins, workflows, and an ever-growing list of gear upgrades.

None of this advice is wrong.

Many of these techniques have their place, and I use several of them myself when they genuinely improve an image.

The problem is that somewhere along the way, many photographers begin to believe they’re required.

Photography slowly transforms from an experience into a checklist. Instead of asking, “What do I want to create?” we start asking, “What technique should I use?”

That’s friction.

Friction Doesn’t Always Look Like Difficulty

When most people think about obstacles, they imagine something obvious.

A long hike.

Bad weather.

Expensive equipment.

In reality, the biggest obstacles are often much smaller. They’re the tiny decisions that quietly pile up until they become excuses.

It’s wondering whether your camera is configured correctly before you leave home. It’s scrolling through menus with a headlamp while everyone else is already photographing. It’s watching one more YouTube video because you’re still not convinced you understand the “right” way.

One hesitation becomes another.

Before long…

You stay home.

I’ve spent evenings thinking about photography instead of making photographs.

Planning.

Researching.

Comparing techniques.

Wondering whether there was a better way.

Over time, I realized something.

The best nights rarely came from knowing more.

They came from thinking less.

Friction Evolves

When we’re starting out, the friction is usually technical.

Camera menus.

Manual focus.

Exposure settings.

The fear of getting it wrong.

As we gain experience, something interesting happens.

The friction doesn’t disappear.

It simply changes.

Now we’re wondering whether we should track.

Blend.

Stack.

Shoot a panorama.

Or combine all four into a single image.

Again, these techniques aren’t the problem.

Believing they’re always necessary is.

Some of my favorite photographs I’ve ever made are simple single exposures. Not because I don’t know how to use more advanced techniques, but because they simply weren’t needed.

Sometimes a tracked image is exactly the right solution. Sometimes exposure blending creates a photograph that couldn’t otherwise exist. Sometimes stacking produces cleaner results.

The point isn’t to avoid these tools.

It’s knowing when they actually serve the photograph.

The best technique isn’t the most complicated one.

It’s the one that helps you create the image you envisioned.

Confidence Lives in Simplicity

One of the biggest lessons photography has taught me is that confidence rarely comes from knowing more.

It comes from needing to think less.

Knowing exactly where your focus magnification is.

Having a few camera settings you trust.

Following a workflow you’ve practiced enough that it becomes second nature.

When your camera fades into the background, something changes.

You stop thinking about buttons.

You start noticing the landscape.

The changing light.

The stars.

The silence.

That’s where photographs begin.

Photography has always been more than settings. It’s about being present. And presence becomes much easier when your camera no longer demands all of your attention.

Why I Teach the Way I Do

That realization has shaped every workshop and retreat I lead.

My goal isn’t to overwhelm people with every camera feature or every processing technique available. It’s to remove friction before it has a chance to get in the way.

We simplify camera setup before darkness falls. We answer questions in the field instead of sending people home with another list of things to research. We build confidence through repetition, helping the camera become a familiar tool instead of another obstacle.

Because the less time we spend fighting our equipment…

The more time we spend experiencing the places we came to photograph.

A Different Definition of Progress

Photography will continue to evolve.

New cameras will arrive.

New software will appear.

New techniques will become popular.

There’s nothing wrong with embracing those tools when they genuinely help you tell the story you want to tell.

But I don’t believe progress is measured by how many techniques you’ve mastered.

Sometimes progress looks much quieter.

It’s knowing which techniques you can leave behind.

It’s trusting your instincts.

It’s heading into the field with a simple plan instead of an overloaded checklist.

Photography was never meant to be about memorizing menus or chasing every new workflow.

It was meant to slow us down.

To notice the world a little differently.

To stand beneath a sky full of stars…

…and simply look up.

Sometimes the best thing you can do for your photography isn’t learn something new.

It’s remove the things that have been keeping you from making photographs in the first place.

That philosophy sits at the heart of every workshop and retreat I lead.

This summer, I have one remaining spot available for my 3-Night Astrophotography Retreat near Fairplay, Colorado.

And later this September, just one spot remains for our Bisti Badlands Astrophotography Workshop in New Mexico.

If this philosophy resonates with you…

I’d love to have you join me beneath the stars.

Photography wasn’t meant to be another checklist.

It was meant to be an experience.

A reason to go outside.

A reason to slow down.

A reason to look up.

I hope I’ll see you out there.

With a camera in your hands.

A simple plan.

And a little less friction.

Field Note

Every photograph accompanying this article was created as a single exposure.

No tracking. No panorama stitching. No focus stacking. No exposure blending.

Just a camera, a tripod, and a simple workflow beneath the stars.

Clear skies,

Alan Stenback