Hit the Books

One camera, one lens, photography with intention

A few years back, a friend with a successful YouTube channel told me, “Hey, Milnor, make a film and send it to me.”

“I don’t make films,” I said.

“I don’t care, do it anyway.”

I quickly set up my mobile phone, stared into the camera, and started talking. Twenty minutes later, I had Going Solo with the 50mm. The film had poor audio quality and zero production value, but spoke to simplicity, intention, the power of print, and how less is more. I sent the film to my friend and forgot about it.

The freedom of creative restraint

I had just returned from co-teaching a workshop in Albania with fellow photographer Elena Dorfman. During the workshop, I didn’t focus on my work. I focused on the needs of the students, which meant I was less concerned about my equipment.

I decided to take one camera and one lens. I not only found this minimalism technique freeing and easier on my back and neck, but I also created a body of work unlike anything I’d made before, even though I wasn’t focused on my photographs.

When you have one camera and one lens, your equipment doesn’t occupy any headspace. The gear becomes an extension of the eye. When you reduce the number of things between the photographer and the physical act of making pictures, the photographer can begin to focus on matters of intention. You ask questions like, “Why am I doing this?” This might seem like a simple question, with an obvious answer like “I love photography,” but I find this is a loaded question with complex, often uncomfortable answers.

Much of the work being produced today is created for an audience, not for the photographer. This greatly impacts the work. Who is the audience? What is their intention? Does the work belong to the photographer or the audience? And what will constantly producing for the audience do to the photographer over time?

The trip and the experience of one camera and one lens were the perfect fodder for my first YouTube film. Little did I know the impact it would have.

A copy of Inertia, a book created by Dan Milnor and his mother, lies face up on a wooden surface. The front cover features the title in white block text and an image of three palm trees silhouetted against a dark sky, lit up by a fork of lightning. — Dan Milnor made *Inertia* with his mother, pairing his photography with her poetry.

Why intention matters more than attention

I’ve had a long career as a photographer, and I’ve also spent several years assisting other, more established photographers. Over the years, I noticed that their best work began as personal work, where the intention of the photography came from within. They were shooting for themselves and not for a client or potential audience. This work showcased their true vision, uninfluenced or tainted by the other.

Personal projects bring authenticity. When the source of inspiration comes from the artist, there tends to be less outside interference or distraction, allowing the photographer to focus on the story through basics like light, timing, and composition, unaltered by outside demands.

A person holds a copy of Dan Milnor’s book Inertia open on a page featuring a single line of black text. The text is in block capitals and reads: The tendency of objects to keep moving in a straight line at constant linear velocity. — *Inertia* by Dan Milnor.

Your challenge: Make something for you

If you have spent your entire career shooting for clients, a social media audience, or another other, try making for yourself and see if you notice a difference in your work.

Working for ourselves forces us to answer questions usually answered by someone else. What am I after? For what use or purpose? In what style?

If the idea of shooting for yourself seems like a foreign concept, give it a try and see what happens. Start small, start close. Find a story that resonates with you at a deep level. Use your curiosity to sort out the topic and start photographing, but without an audience in mind. Shoot what you want, how you want, for as long as you want. Aim for a small series with personal intention.

For example, I made a book with my mother before she passed early last year. A collaboration of her poetry and my photographs, culled and edited from twenty-five years of creative effort. There are only two copies of the book, Inertia, in existence, but it is one of the most important books I’ve made. There was no audience asking for this book, nor did anyone distract me from my original goal.

A person holds Dan Milnor’s book Inertia open on a double-page spread featuring a photograph of a woman holding a flag at a protest march. A poem called Riding the Rays, written by Dan’s mother, is on the right-hand side of the right-hand page. — *Inertia* by Dan Milnor.

One camera, one lens

Several weeks after I delivered my first YouTube film to my friend, he called and asked, “Are you watching what’s happening?”

“With what?” I asked.

“With your film,” he said. “You reinvented YouTube,” he added.

I didn’t reinvent anything. But the message landed—especially with those who hadn’t yet simplified their operation (like me, using one camera and one lens) or made work with personal intention.

We creatives are at our very best and create our best works when given a chance to be truthful. The beauty of creativity is that there is no right or wrong. Sometimes, ideas that seemingly emerge from nowhere are the same ones that lead to breakthroughs and pioneering original work.

So stop performing and start listening—to yourself, your instincts, and your stories. Strip things back. Get honest. And see where that leads you.

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Hit the Books is a monthly series from longtime Blurb creative ambassador Dan Milnor—photographer, educator, and advocate for intentional storytelling. With decades of experience behind the lens and in the field, Dan shares honest insights, creative philosophy, and practical advice to help you stay inspired and keep creating.

Looking to bring your next photo project to life? Start your book with Blurb.