How To Take Great Photographs: The Question Most Photographers Never Ask

If you search for advice on how to take great photographs, you will find no shortage of answers.

Some photographers will tell you that great photographs begin with composition. Others will argue that light is everything. Spend enough time around photography and you’ll eventually encounter discussions about camera settings, editing techniques, lens choices, storytelling, colour theory, visual hierarchy, subject isolation, and countless other topics that promise to improve your images.

The interesting thing is that none of these people are necessarily wrong.

Composition matters.

Light matters.

Technical competency matters.

Storytelling matters.

The problem is that all of these answers assume we have already addressed something that comes before them.

Over the years, I have seen photographers create technically excellent images that felt surprisingly empty. I have also seen simple photographs taken with basic equipment that remained memorable long after more impressive images had been forgotten. Sometimes the difference was light. Sometimes it was timing. Occasionally it was luck.

More often than not, however, the difference was clarity.

This isn’t something most photographers spend much time discussing. We are naturally drawn towards the practical side of photography because practical things feel easier to improve. It is far more comfortable to learn a new editing technique or experiment with a different composition than it is to stop and ask ourselves why we are taking a photograph in the first place.

Yet that question sits quietly beneath almost every successful image.

Imagine arriving at a location you’ve been looking forward to visiting. Perhaps it’s a famous beach, a bustling market, a mountain viewpoint, or a city you’ve always wanted to explore. You spend an hour walking around with your camera, photographing anything that catches your attention. The scenery is interesting, the conditions are good, and by the time you leave you have captured hundreds of images.

Later that evening, you sit down to review them.

Nothing is obviously wrong. The photographs are sharp. The exposure looks fine. The colours are pleasing enough. Some of the compositions are reasonably strong.

Yet many photographers recognise the feeling that follows.

For some reason, the photographs don’t seem to carry the same impact as the experience itself.

The location felt interesting.

The photographs feel ordinary.

At this point, most people start looking for technical explanations. Perhaps a different lens would have helped. Maybe the light wasn’t ideal. Maybe the composition could have been stronger. Those things can certainly matter, but they don’t always explain why a collection of photographs feels disappointing despite being technically competent.

The longer I spend around photography, the more I find myself returning to a different possibility.

What if the problem began before the camera was raised?

What if the missing piece wasn’t a setting, a lens, or an editing technique?

What if it was a lack of clarity about what the photograph was supposed to communicate in the first place?

That may sound like an unusual place to begin an article about how to take great photographs. After all, most people expect discussions about cameras, composition, or lighting. Those topics are important, and we will eventually get to them.

Before we do, however, we need to explore a question that many photographers never consciously ask.

Because understanding how to take great photographs may have less to do with what appears in front of the camera and more to do with understanding what we are trying to say about it.first need to understand why some photographs succeed while others fail.

Why Many Photographs Feel Disappointing

Photography has never been more accessible than it is today.

Modern cameras are capable of producing remarkable image quality. Even smartphones can create photographs that would have seemed extraordinary a generation ago. Learning resources are everywhere, from books and courses to YouTube videos and social media tutorials. Exposure, composition, editing, colour grading, lens selection, and visual storytelling have all been broken down into lessons that can be consumed in a matter of minutes.

Yet despite all of this, many photographers continue to experience the same frustration.

They visit interesting places, witness memorable moments, and return home with photographs that somehow fail to reflect the experience they remember.

This is a surprisingly common problem because technical competency and photographic satisfaction are not always the same thing. A photograph can be sharp, correctly exposed, reasonably composed, and still feel disappointing. Nothing appears wrong when viewed through a technical lens, yet something feels absent when viewed through a personal one.

Most photographers encounter this gap sooner or later.

The experience itself felt significant. The photographs feel ordinary.

That difference often leads people towards technical explanations. Perhaps the composition could have been stronger. Perhaps the light wasn’t ideal. Perhaps a different lens would have produced a more dramatic result. Perhaps more advanced editing would have transformed the image.

Sometimes those explanations are valid. Technical skills matter, and there is no question that strong photography requires a level of technical competency.

The difficulty is that technical improvements do not always solve the underlying problem.

Many photographers can recall a time when they stood in front of something genuinely memorable and felt almost certain they were about to create a great photograph. The location may have been beautiful. The atmosphere may have been extraordinary. The experience may have carried personal meaning. Everything seemed to be in place.

Then later, while reviewing the images, the photographs failed to carry the same weight.

The memory remained powerful.

The photographs did not.

This disconnect becomes easier to understand when we recognise that cameras record information remarkably well, but they do not automatically record significance. A camera has no understanding of what matters. It simply captures whatever appears in front of the lens. Deciding what matters remains the responsibility of the photographer.

That distinction is easy to overlook because photography encourages us to think visually. We become skilled at noticing subjects, moments, colours, patterns, and light. We learn to react quickly when something catches our attention. In many ways this ability is an essential photographic skill.

The challenge is that noticing something interesting is not always the same thing as understanding why it is interesting.

A photographer can spend an afternoon photographing a beach and return with images of boats, waves, people, sunsets, vendors, and shoreline details. Every photograph may accurately represent something that existed during that visit. Yet accuracy alone does not necessarily create meaning.

When viewed together, the collection can sometimes feel scattered because the photographs were responding to whatever appeared interesting at the time rather than contributing towards a clear idea.

This is one of the reasons why photographs often feel weaker than the experiences they attempt to represent. Real experiences are naturally connected. They contain context, emotion, atmosphere, memory, and meaning. Photography requires us to make decisions about which parts of that experience matter most. Without those decisions, we often end up with records of what happened rather than photographs that communicate why it mattered.

Learning how to take great photographs is often presented as a technical journey, but many photographers eventually discover that technical competency only solves part of the puzzle. Once the fundamentals are reasonably under control, another challenge emerges. The question is no longer whether a photograph is sharp enough, bright enough, or well composed enough.

The question becomes whether the photograph is actually communicating anything.

That is where many photographers begin searching for answers in composition, storytelling, editing, and visual design. These are valuable areas of study, but before any of them can be used effectively, something else needs to exist first.

The photographer needs a sense of direction.

Without direction, every subject appears equally important. Every photograph becomes a possibility. Every scene competes for attention. The result is often a collection of competent images that never quite come together into something meaningful.

And that raises an interesting possibility.

What if many photographic problems begin long before composition, lighting, or editing enter the conversation?

What if the most important decision is made before the camera is even raised to the eye?

The Question Most Photographers Never Ask

The idea that many photographic problems begin before the shutter is pressed may sound unusual at first, particularly when so much photography education focuses on technical skills. Cameras, lenses, composition, editing, and lighting are all visible parts of the process. They are easy to discuss because they can be demonstrated, measured, and improved.

The challenge is that none of these things can tell us what a photograph is supposed to communicate.

That responsibility belongs to the photographer.

Over time, I have become increasingly convinced that one question sits quietly beneath almost every successful photograph:

What am I trying to say?

It is a simple question, yet many photographers never consciously ask it.

Part of the reason is that we naturally focus on subjects. Subjects are easy to identify because they are visible. A beach, a mountain, a market, a person, a street corner, a sunset, or a building can all become photographic subjects. They are the things we point our cameras towards.

A message is different.

A message explains why the subject matters.

This distinction is subtle, but it changes the way we think about photography.

Patong Beach is a subject.

A crowded beach is a message.

A peaceful morning atmosphere is a message.

The scale of the beach compared to the people walking along it is a message.

The way tourism transforms a location is a message.

The same subject can support dozens of different messages because the subject itself is not the point. It is simply the vehicle used to communicate an idea.

This is one of the reasons two photographers can stand in the same location and produce completely different work. The location may be identical, but the messages are not. One photographer may be interested in atmosphere while another is interested in human behaviour. One may be documenting a place while another is exploring a personal memory. Both are photographing the same subject, yet they are creating entirely different photographs because they are trying to communicate different things.

Once this distinction becomes clear, many photographic decisions begin making more sense.

Without a message, every subject competes for attention. The photographer is left reacting to whatever appears interesting at the time. There is nothing inherently wrong with this approach, and many enjoyable photographs are created this way. The difficulty is that it rarely provides direction. The result is often a collection of images that feel disconnected because they were never working towards a common purpose.

A message changes that.

The moment a photographer becomes clear about what they are trying to communicate, subjects stop being equal. Certain photographs suddenly become more important than others. Some details support the idea while others distract from it. Decisions that previously felt difficult begin feeling obvious because they can now be judged against a clear objective.

This is why I have come to believe that learning how to take great photographs begins with clarity rather than technique.

Not because technique is unimportant.

Far from it.

Technical skills remain essential. Composition matters. Light matters. Timing matters. Every photographer benefits from improving their ability to use these tools effectively.

The point is that these tools work best when they are supporting something.

A beautifully composed photograph still needs an idea.

Perfect light still needs a purpose.

Technical excellence still needs direction.

Without a message, photography can become a collection of decisions without a destination.

With a message, those same decisions begin working together.

And once that happens, photography starts feeling less like the act of collecting photographs and more like the act of communicating something that matters.

Think Like A Writer

One of the reasons photographers sometimes struggle to identify the message behind their work is that photography encourages us to think visually from the very beginning.

We look for subjects.

We look for locations.

We look for moments.

We look for light.

In many ways this makes perfect sense because photography is a visual medium. The camera records what it sees, so it is natural to focus our attention on the things appearing in front of us.

Yet there is another creative discipline that approaches the process from a very different direction.

Writing rarely begins with sentences.

Writers do not usually sit down in front of a blank page and start searching for interesting words. Instead, they begin with an idea they want to communicate. That idea develops into a message. The message becomes a story. The story is then organised into chapters, paragraphs, and eventually individual sentences.

The words come last.

Photography often works in much the same way.

The strongest photographs are rarely built from subjects alone. They are built around ideas. The photographer may not consciously describe those ideas as messages, but they are there nonetheless. They sit quietly beneath the surface, influencing decisions about what is included, what is excluded, and what ultimately becomes important.

Thinking about photography in this way changes the role of the photograph itself.

Instead of being the final objective, the photograph becomes a tool for communicating something larger.

Consider a travel photographer working on a guide to Patong Beach. The goal is not simply to accumulate photographs of the beach. A memory card full of random beach photographs does little to help the reader understand the location. What matters is the message being communicated about that place.

Perhaps the photographer wants to show that Patong Beach is larger than many visitors expect.

Perhaps they want to communicate the energy of the area.

Perhaps they want to explain why the beach feels different at sunrise than it does in the afternoon.

Each of these ideas creates a different story.

Once the story becomes clear, individual photographs begin taking on specific roles. Some establish context. Others provide detail. Some photographs explain scale while others communicate atmosphere. Viewed individually they may appear unrelated, yet together they contribute towards a larger understanding of the subject.

This is where the book analogy becomes useful.

A book is rarely remembered because of a single sentence. Readers remember the overall idea, the story being told, and the experience of moving through it. Individual sentences matter, but their value comes from the contribution they make to something larger.

Photography can be approached in a similar way.

Sometimes the story only requires a single image. A powerful portrait, a decisive moment, or a striking landscape may communicate everything that needs to be said. In these cases the photograph functions almost like a short story, delivering a complete idea within a single frame.

More often, however, photographs exist within a broader context.

Travel photography provides a good example. No single image can completely explain a destination. One photograph may communicate atmosphere. Another may explain scale. Another may reveal local life. Individually they contribute pieces of information. Together they create understanding.

This way of thinking also explains why some photographs feel stronger than others.

Strong photographs often know exactly where they belong within the larger story. They have a clear role. They support a specific idea. They help the viewer understand something the photographer considered important.

Weaker photographs frequently struggle because that role was never defined. They may be technically competent and visually interesting, but they do not clearly contribute to a message. As a result they feel isolated rather than connected to a larger purpose.

Learning how to take great photographs becomes much easier once this distinction is understood.

Instead of asking, “What should I photograph?” a more useful question begins to emerge:

“What am I trying to communicate, and what photographs will help me communicate it?”

The difference may seem subtle, yet it changes the entire process.

The photographer stops collecting photographs and starts building a story.

And once a story begins to emerge, every photographic decision gains a sense of direction that would otherwise be difficult to find.

From Message To Subject

One of the most common pieces of photography advice is to find a strong subject.

It is good advice.

The problem is that it often arrives without enough context.

Many photographers spend years searching for interesting subjects without ever considering how those subjects connect to the message they are trying to communicate. As a result, subject selection can become a little random. Something catches the eye, the camera is raised, and a photograph is taken.

Occasionally this produces excellent results.

More often it produces a collection of images that struggle to work together because the photographer never established a clear direction in the first place.

Once the message becomes clear, however, finding subjects becomes significantly easier.

The message acts as a filter.

It helps determine what deserves attention and what can safely be ignored.

Returning to the example of Patong Beach, the location itself offers an almost endless number of photographic possibilities. A photographer could spend hours capturing boats, swimmers, sunsets, beach vendors, palm trees, jet skis, parasails, food stalls, footprints in the sand, and countless other details.

None of these subjects are inherently right or wrong.

Their importance depends entirely on the message.

A photographer interested in communicating the scale of the beach will naturally be drawn towards different subjects than a photographer interested in communicating the atmosphere of a quiet morning walk. Someone documenting local life will notice different things than someone creating a travel guide. The location remains unchanged, but the message determines where attention is directed.

This is one of the reasons experienced photographers often appear more selective than beginners.

The difference is not always technical skill.

More often it is clarity.

When photographers understand what they are trying to communicate, they stop treating every subject as equally important. Some subjects support the message. Others do not. Some photographs move the story forward. Others simply add noise.

The process becomes less about finding interesting things and more about identifying the right things.

This distinction becomes increasingly important as photographers develop.

Beginners often believe strong photographs come from discovering extraordinary subjects. While extraordinary subjects can certainly help, many memorable photographs are built from ordinary subjects that have been connected to a clear idea. A street corner, a café, a beach, or a simple human interaction can become compelling when the photographer understands why it matters.

This is where photography begins moving beyond documentation.

The camera is no longer recording everything it sees. Instead, it is being used more deliberately. Decisions are being made. Priorities are being established. Attention is being directed towards the elements that best support the message.

Once that process begins, something interesting happens.

Many of the traditional photographic concepts that seem complicated at first start becoming easier to understand.

Composition becomes easier because the photographer knows what deserves emphasis.

Light becomes easier because the photographer understands the mood they are trying to create.

Timing becomes easier because the photographer recognises the moments that best support the story.

Even editing becomes easier because there is a clearer understanding of what the final photograph is supposed to communicate.

This is why the message sits at the foundation of the entire process.

It does not replace composition, light, timing, or technical skill. It simply gives those tools a purpose.

Without a message, photography can feel like a series of disconnected decisions.

With a message, those decisions begin working together towards a common objective.

The subject becomes clearer.

The photograph becomes clearer.

And the viewer is far more likely to understand what the photographer was trying to say.

Why Technique Still Matters

At this point it is worth addressing an obvious concern.

If message is so important, does that mean technical skills no longer matter?

Not at all.

In fact, one of the easiest ways to misunderstand this article would be to conclude that composition, light, timing, observation, and technical competency are somehow unimportant.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

Photography remains a visual medium. The ability to recognise a subject, organise a frame, use light effectively, and make sound technical decisions will always play an important role in creating strong photographs.

The difference is that these skills work best when they are supporting something.

A photograph is ultimately a form of communication. Like any form of communication, there is both a message and a method. The message explains what is being communicated. The method determines how effectively it reaches the audience.

A powerful idea can be weakened by poor execution.

Equally, flawless execution cannot save an idea that was never clear in the first place.

This is why technical competency remains such an important part of learning how to take great photographs.

A photographer still needs to understand exposure. They still need to recognise moments worth capturing. They still need to make decisions about framing, perspective, timing, and light. These skills are not replaced by the message. They are guided by it.

Consider composition.

Composition is often presented as a collection of rules and techniques, yet the real purpose of composition is much simpler. Composition helps direct attention. It helps the viewer understand what matters within the frame.

Without a message, it becomes difficult to know where attention should be directed.

With a message, composition gains purpose.

The same principle applies to light.

Photographers frequently talk about beautiful light, and for good reason. Light has an enormous influence on the appearance and emotional impact of a photograph. Yet different messages often require different approaches to light. Soft morning light may help communicate calmness and atmosphere, while harsh midday light may better communicate energy, heat, or activity.

The effectiveness of the light depends on what the photographer is trying to communicate.

Timing works in a similar way.

The right moment is not always the most dramatic moment. It is often the moment that best supports the message. A crowded beach and an empty beach tell different stories. A smiling face and a thoughtful expression communicate different ideas. The photographer’s task is not simply to react to moments but to recognise which moments contribute most effectively to the story being told.

Even technical perfection deserves some perspective.

Photography communities sometimes place enormous emphasis on sharpness, noise levels, dynamic range, and other technical characteristics. These things matter, particularly when quality is important. However, most memorable photographs are remembered because of what they communicate rather than because they achieved technical perfection.

People rarely connect with photographs because the histogram was flawless.

They connect because the photograph showed them something, taught them something, reminded them of something, or made them feel something.

This is where technical competency finds its proper place.

It is not the destination.

It is not the message.

It is not the story.

Technical competency is the set of tools that allows photographers to communicate more effectively.

The stronger those tools become, the easier it becomes to translate an idea into a photograph. But without a clear idea, even the best tools struggle to produce meaningful work.

Learning how to take great photographs therefore requires both sides of the equation. Clarity provides direction. Technical skills provide execution. One without the other will always limit the final result.

The most successful photographs are rarely created by choosing between message and technique.

They are created when message and technique work together towards the same objective.

A Different Way To Approach Photography

One of the most interesting things about photography is that the camera itself is remarkably neutral.

A camera does not know whether it is being used to document a family holiday, create a travel guide, build a portfolio, tell a story, preserve a memory, or communicate an idea. It simply records whatever appears in front of the lens.

The meaning comes from the photographer.

This may seem obvious, yet it changes the way we think about the process.

Many photographers spend years searching for better equipment, stronger compositions, improved editing techniques, or more interesting locations. These pursuits are worthwhile because they expand our creative possibilities and improve our ability to communicate visually.

What they cannot do is provide direction.

Direction comes from understanding why a photograph matters in the first place.

The longer I spend around photography, the more I find myself noticing that memorable photographs are rarely memorable by accident. They may appear spontaneous. They may appear effortless. They may even appear simple. Yet beneath the surface there is usually a sense of purpose. The photographer understood something that deserved attention and used the camera to communicate it.

Sometimes that purpose is deeply personal.

A family photograph may become important because it preserves a moment that can never be repeated. The technical quality of the image may be secondary to the memory it protects.

Sometimes the purpose is educational.

A travel photograph may help somebody understand a place they have never visited. The image succeeds because it communicates something useful and meaningful about that location.

Sometimes the purpose is artistic.

The photographer may be exploring atmosphere, emotion, light, colour, or human behaviour. The image becomes a way of expressing an idea rather than simply recording a scene.

Although these examples differ, they share a common characteristic.

The photographer is trying to communicate something.

Once this becomes clear, photography starts feeling less like the act of collecting images and more like the act of making choices. Every photograph becomes an opportunity to decide what matters. Every frame becomes an opportunity to direct attention. Every decision about subject, composition, light, timing, and editing becomes part of a larger effort to communicate an idea clearly.

This is where many photographers begin seeing their work differently.

Subjects stop being random.

Photographs stop being isolated.

Projects stop feeling disconnected.

Instead, individual images begin contributing towards something larger. A collection of photographs develops a sense of purpose. Relationships emerge between images. Stories become easier to recognise. The camera becomes less of a recording device and more of a communication tool.

Learning how to take great photographs is often presented as a journey towards technical mastery. Technical mastery is certainly valuable, but it is only part of the story.

The photographers who consistently create meaningful work are often distinguished by something else.

They know what they are trying to say.

That clarity influences where they stand, what they include, what they exclude, when they press the shutter, and ultimately how the final image is interpreted.

The camera remains the same.

The process changes.

Photography becomes intentional.

And intentional photography almost always produces stronger results than photography driven purely by reaction.

The next time you pick up your camera, resist the temptation to immediately search for subjects. Spend a few moments thinking about the idea you want to communicate. Consider what drew your attention to the location, the person, the scene, or the experience in the first place.

The answer may not arrive immediately.

It does not need to.

What matters is developing the habit of asking the question.

Because the quality of your photographs is often influenced long before the shutter is pressed.

Conclusion

People often begin their photography journey looking for technical answers.

Which camera should I buy?

Which lens should I use?

What settings create the sharpest photographs?

How can I improve my composition?

These are all reasonable questions, and every photographer benefits from developing their technical skills. Photography is a craft, and like any craft it rewards practice, observation, and experience.

Yet technical competency alone does not explain why some photographs remain memorable while others are quickly forgotten.

Throughout this article we have explored a simple but important idea.

Before a photograph can succeed, it needs something to communicate.

A camera can record information with remarkable accuracy, but it cannot decide what matters. That responsibility belongs to the photographer. It is the photographer who decides what deserves attention, what deserves emphasis, and ultimately what deserves to become part of the story.

This is why learning how to take great photographs begins with a question that many photographers never consciously ask:

What am I trying to say?

The answer does not need to be complicated.

It may be a feeling.

An observation.

A memory.

An idea.

A story.

A simple truth about a place, a person, or a moment.

What matters is that the photograph has direction.

Once direction exists, everything else becomes easier. Subjects become easier to identify. Composition becomes easier to understand. Light becomes easier to use. Technical decisions become easier to make because they are no longer isolated choices. They are supporting a message.

The goal is not to remove creativity from photography.

If anything, the opposite is true.

Clarity creates freedom because it allows photographers to make decisions with purpose rather than simply reacting to whatever appears in front of the lens.

The next time you pick up your camera, spend less time asking what you should photograph and a little more time considering why the photograph matters in the first place.

The answer may not immediately create a great photograph.

It will, however, provide something that every great photograph needs.

A reason to exist.

Continue Exploring Photography

Understanding the message behind a photograph is only the beginning.

Once you know what you are trying to communicate, a new set of questions naturally emerges.

How do you identify the right subject?

How do you direct a viewer’s attention?

How do composition and visual hierarchy support the story?

How can light strengthen a message rather than simply illuminate a scene?

How do you decide what belongs in the frame and what should be left out?

These are important questions, and they form the practical side of photography. They are the tools that help transform an idea into a successful photograph.

The articles below explore these topics in greater detail:

• One Clear Subject
• Finding The Right Subject
• Technical Competency In Photography
• Using Composition To Support The Story
• Understanding Visual Hierarchy
• Using Light With Purpose
• Observation In Photography
• Atmosphere And Emotion In Photography

Together, they build on the foundation explored in this article: great photographs begin with clarity. The clearer the message, the easier it becomes to make every other photographic decision.

Frequently Asked Questions

What is the most important question to ask before taking a photograph?

Before taking a photograph, ask yourself what you are trying to communicate. Understanding the message behind the image helps guide decisions about subject, composition, light, timing, and storytelling.

Is technical skill enough to create great photographs?

Technical skill is important, but it is only part of the process. A technically competent photograph can still feel weak if it lacks a clear message or purpose. Great photographs combine technical execution with meaningful communication.

What is the difference between a subject and a message in photography?

A subject is what appears in the photograph. A message explains why that subject matters. For example, a beach is a subject, while the atmosphere, scale, or energy of that beach may be the message.

Why do some photographs feel disappointing even when they are technically correct?

Many photographs fail to create impact because they record what was present without clearly communicating why it mattered. Technical competency can improve image quality, but clarity of message often determines whether a photograph feels meaningful.

How do photographers tell stories through photographs?

Photography storytelling begins with a message. Once the message is clear, photographers can select subjects, moments, and compositions that help communicate that idea. A story may be told through a single image or through a collection of photographs working together.

How do I choose the right subject for a photograph?

The best subject is usually the one that supports the message you want to communicate. Rather than searching for interesting subjects first, many photographers find it more effective to identify the message and then choose subjects that help communicate it.

Does composition still matter if the message is clear?

Absolutely. Composition helps direct the viewer’s attention towards the most important elements within the frame. A clear message provides direction, while composition helps communicate that message effectively.

How can I take great photographs consistently?

Consistency often comes from developing clarity before pressing the shutter. Understanding what you want viewers to notice, understand, remember, or feel provides direction for every photographic decision that follows.

About the Author

David Hibbins is a travel and observational photographer whose work focuses on atmosphere, environmental storytelling, and real-world visual experiences across Thailand and Asia.

Through Reflections Photography, the Notes From the Frame series, and his broader publishing work with Travel With Insight, he explores how observation, judgement, and visual decision-making often influence stronger photographs more than technical perfection alone.

His photography philosophy centres around:

• Observation over assumption
• Meaning over spectacle
• Atmosphere over distraction
• Visual judgement over gear obsession
• Storytelling over simple description

Rather than focusing primarily on camera settings or equipment, his work examines how photographers can develop a deeper understanding of composition, atmosphere, narrative, and the visual relationships that shape more meaningful images.