Street photography is a strange obsession. You walk out the door with a camera, no idea what you'll find, no plan, no script, just the hope that something out there will catch your eye. Some days, you come back home with empty memory cards and a bit of disappointment. Other days, it's one shot that makes the entire outing worth it. And then there are those golden days when everything clicks and you find yourself with over a hundred frames you actually like. That level of unpredictability might scare some off, but for me, it’s one of the reasons I love it so much.

This is a longer post than I usually write, but that’s because street photography is my ultimate passion. It’s my happy place, my “let’s walk around for hours without knowing what I’m doing but I’ll be content anyway” kind of obsession. There’s a lot to love about it, and I’m going to dive into the randomness, the joy, and the pure unpredictability that keeps me coming back.

*Belgian countryside near the Lion’s Mound in Waterloo*

The Thrill of the Unknown

There’s something quietly exhilarating about stepping out the door with a camera and no plan. Every time I head out for a photowalk, I know there’s a chance I might come back with absolutely nothing. That’s just part of the game. It’s not like studio photography where you control the lights, the model or the setting. In street photography, you control almost nothing, and yet, that’s exactly what makes it exciting. It’s just you, your camera, and whatever the world decides to throw at you that day. And that, more than anything, is what makes street photography addictive. You have to stay alert, constantly scanning, waiting for something to unfold in front of you.

Sometimes you’ll wander for hours and come back with nothing but tired legs and a slight sense of defeat. Other times, you’ll stumble upon a perfect scene within minutes of stepping outside, light hitting just right, a subject placed perfectly, a composition that seems like it waited just for you. And the thing is, you never know which kind of day it’s going to be.

That uncertainty keeps you present. You start paying attention in a way that most people don’t. You notice reflections in puddles, shadows crawling up buildings, how people move, the rhythm of the street. You’re constantly scanning, looking for something that sparks your curiosity.

Chasing Fleeting Moments

One of the most powerful aspects of street photography is its ability to preserve the ephemeral. These aren't grand, dramatic moments staged or anticipated, they're subtle, quiet instants that vanish almost as quickly as they appear. A laugh, a strange reflection, a gesture between two people, the exact moment someone steps into a beam of sunlight. These are all moments that happen constantly, but go unnoticed. What I love is the ability to give them permanence. You’re not just taking photos. You’re preserving small slices of time.

Street photography is often less about documenting events and more about recognizing micro-moments of life. These are the seconds most people miss because they’re on their phones, in a rush, or simply not paying attention. But with a camera in hand and your eyes constantly scanning, you start to notice them.

What makes these moments special is how unrepeatable they are. You could return to the same spot at the same time every day and never see that exact alignment of light, movement, and expression again. There’s no rewind button. If you miss it, it’s gone forever. That’s why street photography feels so alive.

And sometimes, the moment you capture doesn’t fully reveal itself until later. You’re reviewing your shots at the end of the day, and something small catches your eye, a subtle glance, a background detail you didn’t notice when you pressed the shutter. These surprises make the process feel even more intimate, like your camera saw something your eyes missed. Take the photo below with the dog, for example. I originally composed the shot with the road markings as leading lines, hoping someone would walk into the frame. It wasn’t until I was editing the image later that I noticed the dog looking straight into the lens with what almost seems like a smile. That small, unexpected detail adds a quiet charm to the overall image.

Making the Ordinary Interesting

At its core, street photography is about noticing. It teaches you to look differently at the world. A person crossing the street? Could be a great shot if the light’s right or the scene has some rhythm. Someone reading a newspaper at a café? That might not seem compelling, but if the composition works and there’s a mood to it, suddenly it becomes a story. It’s not about chasing rare or dramatic events. Often, the most compelling photos come from the most mundane moments, moments we all walk past every day.

Street photography sharpens your eye for detail. You begin to notice the way colors line up, how people stand when they’re lost in thought, the patterns in crowds, or the tension in someone’s body language. A person standing in front of a brightly colored wall can become a minimalist study in composition. A line of umbrellas on a rainy day becomes a rhythm, a pattern. That’s what this kind of photography teaches you: that beauty doesn’t need to be spectacular, it just needs to be seen.

In a world that’s constantly trying to dazzle us with extremes, there’s something grounding about focusing on the everyday. You’re not chasing headlines or staging drama, you’re finding beauty in normal life.

Light as a Character

Light, in street photography, isn’t just something you measure with your settings. It’s a character in the frame, just as important as the people you capture. It shapes the mood, directs the viewer’s eye, adds drama, mystery, softness, harshness. It turns an ordinary scene into something cinematic. Learning to read light, not just technically, but emotionally, is one of the most exciting parts of the process.

The harsh midday sun, while often avoided by photographers, can actually create incredible contrast if you know how to use it. It turns people into silhouettes, creates bold lines, high drama. It’s not always flattering, but it’s raw and punchy. You can use it to isolate shapes, to cut through the clutter and turn a crowded street into a graphic composition.

On the other hand, the golden hour, those magical minutes before sunset, softens everything. It casts long, beautiful shadows, warms up colors, makes even the most mundane back alley feel like a movie set. During this time, you find yourself slowing down, letting the light do more of the storytelling.

Understanding light is like learning a new language. At first, it’s confusing, overexposed highlights, underexposed shadows, colors you didn’t expect. But over time, you start to get fluent. You know when to shoot backlit, when to embrace contrast, or when to wait for clouds to pass.

Savour Human Interactions

People often assume street photography is solitary, and it can be, but it also opens the door to interactions you’d never have otherwise. For a genre that often involves candid, unstaged moments, street photography is surprisingly social.

Sometimes, someone stops and asks what you’re doing. Sometimes you end up in a conversation about photography or the neighborhood.

One of the most rewarding aspects for me personally has been the moments after the photo has been taken. Sometimes people catch me taking a photo, and I’ll go up to them and show the image on my screen. Whether they noticed me beforehand or not, I’ve always been surprised by how open and appreciative people are when they see themselves captured in a certain light, often literally. There’s a kind of validation in it, not just for me as a photographer, but for them as subjects. I’ve had some of the warmest, most genuine conversations with strangers this way. A simple image can break down social barriers in seconds.

Of course, not every encounter is positive. There are moments when people aren’t comfortable, and I always respect that. I’ve been told off, and I’ve walked away from shots I wanted to take because it didn’t feel right. It’s part of the territory, you’re navigating the ethics of observation in real time. But even those less-than-smooth interactions teach you something about empathy, about boundaries, about how to read a space and respect it.

Street photography has given me permission to connect in a way I might not have otherwise. It’s easy to walk past people without a second thought in everyday life. But when you’re out shooting, every person becomes a potential moment, a story, a portrait of humanity. And every now and then, a simple photo becomes a doorway into conversation, laughter, connection. Those moments are just as valuable, if not more, than the photos themselves.

To Wait or to Wander?

Street photography constantly presents you with small decisions that shape your day, none more subtle (or strategic) than the choice between waiting or wandering. Both have their magic, and often, the flow of your day determines which mode you fall into. I do both. Sometimes I find a composition I love, a doorway, a wall with interesting shadows, a reflection, and I’ll wait. Just stand there until the right person walks into frame. Other times, I just roam, letting instinct lead the way. Both approaches have their rewards and their frustrations. But when you wait and the moment finally arrives? That’s a high like no other. The image below is a perfect example of the “waiting” side of street photography. I spent a solid 15 minutes standing in a Parisian subway station, watching the flow of commuters and waiting for the right moment to capture the scene. The man standing still, positioned between two passing metro carriages, perfectly embodies the contrast between human stillness and the rush of the city. Using a long shutter speed, I was able to capture the motion of the train while keeping him frozen.

There’s something incredibly satisfying about getting a shot you waited for. You didn’t chase it, it came to you. It feels intentional, earned. Sometimes you wait for five minutes, or for thirty. And sometimes, the moment never comes. That’s part of it, too. You learn to accept when a scene doesn’t deliver. You move on. Both styles feed different creative muscles. Wandering sharpens your reflexes. It teaches you to see quickly, to compose on the fly, to trust your gut. Waiting, on the other hand, teaches discipline and patience. It slows you down, encourages you to observe more deeply, to anticipate instead of react.

I’ve learned not to force either mode. Some days are built for wandering, others for watching. The key is to stay open, stay curious, and trust that the right approach will make itself known in the moment. Whether you’re standing still or constantly on the move, the goal is the same: to be present, alert, and ready for whatever the street offers.

The Reality: Lots of Walking, Very Few Keeper-Shots

Here’s the part people don’t often talk about: most of street photography is not glamorous. it’s glorified loitering with a camera. It’s hours of wandering aimlessly, looking like a tourist with commitment issues. You walk. You stop. You squint dramatically at a shadow that turns out to be a bin bag. Your feet hurt. You’re bored. You question your instincts. You start wondering if you’re just wasting time. But then, unexpectedly, something unfolds. A perfect gesture, a crack of light, an odd human moment. Suddenly, all that emptiness feels like it was building toward this. The day’s rhythm is strange and disjointed, bursts of intensity followed by long lulls of drifting. But that unpredictability is the point. It keeps you honest, keeps you awake.

Street photography isn’t about perfection. It’s not about chasing beauty in the traditional sense. It’s about being out there, noticing, connecting, waiting, and capturing. Some days it feels like work, other days it feels like magic. But every time I go out with my camera, I know I’m open to whatever the day wants to show me. And that’s what keeps me coming back.

So if you’re thinking about trying it, do it. Go for a walk, bring a camera, and don’t worry about the outcome. Let the streets surprise you.

My Take on Street Photography