Waiting for the Light

 

Photography has taught me more about life than I ever expected.

 

When I created my recipe book, I made one decision very early on:  I would do all the photography myself.  No big production team.  No artificial lighting.  No heavy editing afterwards.

 

Every single photograph in my book was taken by me.  It took  good equipment, natural light and a lot of patience.

 

Light, I discovered, is everything.

 

On the farm you quickly learn that not all light is equal.  Midday sun is harsh and unforgiving. It exposes every flaw and creates sharp shadows.  But early morning… and late afternoon… that is when the magic happens.  The light becomes soft.  It wraps itself around the food.  It invites rather than interrogates.

 

Technically, I worked with a Canon EOS R6 Mark II mirrorless camera paired with a Canon RF 24–105mm F4 lens.  A versatile combination that allowed me to move easily between wide table settings and intimate close-ups.  The lens is sharp, reliable and forgiving, but even the best equipment cannot replace understanding light.  A good camera helps, but knowing when to press the shutter matters far more.

 

I had to learn to wait.

 

To watch how the light moved across my kitchen table.  To notice how it touched a slice of bread, a sprig of rosemary, the gloss on a freshly baked tart.  To understand which time of day allowed the food to breathe.

 

There is something deeply humbling about not forcing the moment.

 

In a world where almost everything is edited, filtered, sharpened, adjusted… I chose not to edit my photos.  What you see in my book is exactly what was there.  Real light.  Real food.  Real moments.

 

And perhaps life is not so different.

 

We often try to “edit” ourselves, soften our edges, hide our shadows and adjust our colours to suit the room.  We rush moments.  We try to manufacture perfect conditions instead of waiting for them.

 

But maybe some things simply need the right light.

 

Maybe certain conversations should wait for a softer hour.  Maybe decisions need the calm of early morning clarity.  Maybe relationships, like photographs, reveal their beauty when we stop forcing and start observing.

 

Not everything needs to be edited.

Some things only need patience.

 

On the farm, I learned to watch the sun.

In the kitchen, I learned to respect it.

In life,  clarity comes when it’s meant to.  Trust the process. 

 

Because when the light is right — everything changes.