When I studied partial differential equations, one concept that stood out was the role of boundary conditions. These weren’t optional. They shaped the very nature of the solution. The same differential equation could describe very different phenomena depending on how the boundaries were defined. It didn’t take long before I started seeing boundary conditions in other places. Not just in math problems, but in engineering decisions, in organizational behavior, and eventually, in photography.
The phrase “think outside the box” is really about boundary conditions. The “box” refers to a set of constraints we assume are part of the problem, even though they may not be. They’re often defaults from past habits, inherited norms, or assumptions that no longer apply.
Photography, despite being a creative pursuit, is full of these imagined boundaries. Take the assumption that certain subjects should be photographed in certain ways: landscapes with wide-angle lenses, portraits with shallow depth of field, street photography in black and white. These are stylistic conventions. They’re not dictated by the subject or the tools. They’re boundaries that many of us accept without thinking.
There are also technical assumptions. That base ISO is always best. That sharpness is mandatory. That “good light” only happens at golden hour. Often these beliefs start as sensible rules of thumb, but over time they become fixed constraints.
Workflow brings its own boundaries. You might assume that editing must be done in a particular piece of software. Or that an image is only valid if it comes straight out of the camera. Or that a certain output medium is the only legitimate one. These limits are not imposed by the subject or the goal. They’re adopted, sometimes unconsciously.
Questioning boundaries in photography can open up both new modes of expression and new ways of seeing. Shooting portraits with wide-angle lenses distorts space in interesting ways. Capturing landscapes in harsh midday sun might emphasize texture and abstraction. Printing with alternative processes can shift the mood of an image entirely.
This is not to say that all boundaries are artificial. Some are real. The laws of physics still apply. The point is to separate necessary constraints from those we have simply accepted without challenge.
In mathematics, changing the boundary conditions can produce an entirely different class of solutions. The same is true in photography. Change the assumptions, and new images become possible.
The above is not an argument to eliminate constraints. Quite the opposite; I believe they are essential. Photographers benefit by being deliberate about which constraints they accept, which ones they challenge, and which ones they set aside. In mathematics and engineering, boundary conditions give shape to problems and make them solvable. If someone hands me the heat equation and asks for a solution, my first question is, “What are the boundary conditions?” Without them, there is no meaningful answer. They define the problem.
Photography is no different. Constraints give form to our efforts. They define the box we are working in. Sometimes we inherit those boxes from the world around us. Sometimes we build them ourselves. Either way, they can be the source of real creative energy.
When I was working as a design engineer, I often found that the most valuable breakthroughs came not when everything was going smoothly, but when I was painted (or painted myself) into a corner. That corner, that set of constraints, forced new ways of thinking. It shaped the solution. The discomfort became the catalyst.
The same thing happens in my photography. If I grab a camera and just wander, hoping for inspiration to strike, I usually make forgettable images. But when I commit to a project, a series, or an idea, and I define the boundaries for myself, something changes. The constraints focus my attention. They give me purpose. They help me dig deeper.
Working in a series means choosing a subject, a style, a palette, or a process, and seeing how much I can explore within that limited space. It means learning from repetition. Over time, with patience and persistence, something begins to unfold. The work gains coherence. Sometimes it surprises me.
None of this means constraints are inherently good. It means they are powerful. They are tools. They are not to be blindly accepted or rejected. The creative act lies in choosing them, testing them, reshaping them, and using them to build something meaningful.
The point is not to break free of all constraints. The point is to be conscious of them. To understand their role. To use them with intent. That is where the magic lives.
Leave a Reply