The Value of Experimenting

When was the last time you tried something that felt a little uncomfortable?

Not because it was wrong, but because it didn’t quite fit the box others had already put you in.

As artists, professionals, or simply as human beings, we often get labelled. We’re “the photographer who does composites,” or “the one who always paints in blue,” or “the person who’s really good at one specific thing.” Labels are comforting… for others. But they can quickly become cages.

Over the past weeks, I’ve been reflecting on how much experimenting matters in our work, and how difficult it can be to embrace it. Today, I want to write about that.

The uneasy comfort of the box

We all like to feel understood. There’s something reassuring when people know you for a certain style or a specific craft. In a world where attention is short and competition is endless, being “recognizable” can be a strength.

But here’s the problem: recognition easily turns into repetition. And repetition, while safe, can quietly kill your curiosity.

I’ve felt this many times in my journey.

When my image of the double arch of the Milky Way went viral, it brought me thousands of new followers. It was a nice and unexpected surprise.

But I did notice a thought creeping in: “This worked so well… maybe I should just keep doing more of that.” 

And that’s where the comfort of the box begins. Success can subtly push you to repeat yourself, not because you want to, but because it feels safer to stay with what people already celebrate.

The irony is that the same recognition that gives you confidence can also tempt you to narrow your own path.

Why experimenting feels so hard

It’s not that experimenting is complicated in itself. Taking a risk, trying a new tool, exploring a different subject, all of that is technically simple. The difficulty is psychological.

• Fear of judgment. What if people don’t like it? What if it looks bad next to your “best work”?

• Fear of inconsistency. The idea that changing direction might “confuse your audience” or hurt your brand.

• Fear of failure. New things rarely work perfectly at first. And in the age of social media, every misstep feels public.

• Attachment to identity. Once others define you as “the astrophotographer,” it feels almost like a betrayal to show something else.

These fears are real. They’re why most people stick to the familiar, even when it stops exciting them.

The hidden cost of not experimenting

But here’s the thing: not experimenting has a cost too.

If you never leave your lane, your work might stay comfortable, but it risks becoming predictable. And predictable is the opposite of alive.

Creativity, at its core, is not about staying the same. It’s about discovery. It’s about curiosity. It’s about the joy of not knowing exactly what you’ll find.

I’ve noticed that my happiest creative moments often come from detours. When I try a technique that feels “wrong,” when I shoot in a location that isn’t “my style,” or even when I fail miserably at something.

Those moments expand me. They remind me that I’m not a fixed category.

How to reframe experimenting

Experimenting doesn’t mean abandoning who you are. It means adding more dimensions to it.

• Think of it as play instead of pressure.

• Remember that audiences follow authenticity more than consistency. If you’re genuinely curious and alive in what you do, people feel that energy.

• Detach from results. An experiment is not a finished artwork, it’s a test. If it “fails,” it still succeeds by teaching you something.

One of the most liberating shifts I’ve made is to see experiments as part of the process, not detours from it.

How to bring more experimentation into your work

Here are a few ways I’ve been practicing it myself:

1. Side projects. Keep a private folder or sketchbook where you allow yourself to try ridiculous or ugly ideas. No pressure to share.

2. Borrow from other fields. Music, film, painting, even architecture. Bringing influences from outside your immediate craft opens doors you can’t see otherwise.

3. Limit yourself on purpose. One lens, one color palette, one tool. Constraints force creativity.

4. Separate sharing from creating. Not every experiment needs to go online. Protect some of them as “just for you.”

5. Ritualize it. I do my best to dedicating one evening a week to purely experimental editing, with no expectation of producing a final image. It feels like creative training.

A personal example: blending day and night

Recently, I’ve been experimenting with something that felt unusual for me: bringing more daytime elements into my otherwise night-focused work.

The two images you see here — Shades of Hypnagogia and Guiding Light — both came from this intention. Instead of focusing only on the deep black of night and the Milky Way above, I started blending twilight, stars, and even soft sunset tones into the same frame. It was a way of testing myself, seeing how these transitions could still carry the depth and mystery I usually seek, but with an added layer of color and atmosphere.

Why? Because I have a project in mind for the future that will require exactly this kind of balance. I know that if I want to make it possible, I need to practice now. These experiments are my way of preparing the ground, building the skills, the patience, and the sensitivity that will allow me to tell a bigger story when the time comes.

They might not look like a radical shift to an outside eye, but for me, they’re a deliberate step into new territory. They remind me that experimenting isn’t always about reinventing everything. Sometimes it’s about stretching your own edges, one image at a time.

What experimenting has given me

The more I experiment, the more I notice:

• My main work grows stronger. Trying new things often circles back and makes me see my old work with fresh eyes.

• I care less about judgment. Once you survive a few “weird” experiments, the fear of criticism loses its power.

• It opens unexpected doors. Some of my collaborations and projects didn’t come from the work I was “known for,” but from a side-experiment someone happened to notice.

Experimenting teaches you that you’re more than the category others put you in.

Closing thought

I want to leave you with this:

Categories are useful, but they’re not who you are. They’re snapshots of a moving river.

If you feel the urge to try something new; whether in art, in your career, or in your personal life, don’t wait for permission. Don’t wait for others to “understand.” Understanding usually comes after.

Your curiosity is valid. Your experiments are necessary. And they might just be the bridge to your next big chapter.

So this week, maybe ask yourself: What’s one small experiment I could try, without worrying about the outcome?

Because in the end, experimenting isn’t a distraction from your path.

It is the path.

A quick last note

My limited edition print Start Anew is about to end — tomorrow at midnight marks the final 24 hours to get it.

I am immensely grateful to everyone who has already stepped in to support me during this chapter. A special thank you is on its way to each of you.

If you’ve been considering it, this is the moment. The print comes with free worldwide shipping included, and once the window closes, it will not return.

Alongside this, I am also re-opening a few seats for my 1-1 mentorship program. If you’ve been curious to work more closely with me, you can now join the waitlist and submit your application. Spots are limited, and I’ll be reviewing them carefully to make sure it’s a good fit on both sides.

And if you made it all the way here, thank you, and see you in the next one.

Take care,

Angel