Panoramas as Emotional Landscapes
Developing your eye takes time. Sometimes, it’s not just about practice — it’s about pausing long enough to see what’s actually working. When I first started shooting panoramic film, I thought I had to fill every frame with meaning. But meaning often hides in the margins — in the space between elements, in the patterns that repeat without notice, and in the quiet decisions we make around light, line, and color.
In this post, you’ll explore how to sharpen your eye through artistic repetition, find structure in the chaos of wide frames, and turn visual silence into emotional power. From the pulse of leading lines to the poetry of negative space, we’ll rethink what makes an analogue image resonate. We’ll even challenge the idea of where the horizon belongs — and why sometimes it’s better when it disappears entirely.
This isn’t a list of tips. It’s a roadmap for seeing more clearly and creating with more purpose. If you’ve ever felt stuck between experimentation and intention — or wondered how to say more with less — keep reading.
Shot on Kodak Portra 400 ISO
Practice as Artistic Ritual
Developing my artistic eye took time. At first, I didn’t take enough photos. Each film shot cost nearly a dollar, and as a student, it was an expensive habit. Later, I began shooting more but rarely paused to reflect on the results. That meant I missed chances to learn from my mistakes or identify what I truly liked. I took "practice makes perfect" too literally and never looked back.
Then someone I admired gave me a piece of advice that stayed with me: “Print your favorite photos. Mark what you like and don’t like about them. Then do the same with work by photographers who inspire you. You’ll start to notice patterns.”
Back then, I didn’t take the suggestion seriously. Years later, I finally understand. Developing a personal style with analogue wide format photography isn’t only about experimentation. It also relies on thoughtful reflection. Repetition builds skill, but reflection sharpens vision. When both become part of your practice, you fast-track growth.
Repeat the same approach 100 times and mastery follows. Yet many photographers don’t revisit the same subject or composition even ten times. We should. Light shifts, scenes evolve, and with every repetition, especially when comparing results, we learn something new. This is the foundation of developing a photographer’s eye in analogue photography.
Shot on Kodak Portra 400 ISO
The Poetry of Patterns
Visual patterns are more than repetition. They are rhythm. They bring a sense of calm, order, and expectation. Patterns create harmony in the frame, allowing the viewer to intuitively understand what belongs and what doesn’t.
A small variation within a pattern draws the eye, creating tension or interest. The question becomes: do you want your work to soothe or to provoke? Patterns can help achieve either.
In XPan panoramic photography, where wide open space dominates the frame, repeating forms can break the monotony. They offer a visual rhythm and a soft structure within the vastness. Patterns in panoramic photography can also act as visual pauses, inviting the viewer to rest without disengaging. It becomes a kind of storytelling silence, something present, not absent.
See the full description in the analysis of the full image.
Shot on Kodak Portra 400 ISO
Let the Eye Wander: Leading Lines in Wide Format
The width of the panoramic frame allows a for lot of breathing space around the subject. However, the eye would still like to be led towards the subject in the image. The lines establish a visual hierarchy, what’s seen first, second, etc.. This is where leading lines in panoramic photography become essential. They shape the viewer’s experience, guiding the eye toward the subject in a considered, almost cinematic flow.
The lines will guide the viewer in the image towards the subject. This can be done subtly or boldly. Depending on the circumstances the approach might differ. Whilst shooting with the XPan and TX-1, leading lines help anchor scenes with many elements and potential distractions. The viewer needs to be guided in the frame, therefore lines and light can be utilised to make sure the subject of the frame is the centre of the focus.
You might center your subject using symmetrical lines from both sides. Or place the subject along the rule of thirds in wide format — about one-third from the edge — and let longer, more subtle lines draw the gaze from the corner. The psychology of leading lines in panoramic viewing plays a vital role here. They suggest movement, depth, even time passing. Leading lines don’t just direct. They shape story, build tension, and create movement within a still image.
Shot on Kodak Portra 400
The Power of Empty space in panoramas
Negative space in panoramas isn’t empty. It’s expressive. It evokes imagination. When a subject is placed off-center, say on one-third of the frame, it creates a vast openness that encourages the viewer to think beyond what’s visible.
Place your subject looking into that space, and suddenly the story becomes about what lies ahead. A subject in the corner implies movement through the landscape, suggesting a journey not yet taken. Negative space becomes a visual pause in panoramic storytelling — a resting place for the eye and a breath for the narrative.
It also conveys honesty and transparency. Wide open space suggests there's nothing hidden, only clarity. This visual breathing room invites calm, introspection, or even subtle tension.
In Japanese aesthetics, the space between things, known as ma, isn’t absence but presence. It asks the viewer to pause, feel, and reflect. In your analogue compositions, negative space can create emotional engagement and charged silence, not emptiness.
Kodak Portra 400 ISO
Break the Rule: The Horizon Doesn’t Need to Be Centered
The horizon is often expected to sit at the center of the image. This creates a balance between the foreground and the sky. It can simplify the composition, introduce a sense of detachment, and invite interpretation.
In panoramic photography, the horizon is typically an obvious element to include. Due to the limited vertical height of the frame, there’s often an assumption that the horizon must be placed in the middle. However, it can just as effectively be positioned one-third from the bottom or the top. A more extreme approach is to remove the horizon entirely—either by shooting top-down or from the ground up.
Top-down shots (e.g., from above, looking straight down) often flattens the scene, removing any some depth. This can make the subject feel small, exposed, or objectified. The image can evoke vulnerability, isolation, or even serenity.
Ground-up shots (e.g., looking up from a low angle) can have the opposite effect: the subject looms, dominates the frame, or appears monumental. This often evokes awe, power, aspiration. It creates a powerful subject as it is often associated with statues of people.
No matter the approach, it should support the story you’re trying to tell. These framing choices can create tension and serve your narrative purpose. And importantly, they’re not limited to standard formats—you can fully explore them in panoramic photography as well.
Kodak portra 400 ISO
Color Symbiosis: When Colors Work Together, Not Apart
There are different colour theories that you can use in your advantage when trying to tell a certain story. There are three different common colour theories, which also apply to wide format film photography, that can be used in your advantage. These are commonly used in movies as well.
Warm vs Cool Colors (Color Temperature Theory)
this includes warm colors: red, orange, yellow. This tends to be used to evoke energy, warmth, passion, excitement, danger. It can be utilised to create intensity, urgency, or emotional heat.
The opposite on the colour spectrum is obviously cool colors: blue, green, purple. These colours can be used to evoke calm, peace, isolation, sadness and serenity. These colours are often used for tranquil landscapes, introspective moods, or detachment.
The complementary Color Theory
Where colors opposite each other on the color wheel compliment each other (e.g., blue and orange, red and green, yellow and purple) create a high contrast and visual tension. This can be used to draw attention, create dynamic energy, or emphasize a subject. Often seen in cinematic color grading (e.g., blue shadows with orange highlights for emotional drama).
Analogous Color Theory
Uses colors next to each other on the color wheel (e.g., red–orange–yellow or blue–teal–green) to create harmonious and cohesive visuals. These colours evoke calm, comfort, unity, subtle emotion. Ideal for soft storytelling, nature scenes, or intimate portraiture.
Personally, I gravitate toward the warm and cool contrast, and the softness of analogous palettes. They feel aligned with my voice and visual language.
Final Thoughts: What Panoramas Taught Me About Seeing
Reflecting on my best panoramic photos has reminded me of something essential: artistic growth is rarely about the single perfect shot. It’s about learning through repetition, observation, and intentional practice in analogue photography.
From recognising the subtle power of patterns and negative space, to experimenting with leading lines and breaking the horizon rule. Resulting in each image becoming more than a photo, it became part of a process. A process of developing an artistic eye, refining a personal style, and letting the wide frame ask different questions.
Whether through the rhythm of panoramic photography patterns, the emotional impact of colour choices, or the psychology of leading lines in panoramic viewing, every decision shapes how a story unfolds. Whilst rules are there to break and patterns are there to step away from, there are no wrong decisions when developing your personal style.
If there’s one takeaway, it’s this: developing a personal style with analogue wide format photography requires more than shooting. It requires seeing. Seeing again. And seeing differently.
