Time has a way of shifting our vision. What once felt complete can later feel unfinished — not because it was wrong, but because we’ve grown as artists.

Yesterday, I reopened a raw file I shot back in 2017. At the time, I edited it to the best of my ability. But with fresh eyes, a more refined palette, and a deeper understanding of my visual voice (along with better taste in editing perhaps), I saw something better. Or maybe better isn’t the word. I saw something different. The re-edit felt truer to the moment — not just technically, but emotionally.

It reminded me why I hold onto most of my raw files, even the ones I pass over the first time around. Because sometimes, the story in a photo hasn’t fully revealed itself yet. Sometimes, we need time to see it clearly, time to learn how to ring out our original vision.

Growth Is a Quiet Thing

Photography isn’t static. Just like we evolve as people, so does our sense of light, color, and feeling. The way I edit now, the way I interpret mood and softness, the way I balance warmth and contrast, has changed. It’s more intentional, more restrained. There's more silence in it, more breath. My work in its current form best encompasses who I am as a photographer. It’s funny, because maybe that’s what I would have said when I took the original photo.

Looking back on older work with a new lens can be humbling. But it’s also affirming. It shows me that I’ve grown, not just in skill, but in vision. Photos that I originally marked as rejects and never edited, I can see with a new eye of potential. That growth deserves space. And raw files give it room to bloom.

The Value of the Unfinished

I don’t keep every single photo I take. Some frames are just misfires — blinked eyes, missed focus, nothing there to hold onto. But I do keep the ones that felt like almosts. The ones that didn’t quite sing back then, but had something in them. A spark. A suggestion. Potential.

Those are the images I revisit. Sometimes, they surprise me. Sometimes, they become new favorites. A lot of the time they never see the light of day again. That’s the artistic process. 

Letting the Archive Breathe

Keeping RAW files isn’t about hoarding. It’s about allowing room for reinterpretation — a soft, quiet kind of creative generosity. The past version of me did her best. The present version of me does too. Neither is wrong. Both matter.

If you're a photographer, artist, or storyteller in any form, I hope this encourages you to revisit your archives. Your vision has evolved, as has your skill, and your past work may still have something new to say.

Give it another look.

One Last Tip

Don’t ever delete your raws. Storage is (relatively) cheap. Keep your “maybe” shots. When culling, if an image doesn’t quite speak to you now but has potential, mark it as a “maybe” in whichever way suits you. Personally, I use a star rating system, with a 2* being the shots that I won’t send to a client or edit but might revisit one day. 

Revisit those shots once a year. You might be surprised by what you’re ready to see.