Wabi-Sabi. The philosophy behind my work.

I would like to introduce you to the working philosophy behind my photographic practice.

So many photographers long for the definitive style that those who are discerning connoisseurs of the image will be able to look and know in an instant that the work they are looking at was taken by a particular photographer.

Certain things are used. Their choice of contrast, whether they shoot black and white only or rely heavily on colour, even down to the subject matter, can all help those who love the art of photography.

Martin Parr is an obvious example of such a photographer whose use of close angle, high contrast, and flash photography with bold colours is almost like a fingerprint, and once you see a photo by Parr, you will spot another one a million miles away. Even the odd, disjointed relationship between the people in the pictures and the way he frames the shot runs like an undercurrent in his work.

I am not practising the craft anywhere near as long as Martin Parr, but I, too, have a philosophy that guides and moves my work a certain way.

This is the sense of Wabi-Sabi.

I call it a sense, because while many talk about this concept as if it is a way of designing your home, a sort of niche lifestyle choice that must be practised with alarming restriction, or others use it to describe a certain style of wonky plates and cups that are deliberately done to look wonky and individualistic. This is not the case. Wabi-sabi is not a style.

Rather, it is an emotion that is felt on seeing certain things.

Let me explain.

Wabi was once a derogatory term used to describe the desperate and impoverished in Japan. It was used to refer to the poorer members of society, or those who were impacted by famine and disaster. But then it took on new meaning when Sen no Rikyū developed a minimalistic and pared-down tea ceremony using commonplace and imperfect items. This he called wabi-cha, which emphasised simplicity.

Sabi was also a derogatory term initially that was used to describe things that were old, imperfect and falling apart. But this changed over time, and thanks to the great poet Matsuo Bashō, this came to be used in appreciation of the things that aged, rusted and became altered over time. It was an appreciation of the beauty that comes to things over the passage of time.

These things became linked, and soon it was a concept that assured people that things in life cannot be controlled or kept as they are, all things are imperfect, and all things are ageing. We must look for the beauty in this and learn to embrace it, then we can alleviate the suffering in our lives a little more.

“Now, how does this fit into photography?” I hear you ask.

Well simple. You see, for many photographers, they pursue the perfect shot. In a world where Instagram and other social media sites demand that photographs tick certain boxes, and photographers rush out to get pictures that fit this perfection.

“I don’t want my work to scream for attention. I want it to whisper. To linger. To evoke a feeling that can’t quite be named but is deeply felt.”

Instead of perfection, all we get is the same. The same picture, over and over. Photographers jump through hoops to meet the elements that they learned in photography classes and reading books, must be ticked off with the religious fervour of a devout and observant practitioner of Judaism.

This is not the case at all.

The rules of photography are important in capturing images. You indeed need to compose the image correctly, as you would in any image you were to draw or paint. So it is with photography. You must make images that are good, and the rules are there to help you. But they are also there to be broken.

Because at the end of the day, we have no control over things and sometimes, even with the best kit in the world, you will take a shot that has the wrong exposure, or even worse, you will take a shot that has a messed-up focus. Wabi-Sabi, as a philosophy, can help you cope with this because it helps you to understand that not everything will work right during a shoot, and you must handle this with acceptance and work on. It helps you embrace the fact that even with all the best plans, you have no control over how the image will come out.

But it can also help you when you “ruin a shot.”

The two pictures in this post are examples of that. I was using a Kodak Pixpro, which had no meter that would tell if I had the right exposure for the shots. It was one of those really bright sunny days we were blessed with this summer, and the first shot was in the Bullring, which had the full blast of the sun shining, while the second was on the lower mainstreet, which is mostly shaded. In short, the light was mental for shooting in becaus it was direct, harsh light, with strong areas of shadow.

“... even with all the best plans, you have no control over how the image will come out.”

The result was two messed-up photographs that would be rubbished by everyone because they were just wrong, wrong, wrong.

But look again.

For some photographers, and I include myself in this group, even shots that are over-exposed or damaged can be amazing shots and unique works of art that are worthy of appreciation.

Of course, this appreciation of the imperfect can also be utilised as an emotive tool that pulls on a person’s heartstrings. This can be done by capturing subjects, even models, in a setting and a way that is evocative of the passage of time, or the fleeting moments of life that make life the blissful, imperfect mess it is.

That’s why so many people find the autumn, the change from warm summer days to dark, eerie cold nights, is a thing that resonates with us, especially here in Ireland.

But as I said, this concept of philosophy is behind my work in a deeper way. Though this is not always evident in my work as a professional photographer, shooting a model shoot, or a food shoot, for example, requires that the client get their perfect shots that they can use. I have no choice in the subject matter. No choice in the location.

But I can still apply this principle to make sure that I am not phased when a problem arises. Being calm and even sensible enough at a moment when panic can kick in means that I will see the chance to take a shot that might work. I can still look for the fleeting moment.

Main Street Wexford: Rush Hour. © Vincent S. Coster

An example of intentionally making an imperfect shot using a slower shutter speed to capture motion blur. This is embracing the concept of wabi, or the imperfect and seeing beauty in i.

Wabi-sabi in my photographic practice means seeking the quiet poetry in the overlooked, the worn, the fleeting. I do not chase the flawless composition or the golden-hour glow. Instead, I look for the crack in the wall, the fading paint, the way light falls unevenly across a forgotten object. I embrace grain, blur, and asymmetry—not as technical flaws, but as emotional truths.

Where others might discard a photo for its lack of sharpness or its muted palette, I lean in. Because in that imperfection, there is honesty. There is time. There is life.

I don’t want my work to scream for attention. I want it to whisper. To linger. To evoke a feeling that can’t quite be named but is deeply felt.

Just as Sen no Rikyū found beauty in a chipped teacup, and Bashō in the rustle of autumn leaves, I find it in the quiet decay of a forgotten alleyway, the soft erosion of a face in shadow, the stillness of a moment that will never come again.

This is not a style. It is a way of seeing.

And if someone looks at my photograph and feels a gentle ache, a sense of time passing, a fleeting connection to something fragile and real—then I’ve succeeded.

© Vincent S. Coster 2025

The two images, Bullring Wexford (overexposed) and Main Street Wexford (glitched) are © Vincent S. Coster 2025