As photographers, our journey is never static. We’re constantly learning, evolving, and discovering new ways to see and shape the world through our images. One of the most surprising and rewarding things I’ve learned over the years is just how valuable it can be to revisit and re-edit old photographs.
Our technical skills improve. Our creative eye sharpens. We understand colour, light, and composition more deeply. And editing arguably one of the most powerful tools in modern photography becomes less about “fixing” and more about interpreting. It's during these quiet moments of reflection, often when I'm not out shooting, that I dive into my archive and pick an old image at random. Sometimes, what I find surprises me.
Here’s one such example: a sunrise shot of the Dovercourt Pilot Lighthouse, taken on the Essex coast near Harwich. It’s a scene I’ve always liked peaceful, minimalist, and full of gentle light. But I hadn’t looked at the original RAW file in years. The first time I edited it, I remember leaning into the colour more saturation, boosted vibrance, and a noticeable warmth in the overall tones. Interestingly, I also reduced the saturation and vibrance specifically on the tower itself, trying to isolate its shape against a more vivid background. There was an intentional lift in the ambient light to bring a soft glow across the frame.
At the time, that edit reflected where I was as a photographer. I was exploring light and mood, learning how to direct the viewer's attention with subtle (or not-so-subtle) colour changes. And for what it was, it worked.
But coming back to it now, with a few more years of experience and a more refined editing approach, I felt curious. What would this same image look like if I started fresh with no adjustments, no presets, and no memory of how I wanted it to feel back then?
So, I reset everything. No contrast, no colour tweaks, no cropping. Just the untouched RAW file. And then I walked away.
Leaving the image for a day helped me clear my head. When I returned to it, I wasn't trying to “fix” anything. I just let the image guide me. This time, I focused on keeping the colours soft and true to the scene pastel tones that naturally emerge at sunrise when the light is low and the sky gently wakes. I embraced the natural gradient of the early morning light rather than amplifying it.
Only after completing the new version did, I compare it to the older one. And the result? Not better. Not worse. Just different.
And that’s the key point here.
Re-editing old photos isn’t about proving how much better we are now. It’s about exploring how our current skills, knowledge, and even software tools can help us see an old moment in a new light. It’s not a competition with our past selves. It’s more like a conversation a dialogue between who we were and who we’ve become.
Sometimes we surprise ourselves. We find details we missed. We make different choices. We let go of trends we once followed. Other times, we reaffirm that our original instincts were strong. Either way, the process itself is valuable.
For me, this exercise is especially useful on days when I can’t get out with the camera. It keeps me creatively engaged. It helps me stay connected to my archive. And it reminds me that every image we take has more than one story to tell.
If you haven’t looked through your older images in a while, give it a try. Pick one at random. Strip it back to zero. Start again—not to make it “better,” but to see what’s changed. You might be surprised at what’s still waiting to be found in the pixels.
