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A question, a gust, and a boat: New talent enters the scene

No flash, no studio. Here’s how three Capture One RAW Talent winners made their work and shared something true to themselves. 

Three winning projects. One is a set of portraits built around a single uncomfortable question. One is about the draft of air that moves through a subway passage. One is about people who live on boats. 

On paper they share nothing. In practice, none of the three used a flash. All three found their subject somewhere they had already walked past a hundred times. And two of them came out of the London Underground. 

We asked each of them how the work happened. 

Jenny Liao: Probe

Jenny Liao was an oral surgeon before leaving the profession to study photography at the University of the Arts London. Now based in China, she built Probe around a question she had wanted to ask other people for years, having once struggled to answer it herself. 

“Is there a trait that has often been discouraged or undervalued throughout your life, but that you still choose to keep?” 

Every portrait started as a conversation and became an image built from the answer. The first person she photographed was a classmate, Eia, who said she keeps her life highly structured even though everyone around her tells her to go with the flow. Liao covered her in sticky notes listing her daily schedule. 

“At that time, I was still uncertain about the direction of my graduation project and struggling with anxiety about what I was making. But the moment I saw the scans, I knew I had to continue.” 

The lighting setup is whatever the room already has. “I mainly use natural light in my work. Even when a photograph is carefully planned, I often work with the available light in a space and build the image around it.” 

A good shoot, for Liao, is one where the camera stops being the point. “The best shoots feel more like spending time with a friend than being on a set. Once people stop thinking about being photographed and become immersed in the moment, the photographs tend to emerge naturally.” 

Asked about influences, she noted conversations rather than photography. “Hearing how different people experience and interpret the same reality has made the differences between people feel much more real and tangible to me.” Asked about equipment she could not live without, she picked the camera, then corrected herself. “If I’m honest, the thing I rely on most is a good conversation. I’m not much of a gear person. Photography starts with observation and connection. The camera usually comes later.” 

The oddest place she’s found an idea is the subway, and specifically the people zoning out in it. “Everyone is in the same place, but in completely different mental and emotional worlds. An ordinary commute becomes a moment full of imagined narratives.” 

 The clinic is still on her mind, but it’s no longer the whole plan. “I want to move from expressing myself through what I photograph to expressing myself through how I see,” she says. The doctor-patient work has become one thread among several, alongside commercial projects and a career that supports both.

Changke Li: A Sudden Gust of Wind

Changke Li found her project underground. 

“By tracing the movement of the wind as it briefly interrupts familiar routines and gestures, the work captures fleeting moments of spontaneity that might otherwise go unnoticed. These images reveal beauty in the unexpected, inviting viewers to pause, look more slowly, and become attuned to the subtle shifts that shape our surroundings.”

A Sudden Gust of Wind was shot entirely with non-professional models. Some were classmates she bumped into at school. Others were strangers she messaged on Instagram. Almost all of them said yes immediately. Every one of them is photographed from behind. 

“Even though all of them are only shown from behind, their faces have stayed with me ever since.” 

She plans her light well in advance. For the image of a man whose wig lifts into the air, she spent time watching how shadows moved across the location at different hours, then picked his moment. 

“I hoped the model’s shadow would look a bit like a pair of scissors, echoing his hair and adding a playful touch to the image.” 

Ask her what makes a shoot go well, and she is blunt about it: “Honestly, I’m still searching for the answer.”

Her influences are films, Japanese animation, and painting, plus a habit of mentally stepping back from reality to think about her work. One picture in the exhibition started with a piece of toilet paper stuck to her shoe, which she noticed well after leaving the restroom. There is now a photograph of someone stepping on a piece of paper caught in the wind. 

She is working towards a life as an independent photographer, with a commercial and personal practice pulling in the same direction. 

Tse, Yu: The House That Floats

Tse, Yu was walking through Little Venice when a friend mentioned that people live on the narrowboats year-round. Coming from Taiwan, he found that hard to place. 

“In traditional Taiwanese culture, the societal blueprint for adulthood usually follows a strict sequence: first buying a car, then a house. The vehicle represents the tool for the daily grind, while a house symbolizes stability, security, and the accumulation of wealth. Yet a houseboat feels like a paradoxical fusion of both.” 

That contradiction became The House That Floats, and a question he is still working through. Does a home have to be a fixed structure, or is it a state of mind? 

For Tse, Yu, the window is the light kit. “When I’m shooting indoors, the windows are my main light source, so I’ll just open or close them to control how the light fills the room.” 

His favorite frame in the exhibition is a portrait of Jess, an artist who lives on a houseboat with her dog Archie. He posed her by the entrance, in front of double doors she had painted herself, then cracked the doors open a sliver so a narrow beam did the work. 

He describes shooting as a trade-off between control and attention. “You can plan everything, but once you arrive, it’s all about reacting to the space and the light. The most beautiful frames often come from unexpected moments when you slow down and just watch.” 

His ideas start with music. He listens to lyrics and sees pictures. “The loneliness, warmth, or closures embedded in the words all carry distinct qualities of light and tonal temperature to me. I often find myself wondering: if this lyric were a photograph, what kind of light would it possess?” He walks the city late at night with headphones on. “Suddenly, I’ll see a single streetlight cutting through the darkness, and the way the light and shadow interact just perfectly matches the mood of the song.” 

He is freelancing in London across film and digital while he keeps photographing floating homes and learns more about darkroom printing. 

What stays with us

Almost none of this was about equipment. It was about noticing something in a place they already knew, asking someone a real question, and waiting for the light to be right. Your software and gear can help you tell the story, but they never tell it for you. 

About 

RAW Talent is our editorial and award series for emerging student and graduate photographers. We give them space to show their work, talk through how they made it, and share what the move into professional practice actually looks like, all built on our editing and tethered workflow tools. 

See more of the RAW talent winners’ work on Instagram:

Jenny Liao | @jennyliao_works
Changke Li | @kchangli
Tse, Yu | @jerrysphotograph

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Self Portraiture: the Lens of the Heart

I’ve always had a strong sense of direction. That was the problem.

What if after 7 long days trudging through the deep woods, you discovered the compass that had been guiding your every step was actually broken? You’d realize you were lost.

It wasn’t until 7 years into my creative career that I discovered I was utterly and completely lost. I was operating with a broken compass. I had a strong sense of direction, it was just the wrong direction. If you are headed in the wrong direction, the sooner you stop and turn back, is actually when you begin to make real progress. It wasn’t until I picked up a camera and started taking self portraits did I begin to find the way. The most important lesson I’ve learned is this: what matters more than anything a photographer has in their kit is the heart from which they create.

I was working in the movie industry pursuing the American Dream: appearing really busy and successful on Instagram and trying to be the envy of all my friends. There were two problems: my life was not at all as it seemed. (And even if it was, that dream of material success is unfulfilling at best.) I always seemed to have a little month left over at the end of the money. And the industry was eating me alive. It was not an uncommon experience at the time to be following up on the 30th day for that net 30 payment, only to be told they would put the check in the mail tomorrow. I remember shedding tears walking out of the grocery store one day because I accidentally spent $40 instead of $20 on groceries which meant I couldn’t put gas in my car. I was broke and brokenhearted.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed a change. I decided to shift focus from motion picture into still photography. I wanted more freedom and something about it seemed simpler. Less encumbered. I figured I only needed a camera and at least one working eyeball to start my new career in photography.

Scraping together a few dollars I bought a camera, a Canon 5d mk4, from a friend for a great deal. I couldn’t even afford a lens for another year so it just sat and gathered dust while I mopped floors at a gym and worked security at a parking lot. Then another photographer friend, Will Luna, taking pity on my circumstances, gave me a lens! What a guy! There was a slight catch. The lens was broken! Willy had dropped it and it was totally wrecked. He couldn’t even get the shattered UV filter off the filter ring. But the promise was this: if I paid to get it fixed, I got to keep it.

I took my new gently used completely broken lens over to the Canon repair shop in Orange County California. A part of me was hoping they would just like me enough to fix it for free. I put on my best charm as I handed over my lens. I’m pretty sure I felt my soul start to leave my body when he told me how much it would cost. It was about one billion dollars. But to get a new lens was around two billion dollars, so I actually was saving about one billion dollars. By this time I had quit the security job because it was dangerous and I got fired from the gym. I was living in my mom’s apartment and had no income. But I figured when I became a famous photographer I’d have at least three billion dollars so this was an elite business maneuver and I’d definitely be profiting. (Feel free to check my math on that and email me what you find at seth@thecowboyphotographer.com.) I loaded up my credit card and got the lens fixed (this is not a smart idea, don’t do this). I dusted off that camera that had been sitting and got ready to work.

If you asked me, I was a photographer! I had a camera, and now it had a lens, and the lens even worked! I had it all. Except for maybe a few important things like: clients, an income, or a portfolio.

Let’s pause. I’m sure by now you’re thinking, “this guy is nuts and doesn’t know what he’s doing” and that’s absolutely correct! And yet somehow today I have the honor of being the first living photographer ever permanently installed at the National Cowboy Museum in Oklahoma City. I’ve even had my story told by Capture One in a documentary short called “How I Healed Through Cowboy Photography.” What I hope is clear is that my journey was anything but glamorous. And we can gather now that something massive had to shift for me to get from there to here. A radical renovation of the heart. Self portraiture played a role in that. And thus started what became a life changing process of self portraiture.

Self portraiture started as a practical solution to an inconvenient problem – I didn’t have anyone to photograph. In my mother’s living room, I set up a tripod, a chair, triggered the self timer, and hurried over to my seat. But something deeper was revealed in that first self-portrait session. I was being confronted. I had turned the lens on myself and began a process of self examination. Let’s be real, my life wasn’t exactly going smoothly. I was flying by the seat of my pants. Somewhere in the process of that timer going off, hearing the chunky sound of that DSLR shutter, and reviewing my self portrait, I began to apprehend something that would reorient the rest of my life:

Self portraiture is a way of turning the lens of the heart back on itself.

And that I needed to make a few adjustments.

When I talk about the heart, I don’t mean that fist-sized muscular organ pumping blood through your chest. And I don’t mean the emotional life of the artist — the moods, the inspiration, the creative “vibes.” The heart is the wellspring of your identity, your desires, your motivations. The heart is the place all your thoughts, words, and deeds spring from. Your biases. Your preferences. It’s the lens you view the entire world through, whether you’ve ever examined it or not.

And here’s the thing about portraiture — you already know when the heart is in the wrong place. You may not be able to articulate it, but you feel it. One glance is enough. Maybe it’s the discomfort displayed in a subject’s eyes. Maybe it’s an unflattering angle chosen for the wrong reason. Maybe it’s just a subtle sense of deceit underneath an otherwise “nice” photo– inauthenticity. This is usually when one comments it feels “posed.” Whatever form it takes, it’s the shallow, unconsidered intentions of the photographer springing from the heart, made visible.

You feel it just as clearly when the heart is aligned. It’s the instant connection radiating off an image. It’s the sense that the person in the photograph is actually being who they actually are, not performing who they think they should be. That difference isn’t technical. It’s not about your camera, your lens, or your lighting setup. It’s the heart, made visible through the image.

It wasn’t until years later, did I have the critical breakthrough as to what self portraiture could reveal in a person’s heart. I was sitting in the FINDLab art gallery which was displaying my first solo exhibition. And this timing coincided with Capture One filming this documentary short about my story. So I got this documentary film crew following me around– pretty surreal– and as you would expect, I’m using Capture One to take a self portrait. My camera is tethered to my laptop. I hit command + K, the shutter goes off, and my portrait is captured. Something is tangibly different about this one. Months go by before it occurs to me: this is the first self portrait I have ever smiled in. In the past I had suffered so much for my art, the tenacity and emotion came through in my countenance. Yet now, I found myself reaping the fruits of my labor and I couldn’t contain my joy.

Now I’m not sure where you’re at in your journey. But I want you to heed this lesson: I didn’t wait until I had clients, a portfolio, or a plan. I didn’t have all the gear. I had a broken lens and a self-timer. I was full of doubt and fear. I started before I was ready. Starting is what made me become ready.

Turning the lens on myself revealed the deeper problem of my life: that my compass was broken. Not because it pointed the wrong way but because it had nothing outside itself to point to. I was self-reliant, striving in my own strength, and evidently drowning. Don’t get me wrong. The solution was never “discovering myself.” It was admitting I needed saving and discovering faith. Faith recalibrated my direction and reoriented my entire life. My photography changed as a result of an inner transformation. And the greatest lesson I learned: the heart of a photographer matters infinitely more than any piece of gear in their kit.

I still turn the lens on myself occasionally but it’s never to glorify myself. It’s to show how faith has radically transformed me from this bitter despairing drowning man into someone with an unfailing hope and inexplicable joy.

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Behind the feature: Negative Film Conversion in Capture One

If one thing is clear, film photography is not dead. We see it across genres, from commercial fashion photography to enthusiast communities. So, it’s perhaps not a coincidence that Negative Film Conversion has been one of our most requested features.

Last year, we got to it.

Now, let’s explore how the solution came to life, how it was designed, what needed to be right, and who we collaborated with to bring it to market.

Designing the feature: Capture sets the foundation

When scanning and converting film, the earliest decisions in the workflow have a lasting impact. That means the quality of the conversion depends heavily on how the negative is captured. To get the best starting point, the goal is to extract as much information as possible from the film, which means maximizing dynamic range and minimizing digital noise during scanning.

A camera-based scanning setup with a stable film carrier helps keep the negative sharp, while an even, consistent light source ensures uniform exposure across the frame. When the camera is tethered to Capture One, exposure warnings make it easy to immediately see whether a capture is over- or underexposed, so adjustments can be made before moving on. The process helps ensure each negative is captured properly and provides a solid foundation for conversion.

Conversion is a distinct step

Once the negative is captured, the focus shifts from capture to conversion, and this is more than simply flipping the image or inverting curves.

To support film properly inside Capture One, the team built a new, dedicated editing pipeline designed specifically for film negatives. It introduces a dedicated mode where the tools remain familiar, but the way they affect the image is adapted to suit the nature of film, instead of standard digital photography. The conversion itself happens in a carefully defined sequence, where the image data is treated differently at specific stages, such as adjusting for the unique color characteristics and grain structure of film negatives to ensure accurate representation in the final image.

When the negative is photographed, the full dynamic range of the digital sensor is used to capture as much information as possible from the film. That data is first interpreted in a linear working space, where white balance compensates for the film base and aligns the red, green, and blue channels.

The image is then inverted to produce the initial positive result, while retaining the full captured information for further editing. From there, the Levels tool defines the black and white points, expanding the film’s density range into a usable positive tonal range. The data is redistributed within the available range rather than prematurely discarded.

Because the process is predictable and based directly on the captured image data, photographers retain control. Dynamic range, clipping points, and tonal curves can still be adjusted later. A well-captured frame that represents the full tonal range of the film can serve as a reliable starting point for the rest of the roll.

Familiar tools, different behavior

Some adjustments, such as white balance and exposure, behave differently in this mode. These tools are designed for standard digital images, where color and exposure are applied to a positive image with a predictable tonal structure.

A negative doesn’t follow those assumptions. Bright and dark values are inverted, and color information is affected by the film base. Because the image needs to pass through inversion and base correction in a specific order, certain tools cannot operate exactly as they do with a standard file. In this workflow, the exposure slider and white balance tools are used primarily as corrective measures to ensure the rest of the tools function as intended.

For that reason, the conversion begins by defining a clear baseline. At the center of this workflow is the Levels tool. This stage is where the foundation of the conversion is established and where the most critical decisions are made. Getting this step right determines the amount of information preserved from the scan and the consistency of the results across a roll.

Built for batch workflows

Once you are happy with the conversion, you can repeat the process in batch and continue editing with the tools available in Capture One. Settings established on one image can be applied confidently across subsequent captures, making it possible to convert entire rolls efficiently while maintaining predictable results.

“Film photography is seeing a revival, especially among photographers who started in digital. With Negative Film Conversion, we wanted the experience to feel like Capture One. Familiar tools and the same efficient workflow, while still respecting the craft of color negative film with a dedicated conversion pipeline.”

– Mathieu Bourlion, Director of Product Management, Capture One

Color, film stocks, and testing

Color is at the core of Capture One, and the way we worked with color here was no different. We know that choosing film is an intentional decision, and the conversion needed to carry those differences through, not reshape them.

With that principle in place, the team tested the conversion across a wide range of film stocks and real-world scans. The aim was to understand how different films behave under varying conditions and to make sure the conversion held up across that variation, rather than optimizing for a single film stock or scanning setup. Testing covered a broad range of subjects, from portraits to landscapes and still life, ensuring the conversion behaved consistently even when capture conditions varied within the same roll.

Early on, the team discussed whether to include predefined styles that mimicked popular lab looks, such as the Noritsu or Fujifilm’s Frontier scanners. In theory, this was possible. In practice, it didn’t make sense for camera-scanned negatives.

When negatives are captured with a digital camera and light source, the result is influenced by the setup itself: the light, the sensor, and small variations from frame to frame. In that context, a predefined style quickly loses relevance. It might suit one image, but not the next, even within the same roll.

Rather than baking a look into the conversion, the team chose to leave that decision to the editing stage. If a photographer wants to recreate a specific look, such as the green shadows often associated with Noritsu scans, that’s still possible. But the conversion itself doesn’t impose that direction. It leaves room for photographers to decide how their images should look, based on what they actually captured.

All of these factors keep the conversion flexible and dependable, while giving photographers control over how their images develop after conversion. It also allows the photographer to create distinct styles they can reuse for their specific setup to achieve a desired look in one click next time they scan.

To make Film Negative mode feel intuitive, we had to rethink parts of the processing pipeline so the editing experience would still feel familiar. Because color negatives have a different dynamic range than digital files, we reworked how certain tools behave – adjusting things like Color Balance and Levels – to ensure edits feel natural, flexible, and free of friction.” Sebastian Rydahl, Color Engineer, Capture One

Working with Silver Lab in Copenhagen

We wanted to be sure we were on the right track, so we consulted Silver Lab, one of Europe’s and Scandinavia’s leading analog labs based in Copenhagen. The goal was to understand the needs of both individual photographers and labs, the challenges they face today, and how they see the market evolving.

Many labs rely on legacy systems built for a different time, which are becoming increasingly difficult to maintain, while interest in analog photography continues to grow. At the same time, home-scanning setups are becoming more common, but when it comes to industry-scale workflows, legacy scanners still play a role that newer solutions have not fully replaced.

What became clear in our discussions was the importance of predictability when processing entire rolls. Manual intervention slows things down, and certain steps benefit greatly from being standardized rather than adjusted image by image.

While our current solution is aimed at photographers who are scanning at home, working together created a shared understanding of what matters when film is handled at scale. This collaboration helped shape the feature as it exists today and continues to inform how we think about what might come next.

“At Silver Lab we work with large volumes of film which need to be delivered fast, consistently and of the highest quality. Scanning is of course an integral part of the process, so being able to help develop an excellent solution for consistent color control is a huge deal for us. We believe this update is comprehensive, and we are very excited to implement it into our process.“

– Andreas Olesen, Co-founder, Silver Lab

Summary: what had to be right

In the end, the work behind Negative Film Conversion came down to a few core priorities.

The conversion needed to respect the character of the film, revealing what’s already in the negative rather than imposing a predefined look. It needed to hold up when applied across entire rolls, behaving predictably and efficiently for larger batches. And, it needed to feel like Capture One, fitting naturally into an existing workflow rather than introducing a separate way of working.

Those principles shaped every part of the feature. The result is a focused conversion step that creates a reliable and honest conversion for analog photography. We hope you enjoy it.

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Why observation is a photographer’s greatest material

Tom Barreto is a Brazilian photographer and director whose work balances technical precision with emotional sensitivity. Born in Taubaté and now based in São Paulo, he has built a career spanning fashion, beauty, advertising, and personal projects, creating images defined by choreographed light, atmosphere, and a deep sense of humanity.

His portfolio includes campaigns for Dior Beauty, Fendi, Arezzo, and Bvlgari, alongside collaborations with artists such as IZA, Fernanda Torres, and Marina Ruy Barbosa. His work has appeared in global publications including Glamour, Harper’s Bazaar, Marie Claire, and Numéro Netherlands.

Tom’s practice goes beyond creating imagery. At its core is a philosophy rooted in observation: of people, of everyday life, and of the quiet tensions that exist beneath the surface. It’s this mindset that shapes how he approaches storytelling, navigates uncertainty, and maintains a consistent visual language across analog and digital workflows.

In our chat below, Tom reflects on why observation is a photographer’s most valuable material, how he trains his eye away from the camera, and what keeps him grounded when the industry feels unstable. He also shares insights into his creative process, the role of controlled chaos in his work, and how tools like Capture One support collaboration and decision-making on set.

What did you mean by “the photographer’s greatest material is observation”?

I believe a photographer is, above all, a professional observer. Our work is to observe the world, people, and everything around us. To be present and to notice details in both the beautiful stories and the difficult ones. That’s why I say this: as long as we stay attentive and observant, we’re being nourished by the greatest material possible, which is life itself.

How do you train your eye when you’re not holding a camera?

For me, the best way is simply to exist in daily life: talking to people, listening to their stories, going to museums, connecting what I see there with what I see on the streets, and above all, paying attention. Being present is already a constant exercise.

But my eyes are also shaped by the people around me. My friends are with me in every moment, sharing references, stories, doubts, and discoveries. They constantly expand my perception through conversations, exchanges, and shared experiences. It wouldn’t be possible to train my eye without this network of support, both my family and chosen family. Photographers and artists like Gabi Lisboa, Diego Rodrigues, Mateus Aguiar, Tauna Sofia, Wendy Andrade, Mar Vin, Clara Lobo, KAO, Carlos Queirozi, Arthur Bellini, and Julio Nery, among many others, are part of this daily dialogue that keeps my vision alive.

What keeps you going when photography feels uncertain or challenging?

My family’s support, and something inside me that has moved me since childhood. I come from an artistic family that, for socioeconomic reasons, couldn’t fully live from their art. That “artistic blood” guides me. I’ve had privileges my parents and grandparents didn’t, and I stay true to this path because, in a way, I’m accomplishing something past generations couldn’t.

But there’s also my chosen family. My friends in São Paulo became my home away from home. Without them, very little of what I’ve built would. It has been possible. They inspire me daily, challenge me, hold me when things feel uncertain, and remind me why I create in the first place. This combination of blood and chosen family is what keeps me moving forward.

Being from Brazil, does that show in your work as an artist?

I believe it does. It appears in my habit of mixing mediums and formats, and in finding beauty where it traditionally isn’t seen. That, to me, connects directly with Brazil — a place where cultural diversity is one of our greatest strengths.

What makes an image feel like visual storytelling rather than just a nice photo?

This sense of “delicate and deep” that I seek. The surface might feel aesthetic, but it’s in the layers of interpretation that the image becomes more than just a photo — it becomes a record of life, something that resonates beyond the first glance.

Working with both analog and digital, how do you maintain consistency in your style?

My style comes from playing with discomfort and controlled chaos. I think of my art as a sandbox with specific toys: inside it, there’s room to experiment and to lose control with intention. The consistency is the boundary of the sandbox — the freedom happens within it.

How do you know when a photo is finished?

Honestly, I don’t. There’s always another possible path, even when it feels complete. To me, a photo is never fully finished; we simply decide where to stop so the work can exist in the world.

How does Capture One help you and your team?

With exceptional speed, simultaneous viewing on multiple monitors, and efficient organization of looks directly on set. It also makes marking selections easy. Overall, it’s essential for our workflow — especially for my digital tech, who works beside the client, organizing everything and making post-production smoother.

Which Capture One tools do you use the most and why?

I love working with multiple layers. My color process is literally about mixing layers, adjusting opacity, and watching how they interact. It creates an organic tension in the color-building process. Lately, I’ve also used the AI tools a lot — masks and retouching — which are extremely practical for quick previews and for showing clients where the image can go.

What’s one lesson you wish you had known when you started?

You show up, do the work, and stay true to your eyes and heart. Along the way, you learn to stay attentive to people. To recognize those who genuinely help you grow, who have been there with you, and to grow alongside them. And to remain open to new people whose presence and character feel right. Stay true.

Check out more of Tom’s work on his website and Instagram.