A New Take on “Take”

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the vocabulary we use in photography—specifically the words we reach for without even realising. Words like take, capture, and shoot. They’re so ingrained in photographic culture that most of us use them dozens of times a week without a second thought. But each carries its own weight, its own assumptions, its own quiet implications.

When guesting on a recent Photowalk.me podcast, I found myself talking about this again. The conversation drifted toward how these terms subtly shape the way we view our craft: often not as an act of creation, but as an act of extraction, possession, or even aggression. The more I reflect on it, the more I realise how deeply these words are embedded in histories of power, especially those linked to British colonialism and the global expansion of empire.

Colonial Legacies of “Take” and “Shoot”

“Since its invention, photography terminology has been linked to hunting … other photographic terms … denote a link between the camera and the gun.”  Shannon Johnstone, M (2023) 

Photography emerged alongside the rise of the British Empire in the 19th century. Early photographers travelled to colonised lands, producing images of people and landscapes that were framed as subjects or objects of study. The language used—taking photographs, shooting portraits—echoed practices of claiming, controlling, and cataloguing. To take an image was, metaphorically, to assert power over the people and places depicted. To shoot was a reminder of violence, both symbolic and literal, linking the camera to firearms and the authority of the coloniser.

Graham Wilson said “Many familiar photographic terms … frame the act as one of pursuit, precision, and control.” (2023) on reimagining photography’s language. He argues that words like shoot and capture carry over metaphors from hunting and military vocabulary — metaphors deeply rooted in colonial and imperial power dynamics. And he is not wrong.

Even today, these words carry ignored echoes of that history. When we talk about “taking” a photograph, we unconsciously tap into a vocabulary of ownership and extraction—a vocabulary that was historically used to justify dominance and control over others.

Why Photography Is Different

Photography may be the only creative field that routinely uses a word suggesting removal.

We talk about taking a picture as if we’re taking something away—taking from a person, taking a moment that isn’t ours, taking a slice of reality.

Other creative disciplines use language that centres creation, not extraction:

• Painters, sculptors, potters, printmakers create or produce.
• Filmmakers—despite sharing technical ideas with photography—make films.
• Musicians compose or make music.

It’s true that the film and music industries use the term take, but the meaning is fundamentally different.

A take is an attempt, a version, a performance: Take One, Take Two, Take Three.

It’s rarely used to describe the act of making the work itself, and it certainly doesn’t imply something has been taken from someone.

In photography, however, take is used to describe the entire act:

Take a photograph.

Take a portrait.

Take someone’s picture.

The language leans toward possession—toward removing something—rather than making something new.

What About “Capture”?

“Capture” is arguably even more loaded.

It implies restraint, containment, ownership. Wildlife photographers capture animals on film; portrait photographers capture expressions; street photographers capture moments before they disappear.

But think about the root of the word: to capture is to seize, to hold against someone’s will, to trap.

Combined with colonial histories of photography, this term can carry connotations of domination and control that sit uneasily with the creative, interpretive, and collaborative nature of making a photograph.

And Then There’s “Shoot”

“Shooting” is perhaps the most problematic term of all.

It introduces an entire vocabulary of violence into our craft: shooting, taking a shot, firing the shutter.

These words echo firearms and hunting, historically tied to conquest and control in colonised lands. Metaphorically, the photographer is pointed at a subject, exerting authority rather than co-creating or witnessing. Many people—especially those photographed rather than photographing—feel this unease instinctively.

I try to avoid saying “I love this shot…” trying instead to be sure i use language like frame or photograph – calling it what it is rather than relying on ingrained slang terminology.

What Photographs Really Are

When we make photographs, we aren’t stealing moments or someone’s property or being, trapping expressions, or firing at subjects.

We are creating:

• a narrative,
• a distilled moment of interpretation,
• a deliberate shaping of light, timing, and intention,
• a visual artefact that becomes part of a wider creative practice.

The final photograph is not something seized or taken from someone else.

It is something made through choice, collaboration (implicit or explicit), and creative vision.

So why does our vocabulary still imply the opposite?

Changing Language, Changing Perception

Language shapes how others understand photography—and how we understand ourselves.

If we want photography to sit confidently alongside other creative disciplines, perhaps it’s time to shift the words we use. To normalise a vocabulary that reflects the truth: we make photographs. We create images. We form narratives.

I still slip into the old language sometimes—we all do. But when I catch it, I try to reframe it, because every correction helps reinforce the idea that photography is a creative act, not a taking act.

The more we collectively choose words like make, create, form, or build, the more we reclaim the artistry of what we do—and acknowledge the histories we want to move beyond.

Maybe it’s time to stop saying take, shoot, and capture…

and start saying make.

When it comes to replacing these loaded terms, we can start by using words that emphasise creation and collaboration: make, create, compose, form, or build. Each one shifts the focus from extraction to artistry, reminding us and others that photography is about making something new rather than taking something away. That said, I’ll be honest—there isn’t a perfect replacement that comes to mind for the term photoshoot. It’s one of those entrenched phrases that may linger for now, but being mindful about the other words we use is a meaningful step toward reframing how we think about and talk about our craft.

References

Shannon Johnstone, M. (2023) Decolonizing Photography. Arts, 12(4), p. 140.

Wilson, G. (2024) Reimagining the language of photography. APHE. Available at: https://aphe.ac.uk/members-discussion-pages/discussion-reimagining-the-language-of-photography.

Underwood & Underwood c.1920, An Indian servant serving tea to a European colonial woman, Albumen Print

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