Drones, drones, drones
Me and Stef during our first road-trip with the DJI MAVIC 4 Pro, panoramic image created by 4 horizontal takes. Prodromos, Cyprus.
For a few years now I’ve been delaying my entrance into the world of drones. I’m not exactly sure why, to be honest. It’s not because it was something new, I could clearly see that this was possibly the biggest evolution in photography in recent years. It’s literally a whole new world unlocking before you, one you simply couldn’t access before. Well, you could, but only from planes or helicopters at a great, great expense. And even those lacked something the drone makes possible: perfect, precise positioning and framing. Literally stopping in the air and making millimetre adjustments.
To me, it’s an advancement greater even than the shift from film to digital—simply because it opens a totally different realm. The next big leap? Underwater drones. Imagine eliminating the need for dive gear, knowledge, training, and the risks that come with it. I give this a few years.
So why was I so hesitant? Business-wise, I knew I could still buy some time. Up until last year I could get away without needing one. On the rare occasions it was essential, I just hired a pilot. I did that a few times but was never really satisfied with the results. That made something very clear: at the end of the day, it’s just a camera. It’s who’s behind it that matters. And it matters so much.
I find that with all these areas of photography that feel foreign to our everyday perspective, macro, night, light painting, drone, underwater, it’s easy to get caught up in the strangeness of what they show us, instead of crafting images the same way you would with a 35mm or a 50mm lens.
The most boring, bland, substance-less image suddenly becomes “interesting” just because it’s taken from 100 meters above ground. That’s a trap…a big trap.
When I finally got my drone (mid-July 2025), I did a small test at my house and instantly saw it. You can take photos of literally anything, and they’ll still be mildly interesting because the whole thing is insane. And then a fear hit me, did I just throw away who I am as an artist? Does my vision, my eye, even come through anymore?
I needed to put it to the test. So I went with my wife to a spot that shaped me early in my career, now a very popular location: the nature trail Tisha tis Madaris. I figured the fire lookout tower would be a good subject for a first real play (images top and right). And I was amazed, truly amazed. Not by the height or perspective (I had already become desensitized from seeing so many drone images online), but by the speed. The speed at which I could jump from one angle to another. On foot, it’s impossible. When the perfect light hits a subject, there’s no way you can run 50 meters this way, 50 meters that way, then go up, then down, all within minutes. But with a drone, suddenly that fleeting sunrise or that pocket of light through the trees lasts 10 times longer. Shocking.
But then I looked at the results. Nice images, yes. But were they my images? Would I have taken them if I had been on the ground?
And so more questions came. How does this fit into my work? When do I decide it’s time for the drone? When do I disconnect from my body, like some kind of avatar, and drift into this machine? How does it affect people around me, seeing me “log out” of the world for a while? And when is it enough, when do I put the drone down and return to my lenses, my body, my way of seeing? It’s not as simple as choosing between a 35mm and a 50mm anymore.
Another question that bothers me, especially in natural landscapes: before, I had to hike. Hard hikes. I had to earn my images with blood, sweat, and tears, and I’m not exaggerating. Now I can just… fly there. Does that ease change my perspective? For sure, I’ll experience less of the landscape on the ground. But maybe I’ll know more because I can see it from so many angles? Or maybe I’ll know more because I’ll have more time to stay in one place, instead of wasting hours struggling through thorns and bushes. I honestly don’t know the answer.
All these questions weigh on me. But while they did, I also had commissions running and desperately needed to work on material for my next book.
So I decided to really test it :
a big road trip, many locations, many days outdoors.
For the Deputy Ministry of Tourism of the Rep. of Cyprus, the drone absolutely shined. And it’s obvious why. Tourism loves spectacle, loves a dreamlike vision of a place. Of course you can do that without a drone, but let’s face it: going up and seeing the world detached from noise and disturbance is captivating.
I also had to create images for UNESCO. Honestly, what can I even say? The project was impossible without a drone. I needed to photograph mosaics. And what a cheat: go at the perfect hour, snap, and you’ve got a distortion-free, perfectly aligned image. As a bonus, I captured an epic view of the entire archaeological site.
And then there was the Pafos Forest, the subject of my next book. I’ve spent months there. To see it from above was shocking, almost indescribable, suddenly I could compose it in ways I’d never imagined.
But through all of this, I feel my lens, my eye, has suffered. My mind is split between two worlds: my body and lenses, and this symbiotic connection with a machine. I know some of you are laughing. I get it. A guy with a drone for two months having an existential breakdown. But this is my process. This is how I maneuver through my practice.
