Managing Expectations

Sunday 7 June 2026, 23:32 by Michiel Heijmans | 2,029 views | 10 comments

This article was translated from Dutch with the help of AI. Read the original.

Alongside me, a man tells me about something further down the street, where his mother used to live. On the next corner there was a sweet shop where he would always buy a piece of trekdrop on Wednesdays.

I am talking to a woman who cannot find continuous autofocus on her new camera. I hear myself spelling out AI Servo, with the man in the background telling us that his 76-year-old brother is now in the care home around the corner. His mother died in 2001, but lived next door to the greengrocer's a little further down the street.

As I look with a man at the fantastic shadow of the tree across the street and explain that for a beautiful black-and-white photo, someone should really walk through the pool of light to the left of the tree, the earlier man tells us that when he was on his way to school, he would sometimes go for a wee at number 14 in that street.

I tell the group about places where you can expect privacy, and where you therefore also have it under Dutch law when you are sitting on a terrace or on the tram. The family man raises his finger, I give him the floor, and in a slightly too long story he tells us a personal memory that nobody else is really interested in.

We arrive at Forum in Groningen, and I suggest going upstairs. The fantastic building, the photographer calls out. The wide view from the rooftop terrace is impressive. The man sighs. "I am afraid of heights," he says, "so I am staying downstairs." "Fine," I say, "but you understand that we are going upstairs for a bit." Of course.

A woman shows me the photo she took most recently. "I understand what you mean about creating the connection in colour between the background and the subject," she says. The colour yellow bursts from her screen. Suddenly the man is standing between us. "My father had a butcher's shop on that corner," he says. I notice that I am starting to get slightly irritated.

This is the exact reason why my workshops have a maximum of five people. With more than five participants, it simply becomes very difficult to divide your attention. I even notice it on photo walks, which usually have 8 to 10 people taking part. A photo walk is much more accessible, of course, while my workshop is considerably more expensive.

The man demands too much attention. He probably does not even realise it.

I really want to be liked, but I also just want to give a workshop that is interesting for everyone. A workshop with enough attention for everyone, including the people who do not talk over everything. Especially for the people who listen with above-average interest and full attention. The ones who occasionally separate themselves from the group to try out in practice what I have just explained in theory.

These are often the people who take the best photos. The quiet forces, with enormous creativity constantly waiting to come out.

The talkative man absent-mindedly points his camera at a bird. The photo is a dozen a penny. Another pigeon. A picture I would never take.

We reach the end of the photo walk and, after my closing words, the man looks up from his camera. "I expected more," he says while looking at me. One of the other participants bursts out laughing. I shrug. "It is not a workshop," I mutter.

"You can never cook for every taste," says the AI Servo woman. "We thought it was fantastic anyway, thank you very much!"

Satisfied, I put my camera in my rucksack.

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