In a refreshingly blunt moment that cuts against one of photography’s most romantic myths, street photographer Matt Stuart argues that talent doesn’t really exist at all.
Speaking while wandering the streets of Amsterdam in a new episode of Walkie Talkie produced by Photographer and YouTuber Paulie B, Stuart lays out a philosophy shaped by nearly three decades of shooting: great photographs aren’t the product of innate genius, but of relentless effort, time on the street, and a fair amount of luck.
It’s a viewpoint that feels almost heretical in a culture obsessed with prodigies and overnight success.
You can watch the full episode below:
The conversation unfolds in the familiar, loose rhythm of Paulie B’s Walkie Talkie series, which has become a cult favorite for its unpolished honesty and deep dives into how photographers actually think.
As the two walk past museums, alleyways, and café-lined squares, Stuart returns again and again to the same idea: the camera rewards those who show up. If you’re out there every day, looking, walking, paying attention, you’re simply more likely to be present when something meaningful happens.
For Stuart, the idea of “talent” is often a convenient hiding place. He suggests that labeling photographers as talented creates a false barrier, implying that some people are born with access to great images while others are locked out.
In reality, he says, the difference is usually time spent shooting, failing, missing frames, and slowly learning what’s worth photographing. The more hours you put in, the better your instincts become, and the more those instincts start to look like talent from the outside.
That belief is rooted in Stuart’s own experience. Early in his career, he shot obsessively, burning through rolls of film and producing far more bad images than good ones. But those failures weren’t wasted; they were the education.
Over time, his judgment sharpened, his reactions slowed but deepened, and his confidence around people grew. Today, he shoots less but sees more, trusting that patience and familiarity with the street will eventually deliver something worthwhile.
Luck, Stuart admits, still plays a role. You can’t control who steps into the frame or how the light hits a face at the exact right second. But luck favors the prepared and, more importantly, the persistent. Quoting the old line about practice making you luckier, he frames street photography as a numbers game: the more days you’re out there, the more chances you give yourself for something extraordinary to unfold in front of you.
What makes Stuart’s argument resonate is how grounded it feels. There’s no mysticism, no talk of secret vision or special gifts, just the unglamorous reality of walking, watching, and waiting.
In an era when photography is increasingly filtered through algorithms and instant validation, his message lands like a quiet corrective: forget chasing talent. Go outside, put the time in, and let the work—and a little luck—do the rest.
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