I have been working for twenty years as a photographer, filmmaker, director and drone operator. Twenty years in which I have constantly reinvented myself. Learned new skills. Moved with the times. Repositioned. I did that with conviction, and I gained a great deal from it. It shaped me. It kept me sharp.

But somewhere in the past few years I felt something I could not properly name for a long time. A kind of friction. Not with the craft itself — the love for the image is still there, and it will never leave. But with the way I was working, and whether that still suited who I am.

I have emptied my quiver. And that is the most honest thing I can say.

Slowing down to see

Two burn-outs forced me to slow down. That is not easy to write, but it is the truth. I am someone who always gives everything, who pursues perfection and never does things by halves. That is a strength, but it comes at a price.

In that period of slowing down I finally found the space to look at myself. Not at the projects, not at the market, not at what was expected of me. But at myself.

What gives me energy? What costs me energy? Who am I when I work? And am I still working in a way that suits that person?

You do not ask those questions when you are always in motion. You do, you deliver, you carry on. Until you can no longer do that. I had to learn that twice. The second time I listened better. I had to.

The slowdown was not lost time. It was the time I needed to see what I could not see before.

What I discovered about myself

I am a perfectionist. I already knew that, but I have come to understand better what it means in practice. I throw myself completely into every assignment. Not just in the execution, but in the thinking, the preparation, the contingency plans, the technical finishing. That is part of my character and it will not change.

I also discovered that I am someone who enjoys being around people, but that managing a large team exhausts me mentally. After a long shoot I am physically tired. But mentally I am far more tired. Coordinating with clients, advertising agencies, models, assistants, hair and make-up — keeping an entire team in motion — that is something I always did as a matter of course. But I discovered it cost me more than I realised. That is not a weakness. It is simply self-knowledge that took a little longer to arrive.

And I discovered that after twenty years I still have to fight just as hard to win assignments as I did on day one. My network is larger, my portfolio richer, my experience speaks for itself. And yet the fight remains just as hard. Winning every assignment from scratch. Always in competition. Little structural continuity.

For a long time I wondered whether that was my fault. But I think it is simply the reality of how that sector works. And I have had to conclude that I no longer want that rhythm. Not the work itself. But the constant proving, the always starting over, the absence of built-up trust.

These are not accusations aimed at anyone. They are observations about who I am and what I need.

On AI, honestly

I am not against AI. Far from it.

But I would be lying if I said it had not influenced my decision.

Over the past six months I have concretely felt that a large part of the work volume that used to fill my days is shifting. Small assignments, portrait photography, lifestyle images — that landscape looks fundamentally different from a few years ago. Jobs that used to take several days now are required in (half) a day. Certain creative tasks that once required craftsmanship are now being handled differently.

That is evolution. I do not judge it. But it did pose me a clear question: where do I go in this story?

What I do want to say — and this is important — is that I use AI daily and very intensively. I have automated many of my own processes, built out workflows, integrated tools. Not out of necessity, but out of interest and efficiency. AI is not a threat to me — it has become a working instrument that I understand well and actively use. I am just using it now for a different field, a new business I am rolling out. But I will come back to that in more detail later.

Disappearing into the crowd

There is something else I have felt and I want to name it because it has influenced me more than I initially thought.

I enjoy making images. Always have. It is an instinct, almost a reflex. Seeing something beautiful, discovering an angle, capturing and sharing it. That has always given me joy.

But there is currently a visual oversupply that is difficult to describe if you are not standing in the middle of it. Billions of images are produced, shared and forgotten every day. The bar for standing out is not higher — it has simply become invisible. For visual people, social media channels are still the most logical platform to show work. But I noticed that I had become a little lost in all of it. Not dramatically, but gradually. The simple joy of making something and sharing it has, for me personally, been undermined by the feeling of constantly having to compete against an infinite supply.

I drifted into that without fully realising it. And at some point I asked myself: who am I actually doing this for? That is a question I should not have needed to ask. But I asked it, and the answer was clarifying.

We have both evolved

I want to state this clearly: I am not dismantling anything here.

I owe a great deal to the advertising world and to the people in it. There have been collaborations that shaped me, people with whom I still have good contact and want to keep it that way.

But paths sometimes diverge. Friendships, collaborations, professional relationships — that happens without blame, without bitterness. I have evolved personally and professionally. So has the sector. We have each gone our own way, and I have enough self-awareness to say that this is the moment to take a new path.

Is that my fault? No. Is that the sector’s fault? No. It is simply how things go. And I am glad I can say that without seeing anything negative in it. It is an observation. And a liberating one at that.

A new door

I am not closing doors. I am opening a new one.

I have always had a passion for drones. Not just as a filmmaking tool, but for the technology, the precision, the possibilities. That passion I had set aside for a while, as something that had always been there but never fully found its place. Now I am giving it a concrete and considered shape.

I have started Airscout, a company specialising in drone inspections — infrastructure, industrial installations, buildings, from the air, technical and precise. Work where the result is either technically correct or it is not. No discussion about style or trends. No gimmicks. Just expertise that counts and is measurable. Anyone who wants to know more can visit www.airscout.be.

I drive to a location. I send my drone into the air. I deliver correct images. I go home. (Simplification of the truth, an old advertising habit 😉)

Niko. Solo. Satisfied.

That sounds simple. And it is. But for me it is a significant step towards a way of working that truly suits me. Being outdoors. Working technically. Being able to go out alone without having to manage a team. Delivering consistent work for clients who give trust and rely on continuity. Over the past few months I have noticed that this sector also works differently — it takes longer to get in, but once you are in, you are counted on. That rhythm gives me peace. And that peace was something I needed.

A triple feeling

Writing this article was not easy. Because what I feel is not one thing.

There is relief. The relief of finally daring to name what has been nagging at me beneath the surface for more than a year. Saying out loud something you have been carrying for a long time has something liberating about it. As if space opens up that had not been there for a while.

There is also sadness. The sadness of saying goodbye to something I threw myself into heart and soul for nearly twenty years. That is not a small thing. Those years, those assignments, those people, those moments on set — they are part of who I am. That does not disappear, and I do not want it to.

And there is pride. Pride in myself for daring to make this leap. That in a relatively short time I learned an entirely new set of tools, skills and possibilities. That I did not leave it at plans, but turned it into something concrete and built it into a real, growing client base. That is not self-evident, and I take a moment to acknowledge it.

And there is something else I do not want to leave unmentioned.

I did not make this leap alone. Next to me stands someone who looked me in the eyes with full confidence and simply said: “Go.” No hesitation. No question marks. Just trust.

Having someone like that beside you — emotionally, professionally, privately — is not self-evident. It is what made it possible for me to enter a new sector so quickly, to build a new identity, and to do that without constantly looking back. I am grateful for that for her. More than I can put into words here.

It is a rollercoaster of emotions. But there is only one way in life: the way of flexibility, with an eye on the horizon. That is the path I am walking.

And then the phone rings

This past week I have truly started stepping out with it. And reality has responded immediately.

Clients sending me e-mails with assignment requests. Work I would have taken on without hesitation a year ago. And now I read those messages and I know, within seconds, what my answer is.

“No. I no longer do this. Thank you for the trust, genuinely. With love and respect — but no.”

That sounds simple. It is not.

Saying no is something I have struggled with for years. Really struggled with. The reflex to say yes, to be available, to not disappoint — that is deeply ingrained. It is part of the same character that made me throw myself completely into every assignment for twenty years.

But this week I stood up for myself. For my future. And I said it — friendly, but resolute. No. Not this. Not anymore.

That is a big step for me. An emotional one. Every time.

And every time, once I have sent that reply, I feel something that I can only describe as quiet. Not emptiness. Quiet. The quiet of someone who knows where he is going.

True to myself

This is not a dramatic farewell. It is a deliberate step, taken with clarity.

After twenty years, two burn-outs and a great deal of self-reflection, I arrive at a simple conclusion: I know better who I am and what makes me happy. Being outdoors. Working technically. Being able to go out alone. Making images because they are useful and correct, not because they need to score.

I have emptied my quiver in one direction. Now I am aiming it somewhere else. With everything I have built — the technical knowledge, the precision, the way of seeing — but in a context that suits me.

The past years were the years I needed to see this. I would have preferred them to go differently, but I am grateful for them.

Now I take a new step. With open eyes, and without regret.