The Reality of Shooting From the Public Zones

I brought the biggest lens I own.

And unfortunately… it still wasn’t quite enough.

From the public spectator zones in Livigno, the top rail section of the Slopestyle course was just that bit too far away. Even fully compressed, I couldn’t quite isolate the athletes the way I wanted. The tricks were unreal, but visually they felt small in the frame.

It’s one of those humbling reminders: scale at the Olympics is different.

You’re not at a local hill. You’re shooting across vast course builds designed for broadcast, not necessarily for ground-level spectators.

But Big Air? That was a different story.

Under lights, with a cleaner backdrop and a more predictable flight path, we managed to capture some really strong images. The amplitude, the grabs, the body positions at full extension — that’s where things clicked. The compression worked. The drama translated.

Why Creatives Should Put Themselves in New Environments

One of the most valuable parts of this trip wasn’t just the event itself — it was the limitation.

As creatives, it’s easy to operate in environments we understand. In motorsport, I know where cars will apex. I understand the rhythm of a race weekend. I know where to stand.

At the Olympics in Livigno, I didn’t.

I didn’t have media access. I didn’t have ideal shooting positions. My longest lens wasn’t quite long enough. The light was harsh off the snow. Movement was unpredictable.

And that’s exactly why it mattered.

Taking your camera somewhere new — especially somewhere high pressure — forces you to problem solve. You stop relying on habit. You look harder. You think differently. You adapt.

Shooting Slopestyle from further back meant I had to focus more on composition and environment rather than just isolated action. Shooting Big Air under lights meant leaning into contrast and silhouette rather than clean daylight sport imagery.

Creative growth rarely happens when everything is optimal.

It happens when you work with what you have.

And in many ways, photographing the Winter Olympics without full access was more valuable than if everything had been easy.

Because it sharpened something else — intent.

The Shots I’d Love to Capture Next Time

What would have taken it to another level?

Access.

It would have been incredible to spend even 10 minutes with a couple of athletes as they got into the zone before dropping in. That quiet moment at the top — headphones on, eyes locked in, visualising the run.

That’s where the real story is.

Not just the trick at 20 metres in the air — but the breathing beforehand. The focus. The tension. The controlled chaos.

Those profile portraits — snow falling softly, shallow depth of field, Olympic branding in the background — are the images that define a Games.

And that’s the direction I’d love to move further into for 2030: not just documenting the action, but telling the full performance story around it.