Monday, 5 October 2026

Photography Lighting Part 1

 


Photography Lighting Part 1 — Why the Direction of Light Matters More Than Its Brightness

Move one lamp around a subject and you can make four completely different photographs.

When people first start thinking seriously about photographic lighting, they often think about brightness.

Is there enough light?

Do I need a more powerful lamp?

Should I increase the ISO?

Do I need a flash?

Those are useful questions, but there is another question that can have a much greater effect on the finished photograph:

Where is the light coming from?

A relatively modest light placed in the right position can produce a far more interesting photograph than an extremely powerful light placed in the wrong one.

In fact, one of the best ways of learning about photographic lighting requires remarkably little equipment.

Take one subject.

Use one camera.

Use one lamp.

Then, without changing the subject, move the lamp.

Put it in front.

Move it to the side.

Put it behind.

Raise it above.

You may be surprised by just how dramatically the photograph changes.

The subject has not changed.

The camera has not changed.

The lens has not changed.

Only the direction of the light has changed.

Yet you can end up with four photographs that appear to tell four completely different stories.

Light Does More Than Make Things Visible

At its most basic level, photography needs light. Without light reaching the camera sensor, there is no photograph.

But light does much more than provide exposure.

Light reveals:

  • shape;

  • texture;

  • depth;

  • surface detail;

  • colour;

  • contours;

  • edges;

  • and relationships between objects.

It also creates shadows.

And shadows are enormously important.

We sometimes think of shadows as something that should be eliminated. In reality, shadows are one of the principal ways in which a two-dimensional photograph creates the impression of a three-dimensional world.

A photograph has no real depth.

It is flat.

Yet the photographer can make us perceive depth through perspective, focus and, very importantly, light and shadow.

That is why changing the direction of a lamp can transform the apparent shape of an object.

A Very Simple Experiment

This is an experiment almost anyone can try.

Choose a subject with some interesting shape and texture.

It might be:

  • a person's face;

  • a flower;

  • an ornament;

  • a piece of machinery;

  • a sailing trophy;

  • a musical instrument;

  • a piece of fabric;

  • a model;

  • a textured piece of wood;

  • or a product you might want to advertise.

Place it against a reasonably plain background.

Put the camera on a tripod if possible so that every photograph is taken from exactly the same position.

Then use a single lamp and photograph the subject four times.

Do not change the subject.

Instead, change the position of the lamp.

This is where the experiment becomes interesting.

Photograph 1 — Front Lighting

Place the lamp close to the camera position so that the light travels towards the subject from approximately the same direction from which the camera is looking.

This is front lighting.

It is probably the most immediately understandable form of lighting because everything facing the camera receives plenty of illumination.

Details are easy to see.

Colours can appear strong.

There are relatively few deep shadows.

For documentary photography, record photographs or situations where the priority is simply to show something clearly, this can be extremely useful.

But there is a disadvantage.

Front Light Can Flatten a Subject

Imagine photographing a textured surface.

If the light comes almost directly from the camera direction, the small ridges and depressions in that surface cast very little visible shadow.

The texture can almost disappear.

The same thing happens with shape.

Consider a person's face.

A nose is three-dimensional, but if it is illuminated almost directly from the front, there may be relatively little shadow to indicate its projection.

Move the light sideways and suddenly that nose casts a shadow.

The cheekbones become more obvious.

The face gains structure.

Front lighting therefore tends to say:

"Look at the subject."

It shows us what is there.

But it does not necessarily emphasise its three-dimensional form.

Photograph 2 — Side Lighting

Now move the lamp approximately 90 degrees to one side.

Take another photograph.

The transformation can be extraordinary.

One side of the subject is now brightly illuminated while the opposite side falls into shadow.

Suddenly every small bump, groove, fold and contour can become much more obvious.

This is why side lighting is so effective for revealing texture.

Imagine photographing an old piece of timber.

With front lighting it may simply look brown.

With side lighting, tiny ridges, scratches and grain patterns produce highlights and shadows.

The surface suddenly has character.

The same principle works beautifully with:

  • stone;

  • brickwork;

  • fabric;

  • food;

  • machinery;

  • sculpture;

  • faces;

  • leaves;

  • ropes;

  • sails;

  • and almost anything with an interesting surface.

Why Side Lighting Reveals Shape

Side lighting produces a simple visual clue.

A surface facing the lamp becomes brighter.

A surface facing away becomes darker.

Our brain interprets those brightness differences as shape.

That is one reason side lighting is so commonly used in portrait photography.

It can give a face much more structure than completely frontal illumination.

It can also create mood.

Move the lamp only slightly and the portrait may change from friendly and open to dramatic and mysterious.

The brightness of the lamp might remain exactly the same.

Its position has changed the photograph.

Photograph 3 — Backlighting

Now put the lamp behind the subject, pointing towards the camera.

This immediately creates a completely different problem — and a completely different opportunity.

The side of the subject facing the camera may now be relatively dark.

At first, this can look like terrible lighting.

But look at the edges.

A translucent leaf may suddenly glow.

Hair may develop a beautiful bright outline.

Steam can become visible.

Glass can sparkle.

Tiny fibres may appear.

The edge of a product can separate dramatically from a dark background.

Backlighting can produce some of the most striking photographs precisely because it does something that beginners are often told not to do:

it points the light towards the camera.

Backlighting Is About Separation

Suppose I photograph a dark object against a dark background.

The two may merge together.

Place a light behind the object and a bright rim can appear around its edge.

Suddenly the subject separates from the background.

This is often called rim lighting.

It is particularly useful in portraits, product photography and filmmaking.

Backlighting can also reveal things that are almost invisible under ordinary illumination.

Think about:

  • smoke;

  • mist;

  • water droplets;

  • fine hairs;

  • translucent materials;

  • glass;

  • bubbles;

  • steam.

The light interacts with these subjects before reaching the camera, and details that were previously inconspicuous can become obvious.

But Watch the Exposure

Backlighting introduces another useful lesson.

The camera sees a very bright light source or background and a relatively dark subject.

Automatic exposure systems may struggle to decide what should be correctly exposed.

You may need exposure compensation or manual exposure.

This is where photography starts moving beyond simply pressing the shutter button.

The photographer has to decide:

What do I actually want the viewer to see?

Photograph 4 — Overhead Lighting

Finally, move the lamp above the subject.

This is a lighting direction we encounter constantly in everyday life.

The Sun is normally above us.

Ceiling lights are above us.

Street lights are above us.

We are therefore very accustomed to seeing objects illuminated from above.

But that does not necessarily mean overhead lighting is flattering.

On a face, a high light can create shadows beneath:

  • the eyebrows;

  • the nose;

  • the cheekbones;

  • and the chin.

If the light is directly overhead, the eye sockets can become particularly dark.

For some photographs this may be undesirable.

For others it can be exactly what is required.

It can create drama, concentration or mystery.

For product photography, overhead light can also be extremely useful because it can produce attractive highlights across horizontal surfaces.

Again, the important point is that there is no universally "correct" direction.

The correct lighting depends on what you want the photograph to communicate.

Four Photographs — Four Different Messages

Put the four photographs next to each other.

The difference should be obvious.

Front light: clear, direct and relatively flat.

Side light: textured, dimensional and dramatic.

Backlight: atmospheric, outlined and potentially mysterious.

Overhead light: sculptural, directional and sometimes severe.

Yet all four photographs can be made with exactly the same lamp.

This is an important lesson because it challenges the assumption that better photography always requires buying more equipment.

Sometimes the best improvement you can make costs nothing.

Move the light.

Try Moving the Light Slowly

There is an even better version of this experiment.

Instead of jumping from front to side to back, move the lamp gradually around the subject.

Watch the shadows as you move it.

This is particularly effective with a face or an object with a complicated shape.

At one position the subject may look flat.

Move the lamp 20 degrees and a little shadow appears.

Move it another 20 degrees and the shape becomes much stronger.

Move it further and half the subject disappears into darkness.

Eventually the lamp moves behind the subject and a rim of light appears.

There isn't a magic point labelled "correct".

There is a continuum.

That is one of the fascinating things about photographic lighting.

Small movements can make surprisingly large differences.

Distance Matters Too

Once you have experimented with direction, try changing the distance between the lamp and the subject.

Move it closer.

Then move it further away.

You will notice changes not only in illumination but often in the apparent character of the light, particularly if the lamp has a diffuser or softbox.

This introduces another important idea that I will explore separately in this lighting series:

The apparent size of the light source matters.

A large light source close to the subject can produce beautifully soft shadows.

A small distant source tends to produce harder, sharper shadows.

So lighting is not simply about watts or brightness.

It is about:

direction + distance + size + diffusion + colour + exposure.

Each gives the photographer another creative control.

You Can Try This With a Window

You do not even need photographic lights.

A window can be an excellent light source.

Put a person or object facing the window.

Photograph it.

Now turn the subject 90 degrees.

Photograph it again.

Then place the window behind the subject.

Take a third photograph.

You have effectively repeated the front-light, side-light and backlight experiment without switching on a single studio lamp.

This is also a useful reminder that some of the best photographic lighting is completely free.

The skill lies in seeing it.

Product Photography Makes the Difference Particularly Obvious

Imagine I have been asked to photograph a personalised mug, an engraved object or another product.

A straightforward front-lit photograph may clearly show the logo.

That may be exactly what is required for an online catalogue.

But suppose I want the same object for an advertisement.

I might move the main light to one side so that the curvature becomes obvious.

Then I might add some backlight to separate the product from the background.

The product hasn't changed.

The photography has.

This is where lighting becomes part of visual communication rather than simply illumination.

The Same Principle Applies to Video

Everything discussed here applies equally to filmmaking.

In fact, lighting direction can become even more powerful in video because the subject moves through the light.

A presenter illuminated entirely from the front may look clear but rather flat.

Move the main light to approximately 30–45 degrees from the camera and the face begins to gain shape.

Introduce separation from the background and the picture can start to look much more deliberate and professional.

For interviews, promotional videos, demonstrations and educational films, these decisions matter.

The viewer may never consciously think:

"That key light is positioned nicely."

They simply feel that the picture looks better.

Good lighting often works precisely because the audience does not notice it.

Expensive Cameras Cannot Fix Uninteresting Light

Modern cameras are extraordinary.

They can operate at remarkable ISO settings.

They have sophisticated autofocus.

They can recover impressive detail from shadows.

They can record enormous dynamic range.

But none of that changes the fundamental geometry of light.

If the light is coming from a direction that hides the texture you want to show, buying a more expensive camera will not reveal it.

Move the light.

If the subject is disappearing into the background, another lens may not solve the problem.

Change the lighting.

If a product looks flat and uninteresting, adding more brightness may simply produce a brighter flat photograph.

Change the direction.

That is one of the reasons I think lighting is such an interesting part of photography.

It combines physics, technology and artistic judgement.

A Useful Challenge

Try this yourself.

Choose one subject and take four photographs:

  1. Front light

  2. Side light

  3. Backlight

  4. Overhead light

Then put the four images together.

Do not initially ask:

Which photograph is technically best?

Instead ask:

What does each photograph make me notice?

Does one emphasise texture?

Does another emphasise shape?

Does one feel calm?

Does another feel dramatic?

Can you see details in one that almost disappear in another?

Then ask the most important question:

Which lighting direction best communicates what I want this photograph to say?

That is the beginning of lighting creatively.

Conclusion — Don't Just Add More Light. Put It Somewhere Better.

Photography literally means drawing or writing with light, but it is easy to concentrate so much on cameras, lenses, megapixels and settings that we forget the importance of the light itself.

Brightness matters.

Exposure matters.

But direction can completely redefine a subject.

Move one lamp around a person's face and you can change its apparent shape.

Move it around a textured object and details appear and disappear.

Put it behind a translucent subject and something ordinary may suddenly glow.

Raise it above a product and its form can change again.

And perhaps the most useful lesson is that none of this necessarily requires expensive equipment.

Before buying another light, lens or camera, try moving the light you already have.

Walk around the subject.

Move the subject towards a window.

Watch the shadows.

Look at the highlights.

Ask where the light is coming from and what it is revealing.

Because good photographic lighting isn't simply about having enough light.

It is about putting the light where it tells the story you want to tell.


Coming Next — Photography Lighting Part 2

Hard Light or Soft Light — What Actually Makes the Difference?

Why does direct sunlight produce sharply defined shadows while an overcast sky can produce beautifully soft illumination? And why can moving a light closer sometimes make it softer rather than harsher?

That leads us to one of the most useful ideas in photography: the apparent size of the light source.

Sunday, 4 October 2026

How Do You Film Something That Happens Too Quickly to See?

 


How Do You Film Something That Happens Too Quickly to See?

Sometimes the camera does not merely record an event — it reveals one.

Most of the time, we think of a camera as a device for preserving something we have already seen.

A wedding ceremony happens, and we film it.

Someone gives a presentation, and we record it.

A musician performs, and the cameras capture the performance.

But there is another type of filmmaking that I find particularly fascinating.

What happens when the event takes place too quickly for us to see properly in the first place?

A balloon bursts.

A ball hits the ground.

A droplet strikes the surface of water.

A ball falling.



A golf club, tennis racket or cricket bat strikes a ball.

A machine operates at high speed.

A piece of scientific apparatus oscillates.

A sailing dinghy hits a wave and throws spray into the air.

To our eyes, these events may appear almost instantaneous.

Point the right camera at them, however, and an event lasting a fraction of a second can be stretched into several seconds of detailed movement.

Suddenly, we are not simply recording what happened.

We are discovering how it happened.


Our Eyes Are Remarkable — But They Have Limits

Human vision is extraordinarily good at detecting movement.

It is less good at examining the individual stages of something that happens in a tiny fraction of a second.

Imagine dropping a rubber ball onto a hard surface.

We see:

fall → impact → bounce

But that simple description hides an enormous amount of information.

During the impact the ball may:

  • deform;

  • flatten;

  • store elastic energy;

  • change direction;

  • recover its shape;

  • begin accelerating upwards.

Much of that may happen in only a few milliseconds.

Film the same event at a sufficiently high frame rate and suddenly the impact becomes visible.

The ball does not simply "bounce".

We can actually watch the physics of the bounce taking place.

That is where high-frame-rate video becomes such a useful filmmaking tool.


What Does Frame Rate Actually Mean?

Video is really a sequence of individual images displayed rapidly enough to create the impression of continuous movement.

A conventional video might be recorded at:

25 frames per second (fps)

That means the camera records 25 individual images every second.

Other common recording rates include:

  • 24 fps;

  • 25 fps;

  • 30 fps;

  • 50 fps;

  • 60 fps.

But cameras capable of slow-motion recording may offer:

  • 100 fps;

  • 120 fps;

  • 200 fps;

  • 240 fps;

and specialist high-speed cameras can go vastly beyond this.

The important point is simple:

the more frames we capture during the event, the more individual moments we have available to examine afterwards.

Suppose I record something at 100 fps and play it back at 25 fps.

Each second of real action contains 100 recorded frames.

At 25 frames per second, those frames take four seconds to display.

So:

Slow-motion factor = recording frame rate / playback frame rate

In this example:

100 / 25 = 4

The action therefore appears four times slower.

Record at 200 fps and play back at 25 fps and we obtain:

200 / 25 = 8

The action can now appear eight times slower.

This is the basic principle behind slow-motion filmmaking.


The Bursting Balloon Experiment

A bursting balloon is an excellent demonstration because our everyday experience of it is almost entirely dominated by the sound.

BANG!

The balloon appears to vanish.

But that is not what actually happens.

With high-speed video, it may be possible to observe the rubber beginning to tear and then rapidly peeling away as the stored elastic energy is released.

The contents of the balloon behave differently again.

Fill the balloon with water and the result can be particularly spectacular.

For a very short time, the water may retain approximately the shape of the balloon even though the rubber that contained it is disappearing.

Gravity and surface tension then take over and the mass of water collapses.

At normal speed:

pop — splash.

In slow motion:

a sequence of physical processes becomes visible.

This is a wonderful example of the difference between simply making an attractive video and using video as an observational tool.


A Bouncing Ball Can Become a Physics Experiment

Another beautifully simple subject is a bouncing ball.

I could place a camera low down, close to the floor, and arrange the shot so that the point of impact fills a significant part of the frame.

At normal speed, the impact is difficult to study.

Slow it down and we can begin asking questions.

How much does the ball deform?

How long is it in contact with the floor?

Does a tennis ball behave differently from a squash ball?

What about a table-tennis ball?

Or a solid rubber ball?

Now the filming has become an experiment.

Add measurements and it becomes even more interesting.

If the ball is dropped from height h1 and rebounds to height h2, we can compare the rebound.

A simple measure is:

Rebound percentage = (h2 / h1) x 100%

We could repeat the experiment with different balls, different surfaces or different temperatures.

The camera has become part of the measuring equipment.


Water Looks Completely Different in Slow Motion

Water is one of my favourite subjects for this sort of filming because its behaviour is simultaneously familiar and extraordinarily complicated.

Drop something into a bowl of water and we see a splash.

Film it closely and slowly and there is much more happening.

We might see:

  • the initial depression of the surface;

  • a crown of droplets forming;

  • individual droplets separating;

  • a cavity developing;

  • water collapsing back towards the centre;

  • a vertical jet forming afterwards.

Even a single falling droplet can produce remarkable images.

A droplet hitting a thin layer of liquid may create a crown-like structure that exists for only a tiny fraction of a second.

The challenge is therefore not simply recording at a high frame rate.

We also need to think about magnification, focus, exposure and lighting.


Slow Motion Needs Light — Lots of It

This is one of the practical problems that is easily overlooked.

If I increase the recording frame rate, every individual frame exists for a shorter period.

That generally means there is less time for light to reach the camera sensor.

If the shutter speed also needs to be fast enough to freeze motion, the problem becomes even greater.

The result?

A high-speed shot that looked easy in your imagination can suddenly become very dark.

The temptation is to increase ISO dramatically.

That may work, but there is a price: increasing amplification can make noise more visible and reduce image quality.

So one of the secrets of good high-frame-rate filming is often surprisingly simple:

provide more light.

That might mean:

  • brighter continuous lighting;

  • moving lights closer to the subject;

  • using a wider aperture;

  • choosing a faster lens;

  • increasing ISO carefully;

  • controlling ambient light.

The more extreme the slow motion, the more important lighting becomes.


And Then There Is Motion Blur

There is another interesting decision.

Do we want every frame to be razor sharp?

Or do we want some motion blur?

If a rapidly moving object travels a significant distance while each frame is being exposed, it will appear blurred.

A faster shutter speed reduces that blur.

For analytical filming, where I might want to identify the exact position of an object, a short exposure can be extremely useful.

For cinematic footage, however, removing all motion blur can make movement look rather harsh or unnatural.

So once again, there is no single "correct" camera setting.

It depends upon the purpose of the film.

Are we making a measurement, teaching a concept or creating a beautiful sequence?

Those can require quite different choices.


Getting Close Changes Everything

Slow motion becomes even more impressive when it is combined with close-up or macro filming.

Imagine filming a small mechanical switch.

At ordinary viewing distance, we see it operate.

Move much closer and slow the movement down and we may see:

  • components flexing;

  • springs compressing;

  • contacts moving;

  • vibration after impact.

The same principle can be applied to:

  • machinery;

  • tools;

  • manufacturing processes;

  • laboratory equipment;

  • sports equipment;

  • musical instruments;

  • moving mechanisms.

Sometimes the interesting part of an event is only a few millimetres across.

The solution is therefore not simply:

"Film it slower."

It may be:

"Film it slower, closer and with better lighting."


Focus Becomes Critical

Close-up filming introduces another problem.

Depth of field becomes very small.

A moving object may be sharp at one point and blurred a few millimetres later because it has moved outside the plane of focus.

Autofocus can sometimes help, but for predictable experiments I often prefer the certainty of planning the shot carefully.

One useful technique is to place an object temporarily at the exact position where the important event will occur.

Focus on that point.

Lock the focus.

Remove the temporary target.

Then perform the experiment.

The event happens exactly where the camera is expecting it.

This is particularly useful when the interesting moment happens too quickly for a camera's autofocus system to react meaningfully.


The Camera Needs to Know Where the Action Will Be

This highlights one of the major differences between ordinary filming and high-speed filming.

With an interview, I can react to the person.

With an event lasting 1/100th of a second, I cannot.

Everything has to be anticipated.

Where will the balloon burst?

Where will the ball strike the surface?

Where will the droplet land?

Where will the machine component move?

Where will the athlete's foot make contact?

Where will the spray appear?

Good slow-motion filming is therefore often as much about preparation as camera technology.


Why Multiple Cameras Can Be So Useful

A fast event may look completely different from different directions.

Suppose I were filming a ball striking a surface.

One camera could provide the main wide shot.

Another could be positioned close to the impact point.

A third might look along the surface.

A fourth could concentrate on a particular component.

Now the editor can move between:

context → action → detail → explanation.

This is particularly valuable for educational and demonstration videos.

The viewer first understands where something happened and then gets to see exactly what happened.

That is one reason I find multi-camera production so useful. Different cameras do not merely provide alternative pictures.

They can provide different kinds of information.


Slow Motion Is Not Just a Special Effect

Slow motion is frequently associated with dramatic filmmaking.

A runner crosses the finishing line.

Champagne sprays into the air.

A wave crashes over a boat.

A musician strikes a cymbal.

Used well, these shots can certainly look spectacular.

But slow motion can do something much more important.

It can explain.

Consider a sports coach examining someone's movement.

At normal speed, the action may look correct.

Slow it down and perhaps the foot lands differently from expected.

Perhaps the racket angle changes just before contact.

Perhaps the sailor moves their weight too late during a manoeuvre.

Perhaps the golf club face is not where the player imagined it was.

Video provides something memory cannot.

Evidence that can be replayed.


Science Education Is an Obvious Application

This is particularly useful in science teaching.

There are many experiments where students understand the theory but struggle to observe the important event.

High-speed video can help with subjects including:

  • collisions;

  • momentum;

  • projectile motion;

  • oscillations;

  • waves;

  • elasticity;

  • vibration;

  • fluid motion;

  • resonance.

Imagine demonstrating a collision between two dynamics carts.

Students see the collision.

But slow-motion footage allows us to examine the moment of contact.

Add data from force or motion sensors and something even more interesting becomes possible.

We can compare:

what the camera shows

with

what the sensors measure.

That turns a video into part of a much richer investigation.


Industrial and Engineering Filming

The same principle extends beyond education.

Imagine a company has a production process that involves something moving quickly.

At normal speed, everything may appear to be functioning correctly.

But perhaps there is an occasional problem.

A component bounces.

A package shifts.

A belt vibrates.

A mechanism fails to engage properly.

A liquid splashes at a particular stage.

A product is damaged during transfer.

High-frame-rate video may help reveal the sequence.

Of course, genuinely high-speed industrial analysis can require specialist cameras, specialist lighting and sometimes synchronised measurement equipment.

But the principle remains the same:

slow the event down until the process becomes understandable.

That footage can then have several uses.

It might support:

  • training;

  • technical explanation;

  • troubleshooting;

  • presentations;

  • product development;

  • marketing.


A Technical Film Can Also Be a Promotional Film

This is where things become particularly interesting for a filmmaking business.

The same footage that explains a process can also make excellent promotional material.

Imagine a manufacturer whose product contains a beautifully engineered mechanism.

Most customers will never see how it works.

A carefully produced sequence could begin with the complete product, move to a close-up and then show the mechanism operating in slow motion.

Graphics could identify important components.

A voice-over could explain the engineering.

The final sequence could return to the finished product.

Instead of simply telling customers:

"This is precision engineered."

the film demonstrates it.

That is much more powerful.


Ordinary Objects Can Become Extraordinary

One of the pleasures of photography and filmmaking is discovering that we do not always need exotic subjects.

A glass of water can be interesting.

A bouncing ball can be interesting.

A vibrating ruler can be interesting.

A bursting balloon can be fascinating.

The important thing is changing the way we look at them.

Macro photography changes our sense of scale.

Time-lapse photography compresses time.

High-speed photography stretches time.

Each technique gives us access to something that normal human observation struggles to provide.


A Practical Experiment I Would Try

A simple demonstration could use three cameras or three recording settings.

Film the same bouncing ball at:

25 fps

50 fps

100 or 120 fps

Keep the camera position and subject as similar as possible.

Then place the three clips next to one another during editing.

At 25 fps we see the event.

At 50 fps we begin to examine it.

At 100 or 120 fps, the deformation and recovery become much easier to study.

Then repeat the experiment with a much faster shutter speed and sufficient lighting.

The comparison would demonstrate that high-speed filming is not simply about pressing a "slow motion" button.

It is a combination of:

frame rate + shutter speed + lighting + lens + focus + composition + timing.


The Real Skill Is Knowing What We Want to Discover

Modern cameras make extraordinary technology accessible.

But owning a camera capable of recording 100 or 120 frames per second does not automatically produce an interesting film.

The first question should be:

What are we trying to see?

If I want to study a bouncing ball, the camera needs to concentrate on the impact.

If I want to analyse a machine, I need to know which part of the mechanism matters.

If I am filming sport, I need to anticipate the movement.

If I am making a promotional film, I need to decide which detail tells the strongest story about the product.

The equipment matters.

But the idea comes first.


From Filming an Event to Revealing It

There is something rather wonderful about pressing play on a piece of high-speed footage for the first time.

You know what happened.

You were standing there when it happened.

Yet suddenly you can see something you did not see while it was happening.

A ball deforms.

A droplet becomes a crown.

A mechanism flexes.

A sail shakes.

A spring oscillates.

A splash becomes a complex moving structure.

A fraction of a second becomes several seconds of information.

That is why high-frame-rate and close-up filming can be valuable for far more than spectacular social-media clips.

It can help businesses explain products.

It can help engineers understand processes.

It can help coaches analyse movement.

It can help teachers demonstrate science.

And it can help filmmakers create images that make people stop and look.

Because sometimes the most interesting thing to film is not something we have never seen before.

It is something we have seen hundreds of times — but have never really been able to see.

Sometimes the camera does not merely record an event. It reveals one.

#Filmmaking #SlowMotion #HighSpeedVideo #VideoProduction #ScienceEducation #IndustrialVideo #ProductVideo #MacroVideo #Photography #Videography #STEM #ScienceCommunication #PhilipMRussellLtd

Saturday, 3 October 2026

Can AI Plan My Working Week?

 


Can AI Plan My Working Week?

A diary tells you when things happen. Could AI tell you when they should happen?

For many small businesses, the scarcest resource is not equipment, premises or even money.

It is time.

That becomes particularly obvious when one business contains several very different activities.

In my own case, a working week might include:

  • GCSE and A-level tuition;

  • preparing lessons and practical experiments;

  • filming;

  • photography;

  • video editing;

  • producing graphics and social-media material;

  • making personalised products;

  • answering enquiries;

  • preparing invoices and other administration;

  • maintaining equipment;

  • developing websites and other online material;

  • sailing and sailing-club work;

  • writing articles such as this one.

Individually, none of these necessarily presents a scheduling problem.

Put them all into the same week and something interesting happens.

The diary may say that there are enough hours.

Reality may disagree.

So I decided to consider a rather different use for artificial intelligence.

Could AI actually plan my working week?

Not merely put appointments into a calendar, but decide when different types of work ought to happen.

That turns out to be a much more interesting problem.


A Calendar Is Not Really a Plan

Suppose my diary contains a tuition lesson at 4.00 pm and another at 6.00 pm.

The calendar knows about two appointments.

But what does the working day really contain?

The first lesson may require preparation.

Perhaps I want to set up a practical experiment beforehand.

Afterwards, I may need to make notes about the student's progress.

The second lesson might require completely different equipment or teaching material.

Meanwhile, there may be an email enquiry waiting for a reply, a video that needs editing and an article that needs publishing.

The calendar records the fixed events.

It doesn't necessarily understand all the work surrounding them.

That is the first important distinction:

An appointment is not the same thing as a workload.


Give AI a Deliberately Difficult Week

A useful experiment would be to give an AI system a fictional but realistic collection of jobs.

For example:

Monday

9.00–11.00 — edit a promotional video
11.30 — answer customer enquiries
1.00 — prepare an A-level Physics practical
4.00–5.00 — GCSE Maths tuition
5.30–6.30 — A-level Physics tuition
7.00–8.00 — GCSE Science tuition

Tuesday

Morning — filming
Afternoon — editing and administration
Evening — tuition

Wednesday

Photography job during the morning
Product-production work during the afternoon
Tuition from late afternoon onwards

Thursday

Write and publish blog material
Prepare practical work
Film demonstrations
Evening tuition

Friday

Complete outstanding editing
Accounts and invoices
Equipment preparation
Tuition

Then add the activities that don't fit conveniently into neat boxes:

"Allow time for sailing."

"Write several social-media posts."

"Back up this week's video footage."

"Prepare next week's lessons."

"Deal with new customer enquiries quickly."

"Allow some time for jobs that overrun."

Suddenly this is no longer a simple diary exercise.

It is a scheduling problem.


The First AI Timetable Might Be Terrible

This is where the experiment becomes interesting.

If I simply tell AI:

"Fit all of these jobs into my week."

I might receive a beautifully organised timetable.

It might also be completely impossible.

For example:

8.00–9.00 Write blog
9.00–10.30 Film experiment
10.30–11.30 Edit video
11.30–12.00 Administration
12.00–1.00 Photography
1.00–2.00 Prepare lessons
2.00–3.00 Product production
3.00–4.00 Answer emails
4.00–9.00 Tuition

It looks wonderfully efficient.

There is only one problem.

Nobody actually works like that.

Where is lunch?

Where is the time required to change the studio setup?

What happens when filming takes twenty minutes longer than expected?

When is the camera footage transferred?

When are batteries charged?

What happens if a parent telephones?

What if an experiment takes longer to prepare than expected?

And after five hours of tuition in the evening, am I really going to start another complicated piece of work?

A timetable can be mathematically possible while being humanly ridiculous.


AI Needs Constraints

The solution is not necessarily to abandon AI.

It is to give it better information.

Instead of saying:

"Plan my week."

I could say:

"Plan my week subject to the following constraints."

For example:

  • tuition appointments are fixed;

  • allow at least 15 minutes between online lessons;

  • allow longer gaps where equipment must be changed;

  • do not schedule demanding creative work after a long evening of teaching;

  • include lunch;

  • include preparation time before practical lessons;

  • allow time after lessons for recording notes;

  • keep some unscheduled time each day;

  • group similar activities where possible;

  • allow travel time for work away from home;

  • treat customer enquiries as relatively high priority;

  • don't assume every job will finish exactly on time.

Now the AI has something much closer to the real problem.

And this is an important lesson about using AI generally:

The quality of an AI plan depends enormously upon the constraints we give it.


Preparation Time Is Real Work

This is particularly important in education.

A one-hour lesson does not necessarily represent one hour of work.

Suppose I want to demonstrate Young's modulus experimentally during an A-level Physics lesson.

Before the student arrives, I may need to:

  • select the wire;

  • set up the apparatus;

  • check the measurement equipment;

  • make sure the experiment works;

  • prepare questions;

  • locate the appropriate notes;

  • perhaps set up cameras or a visualiser;

  • prepare extension material.

The diary says:

Physics lesson — 1 hour.

The real workload might be considerably longer.

The same applies to filming.

A 20-minute finished video is certainly not a 20-minute job.

There may be:

planning -> setup -> filming -> retakes -> transferring files -> editing -> graphics -> sound -> rendering -> uploading -> promotion.

One advantage of using AI for planning is that it can be instructed to recognise these hidden tasks.


Travel Time Is More Than Driving Time

Suppose I have a photography or filming job away from my normal workplace.

AI needs to know that a 10.00 am appointment ten miles away doesn't mean I can work normally until 9.59.

There may be equipment to load.

Then there is travel.

Parking.

Unloading.

Setting up.

And afterwards everything happens in reverse.

A two-hour filming appointment could occupy half a working day.

That is the difference between event duration and event footprint.

A good planning system needs to understand both.


What About Sailing?

This produces another interesting scheduling problem.

Some activities are flexible but dependent upon external conditions.

Sailing is a good example.

A conventional diary might say:

Wednesday afternoon — sailing.

But Wednesday might be wet with virtually no wind, while Thursday afternoon could be ideal.

So perhaps AI shouldn't always allocate the activity immediately.

It might instead reserve a flexible block and reconsider it as better information becomes available.

The same principle could apply to outdoor photography, drone work where permitted, exterior filming or jobs requiring good natural light.

This moves us from a static timetable towards a dynamic plan.


Priorities Matter More Than Filling Empty Spaces

One of the biggest mistakes in time management is assuming that every empty space needs filling.

Imagine three jobs:

A: Reply to a potential new tuition customer.
B: Reorganise some archived photographs.
C: Finish tomorrow's lesson preparation.

All three are legitimate work.

They are not equally urgent.

An AI planner therefore needs more than duration.

It needs some concept of:

urgency + importance + deadline + consequences of delay.

The customer enquiry may deserve an immediate response.

Tomorrow's lesson preparation has a definite deadline.

The photograph archive might wait until there is genuinely spare time.

This is where AI potentially becomes much more useful than an ordinary calendar.


Batch Similar Jobs Together

There is another optimisation that humans sometimes overlook.

Changing tasks has a cost.

If the video studio is already set up, it might make sense to record three short videos rather than record one, dismantle everything and rebuild the studio tomorrow.

Similarly, if I am producing personalised products, several jobs using the same equipment might sensibly be grouped together.

The same applies to:

  • photography;

  • invoicing;

  • emails;

  • lesson preparation;

  • blog writing;

  • video editing;

  • social-media scheduling.

AI could identify these clusters.

Instead of asking:

"Where is there an empty hour?"

it could ask:

"What other work fits naturally with what is already happening?"

That is potentially much more valuable.


The Problem of Overruns

Real work doesn't obey the calendar.

A lesson might lead to an important question that deserves another few minutes.

A filming sequence might require another take.

A computer might decide to install something at precisely the wrong moment.

An experiment might refuse to behave.

An urgent enquiry might arrive.

If every minute has already been allocated, one delay causes a cascade through the rest of the day.

A better AI-generated timetable would deliberately contain buffer time.

Perhaps a 60-minute job receives a 75-minute block.

Perhaps there is a spare 30-minute recovery period during the afternoon.

Perhaps Friday afternoon contains a larger block for unfinished work.

At first sight, this looks inefficient.

In reality, it may make the entire week more efficient because the timetable becomes resilient.


AI Should Understand Energy as Well as Time

There is another factor that calendars rarely record.

Not every hour is equivalent.

For many people, there are times when concentration is particularly good.

Those periods are valuable.

They should perhaps be used for work such as:

  • complex writing;

  • planning;

  • difficult editing;

  • problem solving;

  • financial decisions;

  • technical development.

Other tasks require less uninterrupted concentration.

Those might include:

  • routine administration;

  • file organisation;

  • preparing equipment;

  • uploading completed material;

  • straightforward production work.

So instead of treating the week as forty identical one-hour boxes, an AI planner could consider the type of attention each job requires.

That begins to look much more like real management.


Could AI Replan the Week?

This is perhaps the most exciting possibility.

Monday doesn't go according to plan.

A filming job overruns by 45 minutes.

One editing job isn't completed.

A new customer enquiry arrives.

An appointment is cancelled on Wednesday.

The traditional diary simply records these events.

AI could potentially ask:

What should change now?

The unfinished editing could move into Wednesday's cancelled appointment.

A low-priority administration job could move to Friday.

The new enquiry could be dealt with immediately.

Nothing important needs to disappear.

The plan simply changes.

That is potentially one of AI's greatest advantages.

It can keep replanning.


But Should AI Be Allowed to Control the Diary?

There is an important distinction between:

AI suggesting

and

AI deciding.

I would be very happy for AI to say:

"You have scheduled too much work on Thursday."

Or:

"If you move the editing to Tuesday morning, you can film three items consecutively on Thursday."

Or:

"You haven't allowed preparation time for Friday's practical lesson."

That is useful assistance.

I would be considerably less comfortable with an autonomous system deciding to cancel a lesson, rearrange a customer appointment or promise a delivery date without approval.

AI can analyse the workload.

The human should retain control of important commitments.


A Better Experiment: Give AI the Real Calendar

The obvious next stage would be to connect the planning system to the information that already exists.

Imagine AI being able, with appropriate permission, to examine:

  • the calendar;

  • incoming enquiries;

  • existing customer commitments;

  • project deadlines;

  • production jobs;

  • lesson schedules;

  • recurring administration;

  • task lists.

Then ask:

"Plan next week, but don't alter any appointments without asking me."

That is far more interesting than asking AI to produce a generic timetable.

It is beginning to behave like a virtual office manager.


A Possible AI-Generated Day

A realistic day might look more like this:

8.30–9.00 — Check urgent enquiries and day's commitments
9.00–10.30 — Concentrated video editing
10.30–10.45 — Buffer
10.45–11.45 — Film two short demonstrations while studio is configured
11.45–12.15 — Transfer footage and reset equipment
12.15–1.00 — Lunch
1.00–2.00 — Prepare afternoon lessons
2.00–2.45 — Administration and customer replies
2.45–3.15 — Buffer and tuition setup
3.15 onwards — Teaching schedule
After final lesson — Brief notes only; no major creative work

That looks less impressively packed than the earlier timetable.

And that is exactly why it might work.


The Objective Shouldn't Be 100% Utilisation

This may be the most important conclusion from the whole experiment.

If AI tries to maximise every available minute, it has probably misunderstood the task.

A business is not automatically more productive because every box in the diary contains something.

There needs to be capacity for:

  • thinking;

  • unexpected opportunities;

  • overruns;

  • customer enquiries;

  • equipment failures;

  • preparation;

  • rest;

  • simply doing something properly.

Perhaps the instruction to AI shouldn't be:

"Fit as much work as possible into my week."

Perhaps it should be:

"Create a week in which the important work gets completed reliably without making the timetable unrealistic."

Those are very different objectives.


AI as the Assistant, Not the Boss

I think this is where AI could become particularly valuable to a small business.

Not because it can somehow create more hours.

It cannot.

Instead, it can make the demands upon those hours more visible.

It can spot forgotten preparation.

It can question unrealistic assumptions.

It can group related jobs.

It can protect time for important work.

It can suggest priorities.

And when the inevitable disruption occurs, it can help rebuild the plan.

The final decision, however, remains human.

I know whether an extra half-hour with a student is worthwhile.

I know whether the weather makes sailing worth rearranging an afternoon for.

I know when a filming project needs another take rather than being declared "good enough".

And I know that sometimes the sensible decision is simply to stop.

That context matters.


So, Can AI Plan My Working Week?

Yes — but only if I tell it what a real working week actually looks like.

Simply feeding appointments into AI is unlikely to achieve much.

Give it preparation times, travel, priorities, deadlines, buffers, dependencies, preferred working patterns and realistic limits, however, and something much more useful begins to emerge.

The interesting future may not be an AI that runs my diary without me.

It may be an AI that looks at the diary and says:

"You have planned this as though nothing will go wrong."

And that might be exactly the warning a busy small-business owner needs.

A diary tells you when things happen. Perhaps the next generation of AI tools will help us decide when they should happen — and, just as importantly, when they shouldn't.