At the beginning of 2026, I started a 52-week black-and-white photography project.
One photograph every week. No daily pressure, no desperate photo of a thermometer while lying sick in bed, and no late-night uploading just to keep a streak alive.
After completing my 366 Days project, this sounded almost too easy.
It wasn’t.
I made it through six weeks before cancelling the public version of the project. Not pausing it. Not “taking some time to reconsider the direction.” I put a little red cross next to its name and called it what it was.
Cancelled.
And honestly? I’m completely fine with that.
A Format Is Not a Theme
My first mistake was thinking that “black and white” was enough of an idea.
It isn’t.
Black and white is a way of presenting a photograph. One camera and one lens are restrictions. One photograph every week is a schedule.
None of those things explain what the project is actually about.
I had prepared the container but forgotten to put anything inside it.
My 366 project was different. Its purpose was obvious: take and publish one photograph every day for an entire year. The photographs didn’t have to connect. The act of showing up was the project.
With the 52-week project, showing up once a week wasn’t challenging enough to be the whole point. It needed another reason to exist.
Architecture in Oslo. Family rituals. Winter light. Objects left behind. The same street throughout the year. Anything that would give me a reason to look in a particular direction.
Instead, my idea was basically:
“Take something in black and white by Sunday.”
Very inspiring.
Week 04/52 Quiet shapes in hard light 🕊️
More Time Created More Pressure
I expected a weekly project to feel relaxed.
The opposite happened.
When you have to take one photograph every day, you eventually accept that some of them will be average. Tuesday’s photograph doesn’t need to become part of photography history. It just needs to represent Tuesday.
But when you have seven days to produce one image, that image suddenly feels important.
Is this really the best photograph I made this week?
Is it good enough?
Does it fit with the previous images?
Should I wait until Sunday in case something better appears?
Instead of giving me freedom, the extra time made me overthink every photograph.
During the 366 project, I learned to stop waiting for inspiration. With the 52-week project, I somehow started waiting for it again.
The Photos I Wanted to Keep Were Private
There was another problem.
Most of the photographs I cared about were family photographs.
My kids playing at the table. Walking through the snow. Small moments at home that probably mean nothing to anyone else but will mean everything to us later.
Those were the photographs I wanted to make—but not necessarily the photographs I wanted to publish online.
So I had created a public project while my photography was naturally moving in a more private direction.
That contradiction became impossible to ignore.
I could either photograph for the project or photograph for myself.
For a hobby, that should be an easy choice.
Stopping Is Also Part of the Process
We like creative projects with clean endings.
Day 366. Week 52. A completed gallery. Maybe even a printed book sitting beautifully on a table while nobody is allowed to touch it.
Quitting doesn’t look nearly as impressive.
But a failed project can still teach you something. This one taught me that restrictions alone don’t create meaning. They can help, but only after you know what you want to explore.
“One camera, one lens” sounds cool.
“Black and white only” sounds artistic.
“52 weeks” sounds disciplined.
Put them together and you still might have absolutely nothing to say.
That was my project.
I Didn’t Stop Taking Photographs
I kept photographing my family. I carried a camera on walks. I noticed buildings, shadows, cars, tables, coffee cups and all the usual banalities that fill most of my catalog.
I simply stopped asking every photograph to perform publicly.
Not every image needs to become content. Not every walk needs to produce a post. Not every camera needs a review after three days of ownership.
Sometimes photography can stay on a memory card for a while.
Sometimes it can live in a family album.
Sometimes it can be printed, placed in a drawer and rediscovered ten years later.
And sometimes you can take a photograph simply because something made you stop and look.
That is enough.
What Comes Next?
I still like the idea of another project.
But next time, the theme must come first.
I don’t want to announce another schedule and then search for a reason to follow it. I want an idea that keeps returning until ignoring it becomes harder than starting it.
Maybe it will be about family life.
Maybe Oslo architecture.
Maybe the ordinary objects and places we pass every day without noticing.
Photography is my hobby, not an unpaid job with weekly deliverables. The camera should give me a reason to leave the house, slow down and pay attention—not another notification telling me I’m behind schedule.
The 52-week project failed.
But stopping it was probably the first honest decision I made during the whole thing.
See you around.
