Website Review
What is Unphotographable?
Unphotographable is a text-based photography project by Michael David Murphy: a blog of pictures that were never taken. Each entry describes a scene the author saw but did not photograph, often opening with the phrase "This is a picture I did not take." Instead of an image, you get a written account of the moment, its setting, and the small details that made it memorable.
The site works less like a portfolio and more like a daily noticing practice. Entries are short prose pieces, sometimes reading like vignettes or prose poems, grounded in ordinary places—streets, sidewalks, neighbors' houses, errands with a dog and a kid. The pleasure comes from the specificity: the wrong-way-parked landscaping truck, the bark jammed in a scooter wheel, the ordinary collision of details that a camera might have missed anyway.
Who it's for
- Photographers interested in seeing, framing and narrative rather than gear
- Writers and readers who like very short observational prose
- Anyone who wants a quiet reminder that not every good image needs to be captured
How to read it
Start with the "About" page for the project's premise, then browse entries at random rather than chronologically. Read one entry and try writing your own missed picture in the same style—one paragraph, concrete details, no moral. That exercise is the most direct way to understand what the site is doing.
How does the 'This is a picture I did not take' format work?
The format is a prose caption for a photograph that was never made. Each entry begins with the fixed phrase "This is a picture I did not take," then describes a scene in enough sensory and situational detail that a reader could almost see the missing image — except the moment has passed, the camera wasn't raised, or the subject was too fleeting or private to shoot.
On Unphotographable, the page evidence shows the pattern in practice: a single long sentence stacks up a press conference next to an adult book shop and a crematorium, then shifts to a walk with a dog and a child on a scooter, bark jammed in the wheels, a neighbor's tree being trimmed, and finally the words "FOUR SEASONS LANDSCAPING" on a truck door. The "picture" is built entirely from those concrete details rather than from an image file.
H3. What makes it work as a form
- The fixed opening sets an expectation of absence, so every subsequent detail reads as a substitute for the missing frame.
- Specificity does the visual work: locations, objects, small actions ("scraping her nails on the sidewalk") and text on surfaces stand in for composition and lighting.
- The run-on, accumulating sentence mimics how a missed moment actually arrives — as a tangle of simultaneous things rather than a composed shot.
- The title is the punchline and the constraint: the writer can never show the picture, only the circumstances that made it worth wanting.
H3. When to use it
Use it when the image matters more than the event: a stranger's expression, a sign in the wrong place, light falling on something ordinary while your hands are full. It suits diary-style photoblogs, writing practice, and any project where the point is attention rather than output. It works less well when the scene needs an actual photograph to be understood — the format asks readers to do the seeing.
A practical next step: take one moment from today that you noticed but didn't photograph, and write it as a single sentence beginning with the fixed phrase. Keep every detail physical — what was in your hands, what the surface said, what the weather was doing — and stop before you explain why it mattered.
Who is Michael David Murphy and why did he create this project?
Michael David Murphy is the writer behind Unphotographable, a project built on a simple, repeatable premise: each entry describes a photograph he did not take. The site's own framing states it plainly — "This is a picture I did not take" — followed by a scene rendered in words rather than an image.
The project exists because some moments cannot be photographed: the camera is out of reach, the moment passes too fast, or taking the picture would break the spell. Rather than lose those scenes, Murphy captures them in text. The excerpt on the page shows the method well: a press conference next to an adult book shop and across from a crematorium, then a walk with a dog and a child on a scooter, bark jammed in the wheels, a neighbor's tree being trimmed, and finally the words "FOUR SEASONS LANDSCAPING" on a truck door. The details are ordinary and specific, and the accumulation of them is the point — the writing does what the missing photograph would have done.
Think of it as a photoblog run in reverse. Instead of publishing images, it publishes the captions, observations and small narratives that would have surrounded them. The result sits closer to prose poetry or a daily notebook than to photography criticism, which is why the site's keywords include "poetry" and "poem" alongside "photoblog."
Who it is for
- Readers who like observational writing and city detail more than polished imagery.
- Photographers interested in seeing, framing and missed opportunity as a subject.
- Anyone who has fumbled for a phone and lost the moment — the site turns that frustration into a form.
A useful next step
Read three or four entries in a row rather than one. The format's effect comes from repetition: the same opening line, a different scene each time. If you want to try it yourself, pick one moment from today you could not or did not photograph, and write it down in a few sentences without explaining why it mattered. The concrete detail — the scooter, the bark, the truck door — is what carries it.
Is Unphotographable a photography blog or a writing blog?
It is a writing blog. Unphotographable publishes short prose pieces that describe photographs the author did not take, rather than displaying photographs themselves. The site's own framing makes this explicit: entries open with "This is a picture I did not take," then narrate a scene in words. The page evidence shows exactly that pattern — a press conference near an adult book shop and across from a crematorium, a walk with a dog and a child on a scooter, tree bark jammed in a scooter wheel, and a landscaping truck door reading "FOUR SEASONS LANDSCAPING." Nothing in that excerpt is presented as an image; the image exists only in the reader's mind.
What kind of writing it is
The pieces read closer to prose poetry or very short observational essays than to conventional blog posts. They tend to work through accumulation: one detail after another, held together by the narrator's attention rather than by plot. The "missed photograph" premise is the engine — it turns an ordinary moment into something worth recording precisely because it cannot be recorded visually.
Who it suits
- Readers who enjoy flash nonfiction, prose poetry, or writers like the observational essay tradition.
- Photographers interested in the limits of the medium, and in what words can carry that a frame cannot.
- Writers looking for a constrained form to imitate: one scene, one missed image, no resolution required.
Who it does not suit
- Anyone looking for camera technique, gear discussion, or image critique.
- Readers who want a visual feed; there are no photographs to scroll through.
A useful next step
If you want to test whether the form works for you, read three entries in a row and notice what changes between them — the settings shift, but the structure stays steady. If the third one still holds your attention, the constraint is doing real work for you. If it feels repetitive by the second, the form is likely too narrow for your taste.
For a different angle on the same territory, Unphotographable is the primary source itself, while a site like Flickr shows the opposite approach — images with minimal text. Comparing the two makes the trade-off clear: one preserves the moment's context and interiority, the other preserves its appearance.
How can I submit my own 'picture I did not take' story?
Unphotographable does not appear to accept reader submissions. The site is built as a personal text account by Michael David Murphy, with the entries written in his own voice and framed as "a picture I did not take." The page evidence shows an About section and a sample entry, but no submission form, email address, contributor guidelines or open-call instructions.
If you want to write your own missed-picture story, treat it as a short observational piece rather than a formal pitch. The sample entry works because it piles up specific, ordinary details—a press conference next to an adult book shop and across from a crematorium; a dog scraping the sidewalk; a kid's scooter jammed with bark; a truck door reading FOUR SEASONS LANDSCAPING. The missed photograph is not described directly. It emerges from the accumulation of place, timing and small frustrations.
A practical next step is to draft your own entry using that structure:
- Start with "This is a picture I did not take."
- Anchor it in a time and place, even if the place stays vague.
- Include at least one concrete sign, label or object you actually saw.
- Let the missed image stay implied rather than explained.
- Keep it to one paragraph if possible.
For a reader scenario: you are walking home and see a funeral procession pause while a street musician keeps playing. You cannot photograph it because you are carrying groceries. Write the specific details—the song, the flowers, the traffic light, the dropped bag—and let the absence do the work. That is the form Unphotographable demonstrates, even if it does not currently invite outside submissions.
Where can I read Unphotographable entries about San Francisco or Atlanta?
Read them on the site itself: Unphotographable. The project is Michael David Murphy's text account of pictures he did not take, and its entries are tied to places including San Francisco and Atlanta, so the archive is the place to browse by city.
A practical next step: open the site and scan entry titles or archive pages for "San Francisco" or "Atlanta" rather than expecting a formal city index. If you want a quick sense of the format, the "About" page excerpt shows the pattern: a press conference in Philadelphia near an adult book shop and across from a crematorium, then a later walk with a dog and a child on a scooter, ending on the side of a landscaping truck. The missed photograph is described in prose, not shown.
For readers deciding whether it fits: choose it if you like short, observational city writing with a documentary eye; skip it if you want actual photographs or travel-guide recommendations.
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