Behind the Scenes: Photographing Poker Events in Asia

Since 2008, I’ve had the privilege of covering poker tournaments across Asia—from the dazzling casinos of Macau, to the laid-back warmth of Vietnam, the upscale intensity of Jeju, South Korea, the cultural richness of Cambodia, the vibrant poker scene in Taiwan, and of course, the unique energy of my home country, the Philippines.

Each destination, each event, each room has its own heartbeat—and behind every photograph, there’s a story no one sees. This is what it's like behind the lens of a poker photographer in Asia.

1. Pre-Game Rituals: Scouting the Room, Reading the Light

Long before the first hand is dealt, my work begins.

I typically arrive at least two days before the event starts—not just to prep for the shoot, but to explore the city I'm working in. These extra days allow me to capture the flavor of the place beyond the poker room. I bring my camera with me everywhere: to famous landmarks, back alley eateries, and bustling street corners. It helps me connect with the local atmosphere—and often, these city shots become valuable visual context for the event’s official recaps or marketing content.

Once I’ve explored the city and grounded myself in its vibe, it’s time to zero in on the poker venue.

I always show up as early as I’m allowed—usually when the doors open for staff. I walk the room with purpose, scanning the layout and making mental notes of where the main action will unfold. I check for things most people overlook: the height of the tables, the reflection on chip stacks under direct light, the positioning of screens and dealer monitors, even the carpeting (which affects gear movement and setup options).

Some poker venues are a dream—wide spaces, clean sightlines, controlled ambient lighting and even the convenience of having food anytime you need it. NagaWorld in Cambodia, for instance, offers world-class infrastructure, good lighting, and ample space for maneuvering with longer lenses. You can often shoot almost straight out of the camera.

But in some countries, you may find yourself in a smaller venues or converted hotel ballrooms, you’re working with tougher conditions. Overhead fluorescents throw hard shadows. Ambient lighting can vary across the room. Sometimes, one half of the table is perfectly lit while the other is deep in shadow. That’s where years of trial and error kick in.

I’ve learned how to quickly assess the “lighting character” of a room and adjust my approach accordingly. Sometimes I embrace the shadows for mood. Other times, I compensate with wider apertures or bump the ISO—whatever it takes to maintain quality while preserving the authenticity of the moment.

Pro Tip: Always pack a fast lens (f/1.4 or f/1.8), and keep a grey card in your pocket for quick white balance checks. Lighting in poker rooms can shift not just hour to hour, but even during one hand if the venue has changing displays or overheads.

This pre-game ritual isn’t just a habit—it’s a crucial part of delivering consistent, professional photography in one of the most unpredictable genres in the industry.

2. Players Aren’t Models—They’re Characters in a Live Drama

In over 15 years of shooting poker, I’ve learned one universal truth: every player has a story, but it’s told in whispers, not shouts.

Unlike portrait photography, there’s no directing or posing in this world. In fact, I go out of my way not to make contact during live play. No eye contact. No flash. No interruption. I work with long lenses—usually a 70-200mm or 85mm prime—to stay as invisible as possible. My goal is to capture raw, unfiltered emotion in real time: the nervous tapping of a foot, the tightened jaw before a bluff, the fist slowly clenching under the table.

Every event is a human drama. You just have to know where to look.

Different Cultures, Different Emotions

Over the years, I’ve come to appreciate how player culture varies across countries—not just in play style, but in how emotion is expressed. As a poker photographer, understanding these nuances makes all the difference between taking a photo... and telling a story.

• Vietnamese players are passionate and expressive. When they win big hands, they’re not afraid to show it. You’ll often catch a celebratory grin, an audible “Yes!”, or even a friend at the rail throwing a fist in the air. It’s energy you can feel through the lens.

• Taiwanese players tend to express their happiness with genuine warmth. When they win, it’s less about bravado and more about joy—smiles, small claps, playful banter. Their energy is light and contagious, and it shows in every frame.

• Korean players, can be intense during the hand—but when they win, they erupt with full-bodied joy. Laughs, handshakes, even mini celebrations are common. Capturing that moment of transformation—from stone-faced to elated—is gold.

• Filipino players are deeply emotional and driven. There’s a visible eagerness to win that translates into larger emotional swings. Joy, disappointment, frustration, pride—they wear it all on their sleeves. As a fellow Filipino, I’ve always found these moments especially powerful to photograph.

  
  

Pro Tip: Know your cultural context. What might seem like subtle body language in Taiwan could be a huge tell. And what looks like a loud celebration in Vietnam is actually a normal part of their tournament energy. Don’t just shoot—observe. Immerse yourself in the local tone of the game.

These aren’t just snapshots. They’re portraits of focus, hope, victory, and heartbreak—all unfolding silently, frame by frame.

3. The Lighting Gamble: Fighting Shadows and Flickers

Photographing poker events might seem like a glamorous gig—and in many ways, it is. But ask any seasoned poker photographer and they’ll tell you: lighting is the true wild card.

Poker rooms aren’t designed with photographers in mind. They’re designed for atmosphere—low light, dramatic shadows, colorful LEDs, and sleek mood lighting that makes the players feel like they’re part of something elite. But for cameras? These same design choices can be a nightmare.

No Two Venues Are the Same

Some venues offer near-perfect conditions: balanced overheads, clean and even tones, and consistent ambient lighting throughout the space. In these rooms, I can shoot wide, fast, and confidently with little post-production correction. I can trust my exposure and focus on framing and emotion.

But more often than not, I find myself in rooms that challenge every technical skill I’ve learned.

• Some rooms are converted hotel ballrooms with low-hanging chandeliers that cast unpredictable hot spots and harsh shadows on player faces.

• Others rely on colored LEDs that fluctuate in brightness or change color throughout the day, throwing off white balance in real time.

• I've shot events where only one side of a table was well-lit, forcing me to adjust settings for each seat rotation or rely heavily on editing to balance exposure.

• There are setups where monitors, digital screens, or stage lights flicker on camera due to incompatible refresh rates, requiring me to find angles that avoid these light sources entirely.

It’s not unusual to walk into a room where one table looks like a cinematic dream... and the one right beside it looks like a cave.

The Tools I Rely On

In these situations, gear preparation becomes everything. I always shoot with fast lenses—f/1.4, f/1.8, or at most f/2.8—because they allow me to keep ISO lower while capturing crisp shots in low light.

My go-to setup includes two camera bodies, both with different focal lengths so I can switch seamlessly between tight reactions and wide room shots without wasting time changing lenses. 

There are days when I have to accept that the light won’t be perfect—and instead lean into the mood it creates.

Some of my favorite shots came from tough lighting days—where the contrast was heavy, and the shadows added drama. That’s part of the art of poker photography: not just fighting the conditions, but learning when to work with them.

Pro Tip: Always check lighting conditions from multiple angles and player positions before the event starts. Don’t assume consistency—move around the room and check how light falls on each table. This will help you anticipate exposure settings for different areas and avoid under- or over-shooting key moments.

Lighting in poker photography is unpredictable. Sometimes you win the lighting lottery. Other times, you grind it out with every bit of skill and creativity you have. Either way, you show up ready to adapt, adjust, and still deliver sharp, story-rich photos that speak louder than words.

4. The Waiting Game: Chasing One Shot for Hours

Shooting poker is 90% patience and 10% reflex. And sometimes, even that 10% is tested.

Most people assume poker photography is non-stop action—like shooting sports or concerts. But in truth, it’s the exact opposite. It’s long, silent stretches of observation. It’s mental endurance. It’s hours of watching, tracking, and waiting for that one defining moment that tells the entire story of a tournament in a single frame.

It’s Not About Luck—it’s About Prediction

Waiting doesn’t mean sitting idle. It means watching closely. It means understanding the flow of the game—who’s getting aggressive, who’s folding too quickly, who’s on tilt. Over time, you develop an instinct for when something is about to happen. It’s not random. It’s pattern recognition.

Instead of relying on visible emotion (which often comes too late), I track betting behavior, posture changes, or chip stack movement. When a player sits upright after a slump, I prep my shot. When someone starts eyeing another stack, I dial in. These micro-moments lead up to the real emotion—and if you’re already locked in, you won’t miss it.

Stillness Is the Strategy

In a world where everything is moving—cards, chips, players, blinds—you must be the one who stays still. I’ve spent entire levels standing in the same corner, knees locked, back aching, just to stay out of sight and maintain my angle. It’s uncomfortable, even painful. But poker is a psychological game, and my presence should never interrupt it.

And let’s be honest: the biggest moments always seem to happen when you’re just about to lower your camera. So you don’t. You wait.

Shoot With Purpose, Not Panic

Over-shooting is a trap many fall into—especially newer photographers trying to “catch everything.” But poker isn’t about quantity. It’s about precision. Shooting too much clutters your memory cards, eats up editing time, and buries the emotional gems inside thousands of irrelevant frames.

I shoot with discipline. I don’t press the shutter unless I feel a moment rising. And when I do shoot bursts, it’s deliberate—a two-second window, a chip push, a reaction, not 40 shots of a player checking their phone.

Pro Tip: Learn to anticipate based on betting patterns, not just expressions. Watch for players adjusting their seats, changing breathing patterns, reaching for high-value chips, or side-glancing at their opponents. These often signal an emotional reaction just seconds away.

Poker Isn’t a Game of Speed—It’s a Game of Stories

And stories take time.

As poker photographers, we’re not chasing chaos. We’re chasing clarity. The kind that comes in a moment of heartbreak, triumph, or revelation. These moments may be few—but they are unforgettable. They become the image that gets shared, the one that lives in poker history, the one the player remembers years later.

So we wait. Quietly. Patiently. And when the time comes—we’re ready.

5. Relationships on the Floor: The Unseen Teamwork Behind the Lens

Poker photography isn’t a solo job. While I may be the one pressing the shutter, there’s an entire network of people on the floor who directly affect the quality of my work — and more importantly, the harmony of the entire event.

Over the years, I’ve learned that building strong, respectful relationships with everyone on-site — from tournament directors to table staff, to security guards and even food servers — makes all the difference between just getting shots and truly becoming part of the event’s heartbeat.

Writers and Content Teams: The Real-Time Collaborators

Working closely with tournament writers and media teams is crucial. They’re crafting the narrative in real time — chip counts, player profiles, hand histories, and headline moments. I make it a priority to stay in sync with them throughout the day.

If they know a big hand is building or a notable player is on a deep run, they’ll tip me off — and I do the same. If I catch a great photo of a breakout player or a quirky moment that could spark engagement, I’ll pass it along. We feed each other. It’s a collaboration that ensures photos and words tell the same story.

Pro Tip: Be proactive. Don’t wait to be asked — offer key images that enhance what the writing team is already publishing. It makes their job easier, and they’ll remember you for it.

Organizers and Tournament Directors: Earning Their Trust

Tournament directors have the toughest job on the floor — managing structures, clock disputes, player issues, and logistics. They don’t need distractions. That’s why I always make it clear: I’m here to help, not get in the way.

A quick check-in each day, a respectful distance from key operations, and clear communication go a long way. When a tournament director trusts you, they’ll give you access others don’t get — early entry to the room, insight into the flow of the day, or permission to shoot unique angles without disrupting play.

Dealers, Floor Staff, and Table Bosses: Allies in the Trenches

Dealers are the unsung heroes of poker events. They’re focused, disciplined, and often under pressure — and the last thing they need is a camera flash or a blocked view. I make it a point to work around them, not through them.

I also talk to them — during breaks, after hours — and build rapport. They often give me heads-up on quirky table dynamics or emotionally charged players. And when they see I respect their space, they respect mine too.

That mutual understanding means I get better angles without needing to push, interrupt, or interfere.

Security, Maintenance, and Venue Staff: The Backbone

It’s easy to overlook them — the security guards, the maintenance crew, the food and beverage staff. But these are the people who keep the room safe, clean, and comfortable. They’re the ones who let you back in when you forget your badge, or warn you when a table’s being moved or a spill is about to delay play.

I’ve had security quietly alert me to a celebrity walking in, or maintenance tip me off when stage lights were about to be turned on. It all matters.

Even something as simple as learning names, saying thank you, or offering to send them a photo from the event goes a long way. When everyone feels appreciated, the energy on the floor shifts. Harmony becomes part of the workflow.

Pro Tip: Never act like your job is more important than anyone else’s. The smoother the team works together, the more space you have to create great images — and the more doors that open for you down the road.

Photography Is a People Job Before It’s a Camera Job

At its core, poker photography is storytelling — and you can’t tell a story well if you’re not connected to the people living it. Respect the room. Support the team. Be the kind of professional that people want back at the next event.

In this industry, talent gets you in the door. But relationships? They keep you there.