Reflections From the Road
These essays are also available in video form on my YouTube channel.
Composition Rules Were Never Instructions
Composition is taught as a set of instructions. Fill the frame. Find the subject. Watch the light. Learn the rule of thirds, and place the horizon somewhere other than the center. Master these first, students are told, and only later decide when it's acceptable to set them aside.
What a Photograph Was Always Supposed to Prove
A photograph has always seemed to promise something no other kind of image could. A painting interprets. A drawing invents. A written account depends on the judgment of whoever wrote it. But a photograph appeared to sit closer to the world than any of these, because it was made by a machine that recorded whatever stood in front of it. The camera opened, and light did the rest. Because of that, a photograph came to feel less like a statement about the world and more like a piece of it, carried back intact.
What Makes a Photo Feel Meaningful?
Old family photographs rarely survive because of technical quality. Focus drifts. Exposure varies from frame to frame. Colors shift over time into something less accurate than whatever was originally in front of the camera. None of those flaws seem to weaken their hold.
The Rest Goes Out with the Tide
Loss can move in both directions. We lose people, and we also lose the version of ourselves that existed with them. In Sealskin, Jeff Dworsky’s photographs sit in that space. They aren’t distant observations of someone else’s life; they are the life. His children grow. The seasons change. Work is done and undone. And then something shifts, a presence is gone, though the photographs never name it.
Forget the Rules
And sometimes it’s okay to break the rules.
I know. That sentence shouldn’t exist. Not if you believe every red correction you ever got in school. But here we are. Sometimes a rule is a handrail. Useful on the stairs. Useless in an open field.
The Americans as Cultural Revolt
When I first opened The Americans, I didn’t know whether I was more eager for Robert Frank’s photographs or Jack Kerouac’s introduction. As a photographer, I wanted to dive straight into the images. As a writer, I wanted to hear Kerouac set the tone. It’s rare for one book to pull me both ways at once.
Telling the Story a Little Differently
Lately, I’ve been doing a lot more writing.
I’ve dabbled with blog posts and articles over the years, but it’s always been sporadic—something I returned to when time allowed or when a particular story asked for it. Now, I’m trying to be more deliberate…
Still Looking
I used to think the best photos came from faraway places.
Morning fog in the Alps. Golden hour in Morocco. Some crumbling archway…