Working it out.

#024

McDowell County, West Virginia. June 2019.

I’ve been making a lot more pictures lately. It feels good to be making new work even if there are just slivers of ideas that are propelling me forward. I don’t care for not being able to articulate what I’m hoping to make; I just feel it. While it feels good to be making new work, I struggle with non-linear thinking and not following a blueprint to the letter. I’m trying to work with two parts of me that feel very much at odds with one another: fluidity and rigidity.

I love the freedom and flexibility of wandering around in my truck and following the light or the road and looking for the next picture. Then there’s the part of me that thrives on structure, order, and a plan. I mean, I set our coffee pot to go off at 5:30 a.m. most days and when I empty my pockets, I organize the contents from largest to smallest. Yes, that is a thing I do.

So, I’m working this out and finding a way to make space for these parts. There is a difference between having a strong work ethic and literally planning or structuring the magic right out of something. I’m still learning.

Martin County, Kentucky. November 2019.

I’m working on two bodies of work right now. One is far more artsy or conceptual work than I’ve ever made and the other is more structured but with enough breathing room to allow for some pleasant surprises. Part of this process has been going through my archives and looking for pictures that might fit what I’m envisioning. I’m early into both of these projects, so I’m still figuring out both the visual language and narrative language of how they’ll take form and develop over time.

If it seems like I’m being oblique about these projects, it’s because I am. I’m excited about the pictures I’m making and holding pictures back isn’t usually something I’m good at unless I’m working on an assignment and I’m waiting for the publication date. Even then it can be hell. I think in our modern era of instant gratification, it feels different, odd even, to not publish you like (or think others may like) as soon as you create it. But, I’m really trying to let these bodies of work build up a bit before I send them out into the world. And I’m trying to think non-linearly about them, too.

Monongalia County, West Virginia. February 2020.

Today, I had my local blueprint shop make two 40” x 50” engineer prints (one from each project) to put up on one of my studio (read basement) walls. I’m drawn to the idea of living with big prints and seeing how they work (or don’t) over time. If you don’t need to be picky about print quality, but you just want to see work on your walls, I highly recommend engineer prints. Mine were printed on 20-pound paper and cost $18 each.

I’ve mentioned before that I believe photographs work best in book form. If you’ve read this newsletter for any length of time, you know I’m a believer in photobooks (and prints). I enjoy making maquettes with low-end, laser jet prints and a glue stick (read last week’s newsletter). Earlier this week, I printed, cut, and glued the series of pictures I wrote about here into a small accordion notebook I bought from Jackson’s Art Supplies in London (England, not Kentucky). I’ve been making this series since 2008, but all these are from 2024. Here’s what it looks like:

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• I remain entrenched in Irene McKinney’s Unthinkable: Selected Poems 1976-2004. I’m also reading Art Can Help by Robert Adams.

• I’m listening to many episodes of the PhotoWork podcast. (I wrote about it here.)

• I watched Adolescence on Netflix and it was intense.

• I really miss the Fuji GA645zi camera I sold years ago. I never should’ve let that camera go.

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Roger