Process

I've pushed the next step of the book-making series back two weeks. One of my favorite creative people died, and this issue poured out of me the day I heard. So we'll get back to the book soon. Let’s start off with a quote. That’s a quote from Dutch artist Wim T. Schippers I came across it in a short video the Stedelijk Museum made about him. I’ve bookmarked it to go back to, as a reminder that this is what photography is. In one sentence.

Dear friends, I’ve been looking forward to this so much! This week we start the real work of making a photo book or zine, with Step 1 from Process Workbook Vol. 5. Over the course of the next few months, I will take you along with every step of the process, as if you’re sitting right beside me in my studio as we create my next photo book: NOTICE Journal, Vol. 2.

Dear friends, I was taking pictures of Greg in a Brooklyn studio. My friends Willem, Jimmy, and Paul were there too, all shooting on different formats. I chose to shoot with my Pentax 67ii, with its big satisfying clunk of the mirror and shutter sound. The session went well. I got the frame I wanted, the one I’d been building toward all afternoon. Then I went to take the roll out of the camera. Then…I accidentally let go. Just for a second.

Dear friends, In 2014 I read a short essay that completely changed the way I work. It was called “No More Forever Projects,” and was written by Diana Kimball Berlin. I still think about it every time I start something since. The core idea is simple. We tend to load our starting moments with promises. We announce a thing as lifelong, ongoing, a movement, the start of something big. We tell ourselves the weight of that promise is what gives the work meaning. Diana noticed the opposite was true.

Sharing doubts in a safe warm room and coming out better for it Dear friends, Last Saturday, thirteen photographers spent a full day together in London for the first ever in-person Develop Workshop, co-hosted by myself and Shane Taylor of Framelines. I can still feel the warm afterglow and I want to tell you what made it so special. Sometime next week, we will share short video which will show you the room better than I can describe it, but for now I will share some stills in this issue.

How to Shoot Expired Film: A Test for 26 in 2026 Dear friends, A few weeks ago I loaded a Mamiya 645 Pro with a roll of Kodak Ektacolor Pro Gold 160 ISO filmt that expired in the year 2000. The camera was built in 2000. The film expired in 2000. And the people I’m about to photograph for my next Community Documentary project, 26 in 2026, were all born in 2000. I love when a project tells you what it wants to be. 26 in 2026 is exactly what it sounds like.

Dear friends, I sat across from sixty-eight people in one day, inside a hand-painted former church at the edge of Amsterdam. Here are two of my favorite portraits from the day: Ruigoord: Maarten van der Horst / Iris Freie The church sits at the center of Ruigoord, an artist village on the western edge of the city, surrounded by the industrial port but never swallowed by it.

Dear friends, “In my films, I always wanted to make people see deeply. I don’t want to show things, but give people the desire to see.” That’s Agnès Varda speaking. I came across the quote recently and I loved it. There’s a difference between showing someone a thing and making them want to see. Showing is a one-way transaction. The desire to see is something else. It’s contagious. It’s the part of photography I care about most.

Dear friends, Last summer I went to Ukraine for two weeks and made the most meaningful body of work of my life. I’ve been quietly editing it ever since. This fall, it becomes a book and it will be called NOTICE Journal, Volume Two(NJV2). NJV2 is built around a question: what does it mean to hold on to normal life when the world around you is anything but? I photographed family life in the countryside and in the city.

Dear friends, Last week I was walking to the post office to drop off some book orders and when I turned onto a side street I saw something beautiful. A brick building, a big tree, and a shadow falling across the wall in a way that only happens for about twenty minutes a day. The branches looked drawn on. The brick was glowing. I slowed down and stared at it as I walked past. I thought about detouring for a quick shot, but the post office closes early and I figured I’d be back in five minutes.