All right, let's do this. Peanut, if you're staying in the room, no talking. Hello and welcome to the Photo Work Podcast, the talky and touchy feely version of my book, 40 photographers on process and Practice. Hello, everyone. I'm Sascha WOLFF, recording from CPW in Kingston, New York, and joined as usual, by my friend and producer, Mr. Michael Chovendalton. Hello, Michael.
Hello there. It's been a minute.
It's been a minute. How are you?
Oh, doing well. We actually had a fantastic show at the JKC Gallery last night. It was one of our bigger turnouts. You know, this has been a real community building exercise for me in Trenton, New Jersey, and we had some nice success last night, so good.
Congratulations.
I'm riding a high from that. That's great.
Oh, that's really wonderful. I'm happy to hear that. Yeah, right on.
Yeah, it's been good.
That's so important. I mean, that's what's happening here at seatt.
That's right.
Yep.
Speaking of what's happening here at cpw, if there's some noises that are not common throughout the podcast, this is both really frustrating for you and I, but really exciting also, which is that cpw, who had moved into this old cigar factory a couple of years ago and had. Have renovated their first and second floors, are starting renovation on the third floor. This is a massive, massive old factory, factory building. So these are. Each floor is a huge project. And they are.
It's kind of funny because every time I go there and there's something new renovated, I think, oh, wow, look how far they're coming. And then you see what's still empty.
I know, it's amazing. It's such a huge, huge building. But they're actually making artist studios up on the third floor, which is really exciting for everyone from the people who will wind up with those studios, but also to folks like me who just love the energy of artists being around. So the more the merrier. But you might hear some hammering and stuff today, and it's gonna make recording coming up complicated, but we're working on that schedule. I also just want to apologize for this long break since our last podcast. It's not because we aren't fully devoted to the podcast. We are, and we love doing it so much. But I just had my. I had my second knee surgery. It's been a. This is so boring. But I'm. I'm just, by way of apology, had a very big knee surgery in November and just had another one four weeks ago. And I really can't get in a car, do any. I mean, today is my first day that I'm here at CPW since the surgery. That's how devoted to the podcast I am, people. I got my ass into a car, but it's just tough. Long recovery, but hoping to be back to recording on a regular basis in about a week. So.
Yeah, the good news is you only have two knees. They're both done.
Right.
Exactly. Yay. Bring on the shoulders. No, just. Just. Just joking. Just joking. Yep. And so we have this one, this podcast. Our guest for this show is wonderful, Curran Hadelberg. And we have great, great guests coming up, and we will start rolling the pods out again regularly. Even if I'm limping into work, we're
gonna just strap a microphone to you.
That's a scary thought.
That's right.
So tell me, McD, what did you think of this conversation?
Well, Kern Hadelberg is perhaps one of the most genuinely nice people you could ever sit with. I mean, it's just incredible. And, you know, the one thing that I kept thinking about as he was talking about the way he works is empathy and just a care for humanity throughout the show, and it was just wonderful. His approach to photographing people is, I think, somewhat unique in how much he wants to share with them. And what resonated with me is, you know, the change in his life, Having a partner, becoming a father, and how his practice changes because of that, and, you know, just time commitments and all those things. It's so very human and so beautiful and. Yeah, I mean, just a beautiful episode.
Yeah. I mean, I love Kerr, and he's really the person you hear today is who he is. He's a real empath and has just this endless interest in other people, and it's genuine. And it's so unusual, if I'm being honest. I think most of us, you know, have curiosity, of course, about other people, but it has certain limits. And with Curran, it seems to be sort of limitless. And, you know, listen to this conversation. You'll really understand how he makes the work. And it all sort of comes together in a way that's just very beautiful, very moving, and sort of seems inevitable, ultimately, I think.
Yeah, absolutely. And also a little more maybe, nuts and bolts, how one body of work turns into another body of work. How River's Dream leads to Blood Green.
Right. You're talking about two bodies of work and two books. Blood Green, Exactly. That came out fairly recently, and that's sort of the anchor to today's conversation.
So Just two things before we go. The Photo Work Senior Fellowship applications close on March 16, so get those in. If you have not done so, you can find out more information at PhotoWork Foundation. And also, just an appeal. At the end of every episode, I ask you to give us the five star review if you think we so deserve it. But if you could really rate and review the show on either Apple or Spotify, that would really, really help us out.
So.
Yes, right, exactly. Well, without further ado, why don't we get to it? Michael, if you don't mind, please take it away.
My pleas. And here is your conversation with Curran Hadtelberg.
Curran Hadelberg, welcome back to the Photo Work podcast. It's great to have you back on. So psyched.
Thanks for having me, Sasha. I feel like you're doing the good work with this podcast, and while it's not my comfort zone to be on this side of the mic, I am happy to do it and be a part of the good things you do. So thank you.
Thank you. I was actually thinking, I don't know if it was a workshop, but we did. What did we do recently? What would you call what we did a few months ago together? Was it a retreat? No, I don't know what it was, but we had fun. We got to hang out and work with a bunch of eager, delightful strivers, some photographers, and, yeah, give them our takes on their work. It was like a few days of critique, I guess.
Yeah, it was lovely to have that setting that was not only a beautiful place, but I feel like it had the right intimacy, you know, I think there were only about eight folks there, so it was nice and small, and it didn't feel as much like. Like you're on a stage as much as you were in someone's living room, you know, so it was comfortable and in a way that. That put me at ease anyway. So.
Yeah, no, I'm with you. I really enjoyed that. Yeah, we were in Western Mass, and it was gorgeous. And, yeah, it's really one of the lovely things about our community, I think, is there's so many of these opportunities, and obviously, you know, they cost money most of the time. And so it can be tough for many people, I'm sure, but these things do exist. And if one can manage to, whether it's portfolio reviews or things like this, it is a really lovely part of our community. And nice, I think, for people like us as colleagues also to get to spend time together. And also for me, like, I loved hearing your thoughts about people's Work like that was. I learned a lot, you know, like, I feel like that in and of itself is, you know, reason to do something, like just to get to spend time but also hear what a colleague, a respected colleague thinks about work. Yeah, I was just really loved that.
Yeah, I'd share the same. You know, it was great to hear your inner monologue about other folks endeavors and to hear them out loud. So that was very cool. I mean, it was also just nice to touch base with community. I feel like, I feel like maybe a lot of photographers, I don't want to speak for anyone else, but I feel like a lot of photographers are drawn to the practice because we're kind of lone wolves, you know, and like so much of what we do exists as a kind of like solo pursuit, you know, Definitely. And you put these things out or you have a show or whatever happens with your work and you don't always know how it's landing or if, if it's just like getting spit out into the ether, like you don't know what people think about it generally. So it's, it's cool to, to be in a room where you have a sounding board to share ideas and exchange thoughts and just kind of get that feedback loop going. So that was cool for me.
Do you feel like, do you feel like, you know, I'm not in the city anymore full time. I'm upstate. As most people who listen to the podcast know. You are in Baltimore, which is a city, but you know, is not New York City or LA or Chicago.
Sure.
Or San Francisco or even Atlanta, which has a pretty vibrant photo community. I mean, do you feel like between, you know, maybe not being in a major city, but also like the demise of the photo gallery because there's so few photo galleries in the United States now, I can't speak to other countries. I really just don't know. But you know, I know that since I got into this world about 23 years ago, I think it was, there are less photo galleries by far than there were. I mean, it's sort of mind boggling. I don't even know if a photo only gallery has opened in New York in the past 15 years or 12 years maybe. Do you feel that? Does that like have an impact on you as far as, you know, what you were saying about feedback and. Because I know when I first started and there were more photo galleries, it did feel more alive and vibrant in that way as far as gatherings and hear people's thoughts about work that was being made, like current work. And you Know, work that was on everyone's mind.
Yeah.
What do you think?
I feel like it's difficult to know and how to answer properly because so much of that community based vibrance that you were talking about seems to stem from the electricity of New York, you know what I mean? Like, it's such a. Yeah, there's such a swell. It's almost like a glut of excitement and engagement and it's such a hyper social environment that I feel like it's easy to meet really incredible, talented people in the photography community. Just by nature of living in a place like that.
Yeah, yeah, for sure.
So it's almost. It's almost like a cheat code or something like. Or a fast track to community is to like live in a place like New York where there are, you know, a number of photography galleries. So I think a lot of that's New York maybe. But then also so much of my. I guess the backbone of my community all stems from grad school. You know, I think those are still like the kind of essential pieces of the puzzle for me in terms of conversation about photography.
And you went to Yale, so. Yeah, tell me about. We're not doing a sort of bio like we do because you've been on the show before and we'll direct people to that because there's so many other things I want to talk to you about. I mean, just say that sort of the occasion of dragging you on today is the publication of your new book, Blood Green, which is what we'll spend a lot of time talking about. But yeah, tell me about your Yale community. Those are still the people you check in with the most.
I think so on a certain level. I mean, like there's something to be said about the longevity, you know, like a lot of those relationships. We've all been pursuing a similar. How do I say it? I guess we've all been pursuing like this artistic goal, you know, together for the longest. So like there's something about the ease in which we can. We can talk about it, you know, and kind of.
And there must be a lot of trust, right?
Yeah, absolutely. I mean, trust. I don't really show my work to almost anybody, you know, like for better or worse, like I keep the lid on the pot while I'm in the middle of the making something. And pretty much the only the few exceptions aside from Cindy are people that I know from grad school. So definitely there's a trust there that comes from that long term relationship that give and take. But then the other kind of component of community for me has always come from books, you know, like somebody it's the thing I love about books is like their democratic nature, their ease of access for the most part to hold it in your hands and it doesn't feel like a stretch or strange to reach out to somebody who you don't know, but appreciate what they do because you've seen a book that they've made totally. So a lot of friendships have come about from that. And then lastly, you know, like. Or not lastly, but third like spoke on the wheel I feel like is from Higher Pictures. You know, so many of the artists that the gallery works with I've gotten to know over the years and it's the same thing, you know, so there's all this cross pollination in the photography world based on those three outlets, I think for me anyway.
And let me just clarify for folks that you mentioned, Cindy, Cindy is your partner who is a phenomenal artist, a painter and really just really quite incredible. And Higher Pictures is a gallery that represents you there in New York City in bright Brooklyn. And you've had a long. I guess you've probably been with them now for a little over 10 years or something.
Yeah, I think you're right. It's hard to imagine 10 years goes by like that, but I think that's right, 10 years.
Well, your first show was 2016 there, so.
Yeah. Yeah.
Well, let's talk about a couple of really exciting things. One for Kern Heidelberg fans is that your first monograph, Lost coast, has been reissued, second printing or second edition. And all your books are with tbw and we'll talk about that relationship. So that's available now for folks who and I have heard so many people lament the fact that they didn't have Lost coast, but now people can get that. And then your new book, Blood Green, which has a close relationship with your prior book, your second book, River's Dream.
Yeah.
And that's really why we're talking today. And it's right next to me here and it's an incredible book. Really different, I mean, very much a continuation of River's Dream. It feels like some sort of coda to River's Dream, but also surprisingly different in many ways. It's hard to get too into minutia because this is audio and folks won't be able to see what we're talking about. But I'm going to do a little bit of that today and people can see the photographs that I mention on the website once the episode comes out. But why don't you first Just sort of set up for people what the three books that you've published are about or what they are. You can answer that however you want, just briefly give people a sense of that. And then. Yeah, I really, like I said, really want to get into the new book.
Yeah, Lost coast came about because I found myself teaching at a community college in Eureka, California. And I was just kind of really stupefied by the place. You know, it's a small town, has some of the characteristics of industrial decline. But then against that, the backdrop are these kind of like otherworldly, exceedingly beautiful old growth redwoods and kind of towering cliffs that fall into the Pacific. And it's just a really incredible place. A place that still remains completely mysterious to me. So I made that work not thinking initially that it would be its own thing, that it would exist as its own book, but just because I was so drawn to it and found myself living in a place where I was only teaching two days a week. And then the rest of the time I was kind of just working on my photography. So you don't know it at the time, but that's probably the most generous amount of free time I'll ever have to. To work on a project.
Right. Well, especially now that you have two little kids.
Yeah, yeah. So that it feels, you know, I really like time travel back to that place in my life and think about how lucky I was, you know, so that kind of is how Lost coast came about. So the second book that you were mentioning is River's Dream. And that is a kind of investigation of the southeastern part of the United States. So much of it is anchored by an atmosphere of like hothouse, sweltering humidity. So like the weather is this constant character that persists throughout. And the last one that you mentioned, Blood Green, this newest one to me is very much a kind of a twin to River Stream. You know, it's. To me they're kind of inseparable projects, largely because they were made over the same 10 year window of time when I was working on River's Dream. So it's almost like the path that wasn't taken.
I feel like I heard someone or read somewhere or, I don't know, something about like Blood Green being almost like the B roll or. I don't know, but when I got the book, I certainly. That wasn't my experience at all. I feel like it's, you know, it's like if you listen to music and, you know, you pace it and edit the tracks one way, it could be very melancholy and if you pace and edit another way, it could feel very jovial or upbeat or like, I don't know if this is me really interested in your thoughts. Like, I don't know if it's my state of mind. So River's Dream came out, what, like four years ago or.
That sounds right. I think 22 maybe was when it was.
Yeah.
So again, it could just be like my state of mind. But River's Dream was tough for me. I mean, I think it's an incredible book, but I definitely felt like it's tough. Like it's not a particularly. Well, for me, it's feels claustrophobic and sort of anxiety inducing and, you know, I feel like I'm confronted with a kind of place where, you know, things are really not easy and there's a feeling like you get really dragged into this place and you might not get out. I think that's how I sort of felt with River's Dream and River's Dream. Just to be clear, I'll make a couple things clear. River's Dream and the new book Blood Greener are basically the same size. Right. And very similar design wise, stylistically.
Yeah, we wanted it to be a kind of like continuum, like a sort of extension almost of like the. Because they were made, all the pictures were made at the same time.
Right.
2010 to 2020. And because it did feel, to use your word, like a coda or an epilogue or a kind of last chapter, we wanted to bring the design elements from the first chapter from River Stream and inject those into this newer book. So, yeah, the trim size is the same. Same paper, same printing house, all pretty much the same treatment. It's just that the. The sequence and narrative maybe strike a different note.
Yeah, I think they do. River's Dream, by the way, for folks listening, is 65 plates, 65 images, and blood green is 35, so almost half the size. I found Blood Green to be strangely upbeat. I don't know if it's just me, if it's just because of the almost ending. The last three pictures, the third to the last, and then the second to the last, not the last one, but the third to the last one. We see a man who we've met in the very beginning of the book, but he has this huge smile on his face, which is not. Well, for me, wasn't expected. And then after that picture, there's an image of the sky that's just spectacularly beautiful. And I wouldn't say the final picture is dour, but it's not quite as peppy as the two before. So I sort of come out of Blood Green with a much less claustrophobic feeling and a much less sort of concern for these nameless but very sort of intimate look at these people. Which isn't to say that these people, you know, feel like they've won some sort of lottery. Like, obviously there's still signs of real struggle, as in River's Dream, but there's something that feels slightly more open and hopeful. Is that me? Is that the state of mind I'm in right now? Which would be hard to understand because I'm not in that state of mind. You and I were talking a little bit before we started recording about our, you know, anxiety about the state of things right now. So being scared to open the paper, it's tricky.
I don't know if I operated from some place of, like, emotional register that felt different, say, than River's Dream. When I was assembling the sequence and making choices about the edit, kind of all that I did know was that these were pictures that remained nagging at me, even though I thought the project was in the rear view mirror. So I think our impetus, or maybe my own impetus, is that when you start a project, you feel like it's going to contain every idea that you have and it's all going to coalesce and come together into this kind of resolved thing. And I think very quickly into editing a book, you realize that it's not only. Not everything that you thought it was going to be, it's maybe one thing. It's like a single thing, and it gets whittled down to something that's much more concise and narrow, and that's for the better. That's what makes it kind of sharp and pointed and effective. So I think, you know, if River's Dream is this, like, tree blood green were kind of these limbs on the tree that I had cut off at some point in service of the narrative I was trying to share. And when I looked at those branches that had fallen down, I felt like there was still a small story to tell from those images. So in that sense, it is kind of like a B roll or a cutting room floor situation that you were describing earlier. But, yeah, something about it just. It kept nagging at me. I kept wanting to return to those images that had been cut. And, I don't know, I felt like they had something to offer, maybe.
I really agree with you. I mean, I think there's so many images in this. First of all, I love that it's 35 images. I'm definitely a. I'm not gonna say proponent, because maybe that's too strong. And God knows, they're large books that I love. But I feel so treated. There's something just so wonderful to me about a book that when I get to the end, I still remember the pictures from the beginning because just a manageable number. And I still have a perfect short story where, you know, you can almost recall the opening lines when you finish. Like, it just is so tight and perfect that way. And you feel so connected because you almost feel like in your mind you can go through every picture, you know?
Right, right.
And I really love that about this book. And, you know, one of the things that struck me is that there's a few continuations and I don't know how to describe it. I'll try in this book. So a picture, and then you turn the page and there's another moment from the same scene.
Yeah.
And that sort of also felt like it was contributing to that feeling of being able to really wrap your arms around it. Like the whole thing.
Yeah.
And I just. I just really love that about this book. So let me ask you a process question, because you said, like, you said a couple times that these images in Blood Green were pictures that didn't make it into River's Dream, but that kept nagging at you. What form were they in that they kept coming back to you? Were they on a computer? Were they prints in your studio? Where were you seeing them, or was it just in your mind?
I think most. Mostly, like, primarily, I was seeing them in my head. You know, like they. If anyone's made a book before or worked on a sequence, you kind of know it inside and out. You've obsessed over it for so long that it's easy to call an image forth in your mind, you know, or not even call it forth. It's just there, even if you don't want it to be there. So I think a lot of times, you know, it's that thing when you wake up in the middle of the night or you're trying to fall asleep and something floats to the surface. And some of those pictures just kept doing that, but they also existed. A few of them had been made as prints because I thought I was trying to, you know, at the time I was making River's Dream, I was trying to jam them into the sequence somewhere so they were kind of more polished. And then some were just the raw flatbed scan files just that were living on my computer. So it was, you know, different. Forms. But you start to see, or I started to see a kind of prospect in which they could. They could all coexist, you know, like, even in a loose way. Before I sat down and started tinkering with an edit, I felt like I had a notion that there was something there to pursue. So.
So then what happened? You did you call Paul at tbw, Paul Sheik, and say, hey, I've got an idea, or what was that? How did the book actually come into being?
Well, for a long time, I never really thought of it as getting a kind of monograph treatment. I always thought of it as a different kind of gesture, I think, like, almost. Almost like an artist book or like. I don't know, it's like. It's like a different gear that you can shift into or something. I never thought of it as being this, like, completely, like, grand, refined thing that gets the treatment of going on press and all that stuff. So I thought of it more as a less precious artist book. And then at some point I shared it with Paul and he kind of was encouraging and excited about it. And then we kind of mutually decided together that it would be fun to treat it in the same vein as River's Dream. So felt lucky enough to go back to Italy and print it with this incredible team of people at Trifolio, this kind of place of magic where they make books in Verona.
And it wouldn't have been a simple printing because you have both color and black and white in here. Talk about the black and white work, because we're not used to seeing black and white from you and why you decided, first of all, you shoot large format and you're shoot. I think you shoot on film still.
Yeah, I shoot film, but I shoot Mamiya 7. So I'm shooting medium format for the medium format.
Yeah.
Yeah. The black and white was. You know, that's kind of a new thing for me. It wasn't something that I set about intending to do. I mean, those are all color negatives that I made, black and white. So the black and white was certainly an afterthought. So many times I feel like a picture doesn't work because it just doesn't have the proper impact. And it was funny how so many of the pictures weren't working in color, but I still felt had a kind of merit and kind of. It just felt worthwhile and important. So it just led me down the road of trying them in black and white. And for whatever reason, it seemed to work for me in the sequence of pictures. So the black and white Thing was almost like stumbled upon just through trial and error and seeing how things would land.
I mean, it must be nice in a way that that's opened up a lot, right?
It still feels like such unfamiliar territory to me because so many people I love and respect, you know, they're so devoted to black and white as a choice. And in my case, it feels almost like haphazard or arbitrary that I landed on that decision. So it's interesting. It's all kind of fresh and unproven to me in some way.
Well, I have to say, I'm sure you feel that way because you are so humble, genuinely. I know you to be genuinely like that, that in our last podcast that we did, and I asked you to go over your journey, you left out that you'd been in the Whitney Biennial in 2019, and I had to insert that into the intro. So I know the way you are, but I have to say, you know, we're seeing so many books now and exhibitions that are combining black and white and color to very, very popular decision, and right now, and I think a lot of people feel really liberated by that. And I have to say, like, I think you've done it as good as, if not better than most people, where there's nothing jarring about it. It doesn't feel gimmicky. It just is totally seamless to the point where you almost don't even realize it's happening. And so I think that that choice worked out really beautifully for you.
So thank you, Sasha. I mean, it's certainly like, one of those things that still feels a little strange, you know? No, I'm sure I still feel constantly kind of leveled by how little control I have over the work. In a way, it's like I am in the trenches, making every last tiny detail accountable and that it should matter and these, like, micro choices the whole way. But on the other hand, I just feel like the work tells you what it wants. You know what I mean? Like, I didn't choose. I didn't set out choosing to make black and white pictures, but for whatever reason, for this particular project, I found myself printing black and white pictures. You know, it's strange how it happens is all I'm trying to say.
Well, but I think it's also, you know, you were open to that and able to recognize that, you know, and this is something I talk to young artists about all the time. And you've hit on this a number of times, just as you've been talking about the importance of decision making and, you know, not letting the camera do all the work and then you're done, or the landscape or, you know, whatever that, you know, you've got to get in there and make a lot of really difficult decisions and set parameters that are very difficult, which is what you were talking about when you so beautifully earlier talked about. You know, you start with a million ideas and you might end up with one because that's what serves the project best. It's like, I think you said, to make something, you know, as sharp as it can be. It's like, in order to make great work, really remember all that is involved with being an author, you know, and it's grueling, I'm sure, at times, but it's so important to make those decisions and to be sensitive to. And that means that if something. If you're shooting in color, of course, and the color is not actually doing anything for the picture and might even be taking away from it, but you still got some really interesting content or form in there, well, you know, you realized you had another choice, which is, you know, might sound obvious in some ways in retrospect, but of course, is not obvious at all. Especially you've devoted your artistic life to making color work. So I think it's a really important lesson. So one thing that I really learned about you when we did this, we spent this time together a few months ago teaching. I really learned how much time you spend with people. I had a sense of that. But I was really captivated and quite moved by some of the stories you communicated to a group of us about the way in which you meet and interact with folks and your sort of endless interest in other people that goes way beyond something that is, you know, about making a picture. Can you just talk about in the process of making your work? And if you want to just stick with this project, with River's Dream and Blood Green, that's fine. But you don't have to be specific at all, either. But can you talk a little bit about that, about your way of entering into a community that's not your own and how you navigate that space?
Yeah, I can certainly try to. Let's see. I think the perspective I use to make my work is kind of always the same. So across all the projects, there hasn't been much straying from the sort of core principles. You know, anytime I'm working, whether it's in my hometown or somewhere that I've never been before, I think what I'm trying to do is make photographs that are born out of a moment of shared Intimacy and hopefully landing in a place of trust, respect, and a kind of mutual curiosity. You know, I think at its core, the most important aspect of what I'm trying to do with my work is it's about human exchange and the kind of. The kind of recognition by one person by another that's always kind of in the recipe. So that's, to me, what kind of yields the most surprising and most revealing and. And kind of deepest levels of understanding and empathy. You know, it's just sharing that time with somebody. And that's without a camera also, you know.
Right.
No, I know. I'm sure the vast majority of the time is without a camera. I mean, that's my sort of sense of things.
And it's one, you know, that durational aspect, that time component when I'm working of trying to, like, really get to know somebody, that's such an important thing for me. And it's one reason, you know, I've never exactly felt comfortable linking my work to a kind of road trip ideology or tradition. I've kind of always been slightly weary of that label because of the stories that are perpetuated by those traditions. You know, like, rather than a deep investment, oftentimes the work feels like the encounter is in the space of just a few minutes, you know?
Right, absolutely.
And I have nothing against that. So many incredible photographs and bodies of work have been built around that approach. But for me, it feels important, at least at this moment, to invest more time. This wasn't always the case. You know, when I first started, I think there was that thing where when I was photographing somebody, the interaction would last a few minutes, you know, or an hour. And again, I'm not knocking that as an approach. It's just for the moment that I'm in with my work, I feel like the longer haul is more what I'm interested in.
Yeah, I mean, look, there are artists who I, you know, who make work that I absolutely revere and go back to time and time again that are not working as intimately or coming from as intimate a space as you are. And so I'm with you that there isn't a one size fits all. You know, we're not trying to say that, but I will say there's no.
Like, that's the crazy thing is there's no rules. Right. It's like, no.
Agreed.
And I think in general, as a viewer, the end justifies the means, you know, Like, I have so many heroes in photography that don't spend a lot of time with their people, that they Photograph. And I should say that I've always used the road or driving as a jumping off point for my work. I do know that when I was first starting out, that crisscrossing the country approach was my first love in photography. That feeling that I got doing that was my gateway drug. It was so loose and free and exhilarating. But all that said, I think I've personally just shifted away from covering great distances in short periods of time in favor of staying put in a place and then developing longer relationships with the people I meet and photograph. So, yeah, all I'm getting at is that I'm not roving around as aimlessly as I used to. Instead, I'm purposely seeking contact in order to connect in a deeper way. So maybe this is obvious, but the more you get to know someone, the more complicated and rich that relationship becomes. Things are revealed through conversation and experience, and over time, a kind of trust, intimacy and vulnerability can develop. And maybe no guarantees, but maybe it produces a kind of shared understanding that translates into the photograph. But again, this only happens by spending a lot of time together. And what I found out is that at the end of the day, there's really no shortcut for that time commitment.
Well, I will say that the intimate connections that you forge that are, from what I know, really quite genuine and are born out of real interest in the other person and their interest in you. And I know that you share a lot of your. Who you are with folks, the intimacy is in the pictures. And I just really urge people to get your books, collect your books and really study that. Because again, I'm not saying that everyone should shoot the same way, but I think it's really important to just be able to recognize that. And then you can. You can decide how you want to interact with folks and people make all sorts of choices. A lot of people are not comfortable photographing strangers at all. And so they don't, you know, and that's fine, right? I mean, it's like we don't want all work to be the same, but it's really important to be able to recognize these things and this language.
Yeah. I don't know if, like, this shift, you know, over the past decade or whatever with my. With my work, I'm not sure, like, what the timescale is, but I don't know if this shift towards, like, spending more time with individuals and families and communities, I don't know how much of that has to do with this contemporary moment we're in society in which it feels like human disconnection. Is, like, greater than ever. So I don't know how much of it is a response to that, but I certainly feel aware of that in our moment.
It's hard not to have that front of mind. I think, and I certainly think in all of your work, that, you know, you and I were talking before we started recording, as I mentioned, about the sort of current state of affairs. And I was saying to you that one of the sort of mental exercises that I go through every morning when I open the paper is I see the sort of daily poll about support for our government and I feel angry with my fellow citizens. And then I immediately. I don't want to be angry, and I know it's not fair because a lot of people are just coming from a place that's so different from my own, and I want to be able to understand that. So I'm sort of doing these mental gymnastics first thing in the morning and bouncing around in different emotional states. And I think that work like yours is just so important for the time we're in.
Yeah, I mean, it's so just to kind of echo what you said. Like, it's so easy to feel disheartened. It feels. It feels so dire most of the time. It's so easy to feel disconnected from people in our country, you know, and that's not only the people who are just like us, but also the people who we feel are different from us. And I just keep thinking, you know, like, if you're trying to make work about America, but have never met someone who's not in your little orbit of routine, who's just like you, you're gonna fail. It's not gonna work.
Yep, I agree. So tell me a bit. Just going back to process. When you go to Paul with your images, I wanted to get to this a little earlier, and then we veered off. But how much do you then work with Paul on the edit and the sequence? And how much had you already sort of decided ahead of time?
Paul is an amazing collaborator and has, like, brilliant ideas, and certainly ones that I never would have arrived at on my own. He's. He's got this, like, this kind of endless reserve of interesting things to bring to the table at all times. So he's incredible as a collaborator most of the time. In regards to, like, a sequence, I've spent probably too long isolated by myself tinkering with it. And so when I bring it to him in my mind, it's pretty close to finished, or maybe I've already deemed it to be. To be Done. Which isn't to say I'm not open to Paul's input and what he has to say, but a lot of the times it's pretty close, and then there's some things that might change towards the end, but that we agree on mutually. So with the images generally, it's pretty far. Pretty far down the line. As far as all the other essential ingredients for bookmaking, that's kind of Paul's wheelhouse. So, yeah. Yeah, he certainly is invaluable in that way, making all those decisions to arrive at the final thing.
This is maybe a goofy question, but are you lying in bed at night sequencing in your head?
You know, it's so hard to unhook from, like, from work mode for me.
Yeah.
And the new reality of my life is that I have to wear a lot of hats, you know, like, I'm a partner, I'm a father, and I'm an artist. So you're constantly switching hats in real time. And so it's really hard for me to do that quickly. So, like, yeah, oftentimes I'll be driving home from the studio and I'll realize midway through dinner that I'm still in work mode. You know, I'm still flashing images in my head or moving things around. So, yeah, it's difficult to disengage from that headspace. For sure.
It's a good thing your partner is an artist.
Yeah, yeah. She certainly understands my insanity to some degree, and vice versa. You know, if I've been doing a lot of childcare and then I walk into the studio, it's a challenge for me to, like, step into that way of thinking also.
Yeah.
So I have to allow myself a little bit of grace period in between those things.
Is it still a fulfilling life to be an artist for you?
Yeah. I mean, I don't know what else I would do, honestly. I mean, I feel lucky that I even get to try to do this thing and I'm not aware of any other pursuits that allows me to be so in touch with my own curiosity. I love the surprise of an artistic problem coming into view out of nowhere and then trying to meet it with an open mind. I always seem to find myself shocked when I'm photographing because walking around with a camera allows me to ignore what I know in favor of what I don't know. It's the thing that makes me feel alive a lot of the times, you know, it's certainly the thing. One of the things that gives me self worth. And, yeah, I think being an artist remains Completely fulfilling when you're making work.
Are you? Cause you're a very. I think of you as a very sort of emotionally in tuned person, sort of just to use current terms like high emotional iq. God, I'm embarrassed I even said that. Anyway, think about yourself in the work as much as you think about your subjects. Does that make sense or should I try and tease that out better?
Yeah, maybe follow that thread. I'm curious to hear more.
Well, I think of your work as this incredible. These sort of overviews, well, extremely intimate, of regions of the country and the people who live there and work there. But I also think of your work as like any great, what I would call post documentary work, very much poetry and which is to say that it is also very much about your inner life, that it feels very, very personal. And, you know, that sort of connects back to what we were talking about as far as the way you work. But do you think about yourself in your work either when you're making it or when you go back and look at the pictures you've made?
I don't think I think about myself consciously. I do know that, you know, I often think of this thing that someone mentioned in grad school. I couldn't even tell you who it was, but it kind of stuck with me just that the making of art is filtering the outside world through the inside one. So in that sense, I guess I think of myself as a kind of filter that absorbs the world. But when I'm working in the moment, I'm not theorizing or conceptualizing anything about myself. I'm just kind of in it, you know.
And what about when you see it afterwards? Even if, you know, a long time has gone by or whatever, do you recognize who you were at that time in the work?
Sometimes, but I don't know how much I, you know, I don't. I might think about like a emotional state I might have been in, or it might. It might call back a kind of like, wow, that was a. That was a beautiful day, or like, wow, that was like an awful fucking day, you know, and those things might surface, but that. I don't know how much that affects, you know, choices being made, at least in terms of like editing. As an example. A friend of mine told me that as photographers we're only capable of making self portraits and maybe there's some resonance.
Yeah, that's sort of what I'm asking. Yeah.
Yeah. I mean, how, in a sense, like, I haven't really thought about it, but how can it not be, you know, like.
Right. I agree.
Yeah. Everything that you're seeing is passing through the myriad of experiences you've had, the way that you walk through the world, you know, it informs everything that you do. All the books you've read, all the movies you've seen, all the conversations, whether they're right there at the forefront or not. All that stuff is informing the choices that we make. So I had this quote written down in a notepad and I looked at it the other day and it seems. Seems like it fits right into what we're talking about. But I'm not sure if this is the correct pronunciation, but I know it's a French writer named Anais Nin and it's a beautiful and beautiful thought she said we don't see things as they are. We see them as we are. Yeah, I guess you can't remove it. You can't remove the self.
Well, I'm happy about that because I love who you are and I think that you out in the world with a camera has been a wonderful gift to those of us who look at photography. So thank you so much, Curran, and thanks for doing this again with me. I know it's like your least favorite thing to do, so I.
No, no, I'm happy to do it for you. And the sentiments are right back at you, Sasha. So thank you.
Well, please send my love to Cindy and yeah, thanks. Thanks again and we'll get you on for the next book.
Thanks, Sasha. It was great talking with you.
All right, babe. Bye.
Bye.
Photo Work with Sasha Wolff is a production of the Photo Work Foundation. Executive producer is Sasha Wilson and the associate producers are Taylor Salzback and Noah Lynn. The show is also produced and edited by me, Michael Chovendalt. In a real photo show music is by J. Walter Hawks. If you like the show and wish to find out more about the foundation, please visit PhotoArch foundation and be sure to subscribe and review with all the stars on your listening platform.