Last week, I got a text message from my friend Michelle, who works at the National Gallery of Art. “Lunch tomorrow or Thursday?” followed by “Come see the movie in Little Beasts. It starts at the top of every hour. I would love to discuss it with you.” Not only was Michelle one of the first people I met when I first visited DC in 2014, since then, she’s become a close friend and the National Gallery has come to be my happy place in DC. In fact, some of the best art and photography shows I’ve ever seen, including Sally Mann: A Thousand Crossings (Catalog), Gordon Parks: The New Tide, 1940-1950 (Catalog), Outliers and American Vanguard Art (Catalog), The 70s Lens, and Mark Rothko: Paintings on Paper (Catalog), to name just a few, have all been at the National Gallery. I’ve also learned about artists I’d never heard of before, like Rachel Whiteread, Philip Guston, James Castle, and Elizabeth Catlett, among others. And in nearly every case, when I’ve had the chance to walk through a show with Michelle, through her knowledge and experience of art and materials, I’ve come away with a deeper understanding and a greater appreciation of the nuances of both art and artists.

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Whether it’s a sheet of old plywood resting on a couple of sawhorses or a fastidiously crafted hardwood masterpiece, the workbench has long been the centerpiece of studios, workshops, garages, and maker spaces of all kinds.

Of the many standout features of our house, I think I was most excited about the multiple basement spaces that I would be able to use as studios for the different things I do. The previous owners were makers — she was a painter and he was a woodworker whose wood shop occupied one of the basement spaces. When we bought our house in 2016, I remember telling Adrianne that I wanted to make one of the spaces my paint studio and that I would make some benches “on day one.” Well, day one didn’t happen, nor did week one, month one, or year one. In fact, it’s taken me nearly nine years to finally build benches for my studio. So what happened?

See the photos I reference in this episode on Substack: The Ballad of the Benches

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The other day, I was going through my archive of work ahead of a website redesign, and I found a blog post that I wrote in 2014 that’s sort of an homage to my all-time favorite camera and how after finally acquiring one, I couldn’t bring myself to actually use it. Ten years later, I think the post is still relevant to how some photographers and artists have a tendency to fetishize the tools they use. I know that was me once. For what it’s worth, I think photography is unique in that, because it’s art and science, the potential proficiency of the craft often gets conflated with having the “right” gear. The irony is that it really is the purposeful practice of using our gear, whatever it is, that allows us to get better — to see better. I bought my first SLR in 1982 and I have enjoyed taking pictures ever since. Over the past 40+ years, I’ve used a bunch of different cameras and I’ve enjoyed almost all of them for different reasons. But the one thing that they have in common is the ability to look at the world through a viewfinder — and for me, that’s where the marrow is. As convenient as it is to have an iPhone camera in my pocket that captures fantastic pictures, I love the restriction of a viewfinder and I always have. It lessens the visual noise of the world (to a greater or lesser degree depending on what lens I’m using, of course) and it allows me to practice seeing. In fact, it demands it, doesn’t it? After all, you’re only given a tiny swatch of the world, surrounded by black. What you put in that swatch is up to you, whether you’re observing a scene or creating one from scratch. Photography allows us to impose a point of view on the world around us, or to build one from our imaginations that shows a world we want to see.

See the photos I reference in this episode on Substack: It's Still Just a Tool

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I love making things, whether that means making a conversation with someone or making a piece of art or writing, and getting to do that fairly unfettered is a massive privilege and it’s not wasted on me. That said, it’s okay to be disappointed in what you make — and maybe not disappointed with the end product itself, but in the reception or how it gets received. It’s okay to be disappointed that other people don’t love it as much as you do — because you poured yourself into it, so of course you love it. But then when you release it into the world and the world just shrugs, it’s okay to be disappointed with that.

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NOTE: To see the photos that I reference in this episode, see the post on my Substack.

On one of our recent morning walk and talks, a group of photographers and I were talking about how much worse Instagram has gotten over the past few years in terms of exposure and engagement. We all agreed that it seems like most photographers we’ve spoken to about it have very similar feedback. Subscribers, reach, and engagement are all a fraction of what they used to be. And the platform that was once all about sharing images no longer seems to care about images at all — instead they prioritize short-form video in a desperate attempt to compete with TikTok and YouTube. But in the process, I think the platform has lost its way and has just become a vapid mechanism to spoon-feed ads to users. To be clear, there are still a bunch of terrific artists and photographers on Instagram — which is the main reason I haven’t left — but that’s not what gets served up to me by the algorithm. Even the people I follow are in my feed less and less, which makes very little sense to me. I’ve told you “this is the work I’m interested in” and yet that’s not what you give me. So the whole experience just keeps getting more and more disappointing — and we haven’t even talked about the “Tech Bro” leadership, which is a whole other thing.

One of the photographers in the conversation asked whether I’d tried Flickr as an alternative. I told him that I used to be pretty active on Flickr — especially when I was still teaching Photoshop — but honestly, I don’t think I’ve logged in since 2017 or 2018 when SmugMug bought the platform. I said that I’d really been enjoying the upswing in artists and photographers on Substack so I hadn’t really considered other alternatives, especially one that in my mind had been all but dead for years. Still, he encouraged me to give it a look and later that afternoon, I was kind of amazed to see that my old login credentials still worked. The homepage feed looks different than I remember it, which is probably a good thing. What surprised me the most is that when I clicked on “Photostream” in the “You” dropdown, I still had more than 300 photos that I was sure I had deleted, but I’m so glad that I didn’t. It was amazing to see some of the things that I was focusing on from 2007-2011. Most of the photos are of architectural details, which I still love to photograph, but many of my photos from that time are street portraits and I remember the stories around every one of them.

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Reinvention is tough. Disrupting old patterns of beliefs or behaviors is tough. Even when we finally decide to disrupt the flow of familiarity, the fear of the unknown that awaits us can be paralyzing. I know that it has been for me. But one of the things that my therapist routinely encourages me to do is to sit with discomfort — to force myself to pause and breathe and stave off the instinct to move into “fight or flight” mode. In sitting with the discomfort or the pain or fear, we reduce its power and we might be more able to move through it to whatever is waiting on the other side. For me, I think that’s the possibility of making more work that I find interesting, finding an audience that will value it, and becoming more connected with a broader community of artists and makers.

LINKS
Better Than Ezra
Kevin Griffin From Better Than Ezra Advice On Songwriting
Do schools kill creativity? | Sir Ken Robinson | TED
Kevin Griffin (Wikipedia)
The Greatest Song by Kevin Griffin

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Yesterday, Adrianne and I went out to one of favorite little coffee shops to have breakfast and spend the morning working. About an hour in, I had this urge to check Instagram, which I rarely do, especially lately. In fact, I haven’t really done much online or on social media since the election — I actually leave my phone home more often than not — but for whatever reason, I stopped doing my Morning Pages and picked up my phone and checked Instagram. The first post I saw was a story from Wesley Verhoeve. It was a photo of my friend Pableaux Johnson with a caption that read, “Rest in peace, Pableaux Johnson. Beloved by so many, a true culture documentarian, and a New Orleans treasure.” I was stunned and, in the moment, I honestly didn’t understand what I was reading. My first instinct was to respond to Wesley with, “Wait what? Pableaux is a friend of ours. What is this news?” Wesley responded, “He passed away. I’m sorry to bring you this news. I discovered it this morning from various other posts.” After a brief search, a story on on nola.com confirmed it with, “Beloved New Orleans photographer, foodie Pableaux Johnson dies after collapse at second line.” I just sat there in stunned silence as I felt my eyes well up with tears. Adrianne looked up and said, “What?” I just held up my phone so that she could see the story. “Oh, my God,” she said. “Is that real? What is that?” She grabbed her phone and began searching for confirmation.

I re-watched Dead Poets Society recently and in learning about Pableaux’s death, I was reminded of the first stanza of this poem which was featured in the film.

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time
By Robert Herrick

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he’s a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he’s to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.

LINKS
Wesley Verhoeve
Pableaux Johnson
Beloved New Orleans photographer, foodie Pableaux Johnson dies after collapse at second line
Red Beans Road Show
Share Your Favorite Memories of Pableaux Johnson

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I’ve held off on posting this Iteration because I just didn’t feel like it was that important in light of what’s happening in California. But after some reflection, I actually think that it is important, because art and making are still important. Hope is important. Helping people to feel just a little less alone and trying to connect with them wherever that may be is important and it’s what I try to do with these Iterations. I write about my thoughts and experiences in the hope that it may help you navigate your own.

LINKS
American Red Cross
The Los Angeles Regional Food Bank
The Animal Wellness Foundation
The California Fire Foundation
Dark Matter
Labyrinth
Blake Crouch
Apple TV+
Texas Shakespeare Festival
Alabama Shakespeare Festival

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I don’t know about you, but this is by far my least favorite time of year. It really starts around Thanksgiving, but this stretch between Christmas and New Year’s Day is particularly brutal — and it’s not just because I spent the first 48 years of my life in Southern California and still haven’t gotten used to the cold of the East Coast, but yes that. And it’s not just that I’ve lost both of my parents and Christmas has never been quite the same, but that’s part of it too. It’s more that I find it extraordinarily difficult just to be present. I feel caught between looking back on the previous 12 months and looking ahead to what I would like to do differently (or better) in the year ahead (but in all likelihood won’t, at least not to the degree that I tend to expect from myself). I suspect that I’m not alone in at least some of this. When I shared this with a friend, they responded, “Yeah, I feel the same way. But also the feeling and fear of the inevitable sameness as the previous year(s).”

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A few weeks ago, I took the train down to DC to meet up with my friend Richard Boutwell to walk through a show at the National Gallery called The '70s Lens. The show features the work of a bunch of fantastic photographers, many of whom I’d never heard of, and that was one of the reasons I wanted to go through it with him. Richard is a terrific photographer who specializes in western landscapes, mostly New Mexico, Arizona, and California. In fact, for years his grandfather was a park ranger in Joshua Tree, so he knows the park like the back of his hand. But as talented as he is behind the camera, he’s an even better printer. Richard has probably forgotten more about printing — both in the darkroom and digitally — than I will ever know. On top of that, he’s got an almost encyclopedic knowledge of photographers. As we were walking through the show, he was telling me all about this picture and that — why they are considered important, and in some cases, how the various photographers influenced each other’s work. It was similar to walking through exhibits with my friend Michelle — who is a paper conservator at the gallery — in that the additional context helps me connect with the work in a different and often deeper way.

LINKS
Richard Boutwell
The '70s Lens
Hollyland wireless mics
David Bowie: Full Interview (1995) | MTV News
OTP (episodes 177 and 352)

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