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, photo work. 40 photographers on process and practice. Hello, everyone. I'm Sasha Wolf, recording from Woodstock, New York, on a very cool and crisp fall morning. And I'm joined, as usual, by my good buddy, my friend, my pal, and my producer, without whom I would be lost, adrift, confused. For sure I'd be making two episodes when it should be one.
Mr. That was a call that I think could have gone both ways.
I was like, dead set. And now I'm dead set in a different way. But as Emerson said, a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds. Mr. Michael Chove and Dalton. Hello, Michael.
Hi there. Yes. So people have no idea what we're talking about yet?
None.
But they will very soon. The episode is a little longer than usual, but not long enough, I thought, to break into two. And I think people are okay with longer episodes. In fact, I remember some time ago when we were really, like, wondering what people thought of the show early on, and people would say, like, oh, you could have. That could have gone longer.
Right. I was convinced. Not sure why. Unclear. Maybe it came to me in a dream. But I was convinced that all episodes had to stay under an hour.
Right.
And we're going to blow that out of the water today. Our guest was the wonderful, extraordinary, delicious Gregory Halpern. And we just. You know, I love Greg. He's a friend of mine. I am completely, thoroughly in love with, seduced by his work. And between my adoration for the person and my respect, deep love for his work. I really wanted to talk to him for the entire day, but. So the episode is long and. Yeah. So I thought it should be two episodes, and I think you were leaning towards one. And I know you know best. It's like a Father knows Best situation. So we went with just one long episode. And then you said, we'll keep the intro short, which, by the way, is already.
That's right.
That. That's.
We keep talking about how long it.
Short intro. What? This cannot be.
Yeah. Just on that note, I mean, you can tell everything you just said. You can feel it in the episode. And even sort of the. The formalities are just gone. Just got in this show.
Right. Yeah. Wow. Greg and I have known each other for a while.
Yeah.
So. Well, before we get to the episode, we have a few announcements. I just want to actually quickly give a shout out to our jury. Applications closed about a week ago for the Junior Fellowship. We had over 240 applications, which is really wonderful. About a 20% increase from last year.
Amazing.
We've thrown those applications to our jury and so a huge thank you to them. Amanda Bow, a photographer and photo editor at the New York Times. Shane Elopes, who's a curator at San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. Leslie Martin, the executive director of Printed Matter. Noah Lynn, an associate editor at Aperture, and Jenya Friedland, who's a photographer and an educator. Those wonderful people make up our jury this year. And I'm really Nice lineup, great lineup. I'm so grateful to them. So thank you one and all. And I can't wait to see who they choose as our six fellows for this year. So super exciting. What do you got?
So, picture House, the small darkroom. This Saturday, October 26th, which, depending on when you're listening to this, could be tomorrow from 4 to 6pm, Matthew Gentempo will be discussing his new book, Dog Breath, published by Trust Me. And they'll be selling the book, and I imagine he'll be signing the book. So, I mean, that's fantastic. That book is just beautiful, beautiful, beautiful book.
And I wish I was going to be there. I'm giving a talk at Bard for the photo students on Monday, and then I have to be in the city on Tuesday. So I just. Matthew, I love you, but I couldn't do that. Sort of a back and forth, back and forth.
Well, I plan to be there.
Yes, I know. I'm going to miss you guys.
Yes, I know. That was our plan to get together, but we'll figure something else out.
Yeah, well, you have to. You should come up. I mean, I know you're in. I know you're in New Jersey where they have trees. I do realize that.
Yes, trees.
But I want to say that the fall colors are so. I have a Japanese maple tree.
I love Japanese maple.
Right next to my house. It is so red. It is extraordinary. I've been walking around Woodstock and the surrounding areas for the past couple of weeks, like a person who's never seen fall before. Like, I. I'm so enamored with, like, everything I'm seeing is so breathtakingly beautiful. I'm overcome.
So I have to get up there soon because we have drought fall in New Jersey. We're not getting the big colors.
Oh, yeah, no, the colors here are really, really. They're so extraordinary. I'm sorry, people, this is probably so boring, but I'm gonna say it Anyway, they're so extraordinary that there's a tree. I'm not even sure what kind of a tree it is that we walk by. And when I say we, I mean Peanut and I, we walk by every morning, and it's dropped the most incredible array of small leaves. They're about the size of a quarter. They're really small. And every day I've picked some up, and now I have a beautiful wooden bowl on my dining room table filled with these leaves. I just. I'm so.
I definitely want to come up and see all of that, so.
Yeah, all right. Anytime. Time. So we haven't even really had a chance to talk about it because I've been so busy with foundation stuff, getting everything ready for the jury and whatnot. And honestly, I think I wasn't really worried because I felt really good about the conversation as I was having it and feeling like Greg was sharing so much, which I'm really grateful to him for. But anyway, what did you think?
No, that's exactly right. Greg is brilliant, but also very open and just shares so much of his process. Very personally. I think my favorite part is sort of throughout the episode, what you get is this sense of Greg, you know, just thinking about and paying attention to the idea of when you're the photographer, when you're the editor, and when to sort of get out of the way and let people have their own experience with the work. And it was just so meaningful, the way he approaches everything. And I just loved it. Absolutely. Yeah. I learned so much in this episode. It was really fantastic.
Yeah, me too. I feel the same way. Yeah, it's a very process driven episode, but it's so personal at the same time. So I think that there's a lot in this that people can learn from, but in a very really connected and generous way. So.
Absolutely.
Well, okay, let's get to it. I hope people enjoy as much as I did this very beautiful episode with my friend Gregory Halpern. Michael, if you don't mind, please take it away.
My pleasure. And here's your conversation with Gregory Halpern.
All right, you ready?
I'm ready.
Here we go.
Cool. I like this. I feel like I'm on fresh Air, you know? This is awesome.
Oh, my God. I gotta stop laughing. Gregory Halpern, welcome to the Photowork podcast. It's so great to have you on.
Thank you, Sasha. It's awesome to be here.
So let's just be honest. We had to set up a quid pro quo because I couldn't catch on the show. Otherwise.
Quid pro quo.
We did. I mean, I was trying to get you on the show for a while. Didn't want to come on the show. And then you asked me to come up to Rochester to meet with some students of yours, and I had to. I had to sort of pull. It was a version of myself. I'm not proud of, by the way. I just want to say, not proud, but nonetheless, I. That's my dedication to the podcast. I was willing to be mean, Sasha, and I said, greg, my friend, I'm going to come up to Rochester if you want me to come up to Rochester, but you got to come on the podcast. And. And you said, okay, so, you know.
Rochester is not that bad. Come on.
No, I had a great time, actually. You had. You had excellent students. You had excellent students for your summer session. Yeah, they were great.
We know. We had an awesome time. I had. Actually, I had forgotten that we had. I had twisted your arm that way. Sorry about that.
And I was like, I have to. I have to twist it back.
Yeah, we had a great time, though. It was. It was fun.
We did.
Yeah.
Yeah. Students loved you.
Of course.
I really loved your students. There was. You had one student in particular who?
Paul. Paul Bothwell. Right.
He started to cry. Yeah. And it was. You know, it's just one of those things where so interesting. Like, I. I thought about this when I was driving home in a terrible rainstorm that night and trying not to drive off the road. But I was thinking about him, and I was thinking, I wonder if he's embarrassed. And I was so moved by his deep emotion as we. I mean, what he was reacting to is that I understood what he was trying to say, and that was in his work. And, you know, for me, the experience was so positive and one I'll likely not forget because it just, you know, reinforces something we all know about, how powerful it is to be known when we're trying to communicate, and in this case, through art. But I was just thinking about, like, I wonder what his experience was of that moment. I wonder if, you know, we're sort of feeling some of the same things or. He left, you know, feeling at all awkward while I'm feeling so blessed to have had that experience.
Yeah, I don't. Anyway, I think he didn't feel awkward. It was. That was a beautiful. That was a beautiful experience. You know, as a teacher, it's like, it's always such a juggling act. I'm trying to do my work or, you know, be a. Be a dad. And then Teach. And it's like, I feel like I'm really struggling and sometimes I don't have the bandwidth for it properly. And then you have a moment like that where. Yeah. He'd been working on a project for many, many years about his family, and I think he just. You got it. And he felt it meant so much to him, you know, that he felt, like, seen and that you got the work. And it was like. I think he said to me, you know, it hasn't been a waste. It was like. And that really. That was profound. It was sad to me that he thought again, Yeah. I mean, it was so. That was beautiful, though. That was a very cool experience. I mean. Yeah. It's like. I guess with photography, it's so hard to know if you're communicating, if it's landing, if someone absorbs it the way you intend it to. And it's painful when it doesn't feel like it's working.
Right. Of course. Right. Or if it's land. I mean, and this is so incredibly relevant to your work, but you're someone who wants to make sure that you are leaving a tremendous amount of space for the person looking at the work to have their own experience. So, you know, what is landing. Right. Like, some artists, like Paul really want to get a certain message across. And then there are artists like you, who. Well, let's. We'll talk about that. But before we. Before we get into that, will you do what we always do, which is telling the listeners about yourself and your journey, where you grew up and how you got to where you are today as a professor at RIT and a really celebrated photographer and artist?
Sure, yeah. I had forgotten that you do that. And I was.
Me too.
I don't have my. I don't have my version. I'll figure it out right now on the spot.
Yeah, well, you know, your life. So just.
I feel like I tell this story maybe too much, but I don't know how to start talking about, like, me and photography without it. So I'll just start with. When I was 14, my dad brought home this book of photographs from the. From the grocery store. It had been remaindered. It wasn't a successful photo book, but it was by this photographer, Milton Rogovin, who lived on the west side of Buffalo where my dad still lives. And they were pictures of people taken every seven to 10 years over the course of 20, 25 years. And so. And the book was called Triptychs, because he visited people three times. And art was not like a thing in my family. My grandma on my mom's side was. She made these ceramic, I guess, little sculptures of nude women and men. And she would take these live. The arts. What's called the Art Students League in New York.
Yeah, Art Students league, yeah. On 57th, I think.
Yeah. Okay. So she would go there with, like, live models. And so she was, like the artsy person in my family, but my parents weren't, like, art was just not a thing other than that. And then I looked at this photo book, and I burst into tears when I was 14. And I always just think about that moment, like, still so, so profoundly. Like, I can just feel, like, the carpet under my. I was, like, sitting on the rug, you know. And anyway, after that, I kind of knew that I loved photography. But, you know, after that, you have to see the book, really, to understand. But you see. You see people age, you see babies born and people die, and it's this amazing, very. It's just simple. The most simple project you could imagine.
Totally. You know, it's very straightforward documentary.
Yeah.
Style work, which not to be confused with anything having to do with street photography, because usually the people are posing in their homes or where they work or on the street where they live or whatever. But it's. It's very. Yeah. Straight ahead.
Yes. Yeah. And I liked that it wasn't. It didn't feel like it was trying to be art or trying, you know, it was just what it was. And that's how Milton was, too. I got to know him a little. He was just a sweet, you know, straightforward man. That sort of cemented something for me. But it took. It took, like, another 10 years before I was, like, ready to say, I'm going to commit to being a photographer, because I just didn't think you could do it. It just didn't feel like an option. And I didn't study photography in undergrad. I took a couple courses with Chris Killip, which was an amazing experience.
Yeah. I'm sure.
Who. I just got back from a memorial service for him, which was very moving. Yeah. I took. I took electives in photography because that was. That was as much as I was willing to. I couldn't commit to. To it beyond that. But he was amazing teacher, amazing person. And then a few years after undergrad, I decided to take the plunge and go to graduate school, where I went to California College of the Arts. And I had another, like, set of incredible teachers. Larry Sultan, Jim Goldberg and Todd Heido.
Pretty good.
Yeah. I got. I got very lucky.
And you really found your voice, I think at that. In that phase, which was interesting. And I want to really ask you about that because I think that evolution is really fascinating. But I do just want to, like, bring us up to today, which is, you know, you moved east and you've been a professor at RIT for, I think, what, five or six years now?
It's 10.
Oh, wow. Ten. Holy cow.
Yeah.
From Buffalo and living in Rochester. So embracing the cold. I was actually meant to ask you before we started recording how cold it was there this morning because it's very cold in Woodstock right now.
It was 40 when I woke up, which was very disappointing.
Oh, it was 32 here. Oh, yeah. Oh, frost on my. Thank God. Yesterday I got my herbs in the ground. Anyway. All right, so much to discuss. You know, I'm glad you brought up Milton Rogovin because I think it's fascinating, your evolution from shooting in a sort of Rogovian way, which you were doing when you were at Harvard and you really started, as you said, you were taking photo electives and working with Chris Killip, which is amazing. But you were really shooting in a very Rogovin esque way. And I am also a huge Milton Rogovin fan, and he had a big impact on me as well.
Oh, I didn't. I didn't know that.
Yeah, I actually had the incredible fortune a very long time ago. This was probably about 2004, I'm going to guess, of a few years before Milton died of helping to place a very, very large quantity of Rogovin photographs with a collector.
Wow.
I won't get into the whole story, but I, you know, I got to look through hundreds of Milton's prints, and I wound up with three of them, which, sadly, after 2008, when I had an art gallery to feed, I had to sell. Oh no, Hart. But anyway. But I got to. I got to live with them on the walls for. For a bunch of years. And that was. That was really exciting. And, you know, what is art but something that you, you know, you're a custodian of for a while and then, you know, you pass it on, so it's okay. But, yeah, big Milton McGovern fan. So cool.
I didn't know that.
Yeah. So it's really fascinating to me that you were, you know, I know you. You love Larry's work. I mean, I know you love that type of work and Todd and. And poetic type of photograph. Obviously, that's what you do. But I think it's fascinating when someone also reveres a type of artwork. But it's not in them to make it. And that sort of moment where you realize, you know, I really love this, but it's not really the voice that wants to come out.
Yeah.
Did you have that moment where you thought, wow, I really love this, but it's just ultimately not who I am?
That's a good question. I think what happened was I realized as a young photographer I was just trying to be Milton. And I think that that's like a thing that a lot of people do and kind of have to work through. And at a certain point I felt like, at least aesthetically, I felt like, oh, I can kind of do my own version of Milton. And that was like. That was exciting, you know, but it also, ultimately it's. It wasn't sustaining because it felt like I'd figured out a few, you know, some technical tricks to like, get your. Your work looking like someone's and all that. But it didn't feel like. Yeah, it didn't feel like it was my voice or I guess I got bored. I felt like I had created a formula or something that I was following or a machine. And also the first work I did was a very political kind of activist work, which. Which, you know, again, I felt like I had set myself up with a project to make a point about, you know, one thing in the world that bothered me and that I thought should change. And the photographs were really working towards that agenda. And it felt totally unfulfilling to me. And like, to this day I'm very skeptical of any. I became an activist, like a political activist for a number of years and I. I'm skeptical of like, people who are certain, 100% certain of like, what needs to happen or what's how to fix a problem or. And I'm skeptical of art that is that clear about the world. I just. I don't trust it because having made a body of work and I know how I edited it, I know the images I cut that were decent pictures, but that didn't work for the agenda. Like, I know. I just. I know how I told that story in such a way that, yeah, I was like, in some ways I've been reacting to it ever since because I felt like. And that was like a seven year gap between that book, which was called Harvard Works, because we do, which was basically the union slogan, and seven years later to my next book, which was called a. Even the title is like the polar opposite. It's like the first title is very clear what I'm saying, and the next title is you're not even sure if it is a title. And so there was a seven year process of me like going to graduate school thinking about photography and trying to like think about it as its own language and how I. How I want to speak it. You know, that was sort of that. That time period for me where I really thought I was lost for a lot of that time. But in retrospect it kind of like felt like a totally natural seven year process of like reading and thinking and looking at photo books and opening my mind.
Yeah, and you emerge out of that, you know, going from black and white, very straightforward document type work where I'm sure you were grappling with what is the truth. You know, my position here in this activist work is that I know what the truth is. And I know you well enough to know that there's no way that was a comfortable fit and which I love about you and the forever existentialist and then emerging into the light or dark or both with the book, the book A and then of course, you know, everything that came after that and you know, Zyzzyx, Omaha Sketchbook, Confederate Moons, east of the Sun. That is not in chronological order. I'm just rambling or rattling off your titles. And then we get to where we are today. King Queen Knave, which is your new really magnificent book with Mac that I don't even know if it's available yet. We're recording on the 15th of October. Is it available yet?
It is actually. Yep, it is available.
I'm sure it's probably sold out already.
I was really shocked and happily surprised. They printed 3,000 and apparently they're getting ready to do another print run very soon already.
Yes, I'm sure, I'm sure it's sold out in pre order. Well, first of all, you know, huge congratulations on the new book. It's really extraordinary. And as someone who knows your work very well, it's really been amazing for me the past couple of weeks to really be looking at all your work, thinking about your work, thinking about the differences in your work, the similarities, the way it's really become very much a photograph that we're presented with. We the viewers, the photographs that we're looking at from you are really Greg Halpern photographs. And yet the emphasis from project to project, I would say between, and I'm going to use this word very, very loosely but between fact or document and fantasy or dream, light and dark, literally light and dark, metaphorically saturation levels. These differences really ebb and flow from project to project while maintaining you know a real through line as far as the visual language and as far as subject matter and your way of looking at the world. So that's my analysis. But I want to ask you.
I like that. I like that analysis, by the way. I feel seen good.
Okay, that's awesome. Hopefully we can maintain that through the rest of the conversation. So let me ask you a really macro question before we get into sort of. Although maybe it's not even a macro question. I guess I'll let you decide. But in this day and age, I feel like so many of the books, the photo books that I look at, that I have, that I get, rely heavily on text. Text I think is really in right now as a compliment. I'm not talking only about academic text, which has always been a big part of photo books, but also I'm thinking of like Jess Dugan writing really beautifully for their last book as almost sort of prose poems throughout. I'm thinking of Kelly Connell, who created this just sort of masterful pictures for Charis project book where the pictures are woven in with basically a memoir, which is quite extraordinary. But many books in sort of that vein. Right now you are, you are on the extreme other end. This is another book of yours with zero text, which means that when you approach it, if you don't know if you haven't Googled or you don't know you or you're not in our ecosystem, you don't even know where the pictures are made. There's no titles, there's no nothing. So tell me about that decision and how you think about that. Pros and cons.
Well, it's interesting you mentioned Google because it does feel like it's not that hard for someone, if they're intrigued or curious or put off or whatever to figure out, you know, you can find say the publisher's description or something. And in a way that's a crutch that makes it easier to do like what I'm interested in doing, which is to make these. I think of them as just objects that exist in the world that are there to like, to be like, received hopefully by a viewer and. And for the viewer to sort of read them. I think of it as like reading because I want them to be active and, you know, analytical and have feelings and investigate the feelings and complete the work in a way. I'm not a huge theory person, but there's this famous Roland Barthes essay, Death of the Author, which I do, I do love. And I just, I like that idea that like the author is sort of Dead. When the work is put out into the world and then the viewer, the reader kind of like breathes life into it through interpretation. And. I don't know, I had experience with. With occasionally with like, a Japanese photo book, for example, where it was. Where I couldn't read anything. This happened to me a few times. And I found that experience to be quite profound. And I loved it. I really loved not being able to read about the work. I mean, I could. I knew I could find it if I wanted to, but I didn't feel like I needed it. And I think in some ways, I'm also still reacting to, like, that earliest work I made, which was, like, there was so much text and politics and, you know, multiple essays and oral histories, and it was. It was a bit of a lecture. Like, the experience was a bit of a lecture. And I felt like. I felt like I was condescending towards my viewer. And I was. I also feel like you. You. You've said there's astute observation that, like, I'm not a good activist because I'm always, like, uncertain. And I think that the work is like questioning.
Questioning.
Questioning. Questioning. Yeah. And that's how I, like, think about the world, is. It's just question after question. So the work, in that way feels really honest about how the world feels to me at times, you know, I.
Think your work is a question. That's the way it feels to me. I mean, some people put out bodies of work where they're really leaving a lot of room for the viewer's interpretation, but they have a pretty good sense of exactly how they feel or exactly what they're saying. With your work, I almost feel like you're a viewer also, you could feel differently about your own work from day to day. You could have different interpretations of your own work. There is so much left unsaid and unknown in your work that I can't imagine that you're not in the same position to some extent that we are. I mean, I know you know where the pictures were made, and obviously with your portraits, you're not a street photographer, so they are in collaboration with your subject, and there's a certain amount of direction and whatnot. But I feel that your work is so much you somehow summoning, bringing forth your unconscious self into the pictures that I can't imagine that you don't. I mean, tell me whether this is right or wrong, but, you know, I feel like you must look at some of your images and just have totally different responses to them from day to day or month. To month or year to year.
That's interesting you picked up on that. I think unfortunately you're right. I say unfortunately because the oldest pictures in this book are like 20 years old. And I was going to do this book with Michael like a few years ago. And each year when the deadline got close, I said, michael, I just need one more year. And I did that three times. And it became like, absurd because, you know, I just. I'm fascinated with Buffalo. I go there all the time. I photograph there all the time. Like, I've been. I've had a lot of time to think about this and work on this, and I'm. I just still wasn't certain. I didn't feel like I had the right edit. I felt like there were pictures I needed to make still. And it was kind of. It got to a point where I think it was like, what's. Like, what's really going on here? Like, do I just. Am I scared of ending this project or something? But you're totally right. Like, I need. I need like a lot of time to. But ideally, like my prep, my favorite way to edit is to make the picture and then like, not look at it for many, many years. Because then I can, like, I can see it clearly, more clearly, you know, like, and I'm separated from that experience of taking the picture. I can, like, see it for what it is now as a picture.
Let me just jump in for a second. And also, you really don't want the editing process in the shooting process. I know that about most artists, but I know that is a particular stance of yours that's very important to you in the way you make work. And I think that's quite prudent. The editor, the maker and the editor are two parts of your brain and shouldn't be trying to work simultaneously.
Yeah.
So I can imagine that if you think there's still work to be made, you also are concerned about bringing your editor self in too early. And I'm sure that it must be really difficult to figure out when I even. I knew this conversation with you was going to be freewheeling, by the way. So here it goes. Because now I'm going to. Now I'm going to. Now I'm going to bring in Zyzz. Okay. I know that like with Zyzz, you know, you sometimes refer to Zyzz as a slightly post apocalyptic sort of vision, you know, a sort of theme that runs through Zyzzyx, which is this, you know, book that really, let's just say it clearly and not Beat around the bush. Sort of really put you on the map in the art world. It won the Periphoto Aperture photo book award in 2016, I believe it was, and just really catapulted you into the sort of public sphere. Everyone knows who you are, has known who you are since zyzzyx. A really magnificent book. But I wonder, like, even with zyzzyx, you know, if you start thinking, wow, this is sort of has this almost post apocalyptic, dreamy dream world feel to it, you know, at one. What point does that make you then start shooting that way? Like, because that's almost an editorial observation, you know. So I was actually thinking about, like, with Zyzzyx at one point. Did you go from just shooting zyzzyx to starting to direct zyzzyx?
Yes, I'd say. I think I would say that there were these periods of time where I would go back because I was living on the East Coast. I did move to LA for the last year to work on zyzzyx, but there were a good five or plus years of just going back and forth. And so when I would go back to the East Coast, I would look at the work. And that does inform how you go shoot the next time. Which.
Right, yeah.
Which can be helpful, I guess, in a way. It could close down your vision or lead to, like. Directing is an interesting word. Yeah. But for me it's helpful because I love to wander and I love to just go out and be surprised by the world. But I need, like, as the project goes on, I need to have a little bit more. I need to start closing off some doors.
Yeah. Putting parameters.
Parameters. Yeah.
Yeah.
So those, like, months, you know, months of, like, being on the east coast and looking helped me figure out, okay, certain things, certain subjects or places or color palettes or whatnot weren't probably going to work, you know, and then. And so slowly the feeling becomes a bit more clear over time. Does that answer the question?
Yeah, of course. And I mean, what it sounds like is that there's a period of just making and then there's a period of starting to think about putting up parameters so that you do have a clear color palette. The way you're working with light is consistent. And, you know, you want a certain amount of portraits, you want a certain amount of portraits of objects, you want a certain amount of landscapes, and you have to then start filling that out. But I'm sure it's a real balancing act with, you know, when do you invite the editor in, in a very sort of forceful way when, you know, trying to keep the editor from being too bossy and still leave room for experimentation and playfulness and surprise. And then at a certain point, having to have the editor completely take over. I mean, I'm sure it's. It's funny because when you think about the process, it's almost like there's two people, but of course it's you. It's just one person. And having to sort of divide yourself into two different people and you know, who's in charge when. And that negotiation, I think, is something that is so incredibly important in the artistic process, but can take quite a long time to figure out that negotiation.
Yeah, it's funny, I really get distracted by when I'm shooting digitally, for example, when I can see the pictures while I'm shooting. And it seems. It sounds silly and I've tried to force myself, you know, to work that way because it would be so much more practical. But I do feel like when I'm trying to be really present, photographing, I just need to be looking and reacting and not overthinking. If I overthink, I can get in the way. Yeah. There's these 10 rules for students and teachers that John Cage kind of made famous. And one of them, Rule 8 was, do not try to create and analyze at the same time. They are different processes. And I remember reading that and thinking, oh, okay, thank you. It made me feel like, justified in being, like, in separating them in my mind. But I also do rely on other people. That's really helpful for me. My wife, Andrea Parlotto, who's a photographer, of course, is crucial to looking at my work and being real. You know, she knows me and the work better than anybody, and so she's. And she's brutally honest, and that's really helpful. Jason Fulford, photographer, publisher Has. Was crucial to me, like, in my early years, like, making a. And then figuring out out early on, like, what Zyzzyx would be super helpful to me, looking at the work and putting it together. So those.
Having those trusted.
Yep, totally. I mean, I wish I could be the kind of artist that's like, you know, alone in their room and it's like this genius thing comes out. But it's. I need to kind of talk to people and see it through their eyes and then.
Well, I think that that's incredibly important. How can you. You know, first of all, we know that the idea of the sort of lone genius is that's been debunked because it's impossible to know how someone else is going to react to something. And, you know, we want. We're trying to communicate, for God's sake. So.
Yeah, exactly. Especially because I don't have text. I need to see, like, what's. How is this picture landing? What is it? How does it feel to you? And then to use that information, because I do want to communicate, you know, it's. It's not just like, I need to make this picture and put it out in the world for me. Like, I want it to, like, resonate and make someone feel something, you know, close to what I felt. So, yeah, I do. I do need, like, people to look along the way to tell me if it's doing what I think it's doing.
So what do you want people to feel? I mean, your work is. Let's. Let's sort of focus for right now on Zyzzyx and on King Queen Knave, because I think in some ways Omaha Sketchbook is a little bit more straightforward. And I would actually like to talk about why that is. But let's just start by talking about Zyzzyx and your new book, because they feel the most similar to me. I mean, just to be clear, XYZ is way more out there. You know, a lot of people have experienced Zyzz and been. And I know this because I talk to people all the time. And when it came out and for many, many years, it was sort of top of mind for a lot of people. It was quite puzzling for people, that vision that you conjured forth, you know, especially for people who didn't know, who didn't maybe Google and didn't seem to really know the, can't say, story behind it, but what your motivations were. I remember talking to a number of people where I sort of explained, I filled in some things because I knew a bit more than they did. And, you know, if you're just coming to Zyzzyx, it's quite disturbing in many ways. And I think, you know, that you've said before that you like making people uncomfortable in your pictures, and that's a place where you sit as an image maker often, not always. And then, you know, King Queen Knave is not off kilter in that way that Zyzzyx is. It feels more like a world that is recognizable, but it is also. I found it very provocative. I mean, the first third of the book, more or less, is very dark, literally, again and figuratively. And it was tough to push through. I mean, I don't mean that like, you know, I literally couldn't Turn the page. But it was. It's intense and you know, you then give us a bit of a reprieve that ebbs and flows somewhat. You know, it ultimately is, I don't want to say hopeful, but there's. It doesn't end with that intense darkness that happens and that sort of. That's going on in that first third, but it's still going to really push people into some uncomfortable places. So can you talk about that desire in you to take us to those places and maybe with the new book, maybe flesh out a bit what I'm referring to. Because I know you know what I'm referring to.
Yeah, I think they are really, in some ways they're made from really different places, the two books. Although there's definitely like some overlap in the sense that like they're worlds unto themselves and then each place has a specific, you know. Yeah. Sort of temperature, color palette, sensibility, maybe there's a feeling of magical realism that exists in both of them. So there's certain things that definitely overlap with Zyzzyx. I feel like to me it's. That's how. That's kind of how Los Angeles does feel is a profoundly. Like it's a place that is profoundly uncomfortable but also weirdly, stunningly beautiful at points and totally full of despair and yet also totally full of hopes, dreams, you know, with. With sort of a California psychedelic sensibility to like, the end of the world could be at any moment a city existing basically in a desert, you know, or right next to a desert. I mean, it does feel like fantastical, you know, extreme, extreme wealth next to an unbelievably massive homeless population. I mean, that's talk about uncomfortable. And what I like about, like, I don't want to make people uncomfortable just to be provocative, but when people.
No, you don't.
Yeah, like, I don't like when work does that. But for me, like, if I'm going to make a body of work that's inspired by Los Angeles. Angeles, and not take on the fact that there's like 50,000 people on any given night supposedly sleeping on the streets, you know, I mean, it's. That feels like then I'd be producing yet another like Hollywood vision of America. And that's fascinating to me that like this image, this like image factory that's usually, you know, portraying like upper middle class or upper class folks is in the middle of this city, which is a really. Can be a really dark place, you know. But Hollywood, of course, isn't ever usually go there. I mean, they probably do occasionally, but not usually. And, like, that interests me to, like, that was uncomfortable, that felt like a taboo to talk about. Like, to talk about Los Angeles that way. And I like. I don't know, I like talking about. I like bringing stuff into the pictures that is on people's minds, but that isn't spoken about. And so I think that's uncomfortable for people, though. I mean, for a number of reasons, especially now the work is read differently. I think people are increasingly sensitive to how, you know, for example, people on the margins are portrayed and, you know, rightfully so. But I think it's even more uncomfortable now for people. But it doesn't. That doesn't bother me, you know, because I think that's okay. I think it's okay for people to, like, sit with that and investigate why is it uncomfortable and, you know, not jump to any sort of, like, quick decisions about why it is uncomfortable, but to just think about that, you know, and also, like, those feelings change. Like, there's a first viewing and then over time, there's another viewing and to just. I think that's really interesting, too, to, like, look at a work more than once before you decide how you feel about it.
And then with the new book, which is an exploration of your hometown, Buffalo, New York, where you grew up and lived until you left for college, and a place where you go back very often, A, because you grew up there, and B, your father still lives there. You have family there and deep connections. You know, your ambivalence. Well, it's not ambivalence. I don't. That's not the right word. Your multi, you know, your feelings about Buffalo feel like a, you know, a tree with many branches, you know, and no branch sort of more dominant than another. In a way, it feels like a project where you just refuse to as. And I think that this is a real hallmark of you as an artist. You just refuse to pick a lane and somehow it all works out. It doesn't feel disjointed or there's no lack of cohesion. I mean, it's, if anything, the exact opposite. But it is so all encompassing. And as usual, as we're saying, that includes the darkness. And I wonder if that darkness is. If you feel it the way like I'm describing. I felt it. And if you see that in the pictures, if that's your experience, definitely.
I mean, the city. So, yeah, just I think, to back up, like, I'm fascinated by the life cycle and how to picture it. Yeah, it sounds dark, but I think death is one of those things that is on people's minds, whether they want to admit it or not. And it's one of those things that gives our lives meaning, to be aware of it. And because it's present, the seasons are, you know, the cosmos, and the seasons are like a reminder that we are very small and insignificant among these much larger forces. And I try to produce that feeling, which is one of the ways I try to communicate. And the life cycle itself is like a. It could be a. It could be pictured literally, you know, through like a. You know, a plant or an aging person. But it's there in a number of ways, too. Like, okay, so the city's history is hard to ignore. It was once an industrial powerhouse, but now almost all industry has left, and the city's population is half of what it once was, which is a pretty amazing fact to think about. Like, the number of empty buildings and houses and ghosts that feel present there. But it's not like a. It's not a hopeless place by any means. You know, babies are born there every day. People fall in love every day. And that was what interested me, was like life and death feeling present in the same moment, in the same picture. You know, entropy and, like, resistance to it. So it's like a theme. So you'll see images that reference gravity or the resistance to it. So, like floating and falling, images of brokenness, but also repair or rebirth. And there's this phrase that Robert Adams is. Sometimes people quote that I love, which is, he wanted to make pictures that affirm life without lying about it. And I, you know, I think about that, like, I do want to affirm life, but I think it's false. And it's, you know, the language of advertising to do that without acknowledging the presence of death and despair also, it just feels dishonest. So that's how I think of it.
Yeah. Those are those different branches of the tree. You know, a different artist might. And I see this all the time, might feel the need to choose one of those in the project. And that's not at all, you know, what you do.
I think for me, that's also, like, about embracing a lack of clarity or sort of singularity of vision, because. Which also feels sort of dishonest or disingenuous to me. Photographers sometimes do this because we're pointing the camera at things, but really what we're doing is excluding things with these four edges of our frame. And then we make these projects which exclude. You could think of it as selecting a subject, but really, you're Excluding stuff. And so I'm always thinking about what's outside the frame and how can I complicate the reality or make the reality feel as complicated and confusing as it feels to me. And so that's sort of another way. That's it.
Yeah.
Yeah, yeah.
Oh, I'm so glad you just said that, because I think that's exactly what it feels like to engage with your work. And, you know, so well said. And I think that's why it's both, you know, an overwhelmingly fulfilling experience and also sort of devastating. Right? It's like, oh, gosh, why does he have to include all these dark images? Why does. Why does. This is so hard to look at? This is. You know, but of course, you know, that's. That's who you are. And to be really honest about our experience here and not spare us and make us confront the difficult and do it in that way that is. Is so beautiful. And with a great deal of visual seduction, which I think is what art is.
And you know what's funny, though, is, like, sometimes I think the most, like, despairing picture is like, one of those mall pictures, you know, you would have gotten where you're just, like, painfully smiling so hard and you put on this, quote, like, nice outfit that doesn't quite fit properly and is uncomfortable. And it's. You're trying so hard to, like, push away the despair. It's like sometimes a forced smiling picture is the saddest thing I've ever seen. And it's like, for me, it's, like, less sad to actually look at the challenges around us and, like. And just see them and acknowledge them. So I know there's darkness in the book, but I don't. I guess I don't see it as, in the end, as like, a vision of total darkness or despair, because, no.
I don't think it is either. I think you just make us go through that tunnel and. But I really, really respect that. And, you know, I know from my own former life as a writer and a filmmaker that, you know, it was very hard for me to write things that were really sad because I would get really sad. I mean, you know. You know, you absorb that. So it takes a certain amount of, I think, bravery and fortitude to stay in that space. And, of course, that continues from making the picture to editing. And the editing process is often quite long, so you have to really sit with that. And I think that takes a lot. One thing I really want to get to, I think is really important. And I know you've Talked about this before is sort of the insider, outsider conundrum. You know, you've made work in places, incredibly comprehensive projects in places where you are not from. We've mentioned Omaha Sketchbook, which is, I think, a really stunning photo book. One of my favorites. One of the best, I think, that's been made, both in terms of content and also form.
Thank you.
You did a project in Guadeloupe when you won the Hermes Prize, other places. And then you've like Zyzzyx, of course, Los Angeles. And then you've. This book that we're talking about now is your Is your hometown. And yet, as I know you've discussed with this project, because you left to go to college and you don't live there now, you are sort of both an insider and an outsider. And I think that this sort of, you know, this topic is incredibly important. And I think that obviously going in and photographing in a place that you know nothing about is problematic, obviously. But there are also advantages a, because you see things with fresh eyes. But also there's something that happens when you photograph. Let's just talk about, for the sake of this conversation, a childhood home. You know, I've heard you talk about this project, this new book, and talk about the knowledge that you have of Buffalo because you come from Buffalo. But when I think about these pictures and I think about this project, I don't think about your knowledge of Buffalo. I think about your feelings about Buffalo. To me, this book isn't about your knowledge of Buffalo so much as it is about your childhood feelings. I mean, what is more profound than the feelings, the primal, the most primal emotions in us that are developed in childhood. And so to me, that's what this book really brings forth. And that is incredibly loaded. And so, you know, one can understand how something really magnificent can come out of that, and one can also understand how something quite convoluted can come out of that. Right. Because it's so profound, those feelings. So I don't know where the question is in that, but I wonder, you know, if that makes sense to you. What I'm saying that this feels more to me, I guess, about very, very primal feelings as opposed to just straight knowledge.
Yeah, I love the way you put that. I think I didn't realize that that's what I was doing until sort of significantly deep into the project and letting any sort of need to tell a story or show Buffalo, sort of letting it go to be really inspired by the place, my memories of the place, my feelings of the place, and Letting that sort of drive, drive the work. I mean, it sounds sort of like a cliche or oversimplification or something, but I think of it as like a short story inspired by the place and my experiences there. Or maybe a short film is better way of putting it. And, yeah, my childhood is like, I never. I never really wanted to, like, make work about me or anything, but I. You know, the number of the pictures are in, like, you know, a childhood neighborhood or, like, my high school or middle school, like, is like the playground, the field, the playing field is, like, in two of the pictures. And, like, there are a lot of these places that I've just visited. Spent a lot of time at some of the people I've known for a long time. Some. Some I just met. Met briefly. But, yeah, definitely, like, all that stuff is in there, but it's. It's more just sort of the source. The source for the pictures. Yeah.
Yeah.
And I don't even. You know, I wasn't even thinking, like, about specific places or things like that. I'm thinking about. This is where you became a person. You know, this is where you witnessed your parents love for one another and their marriage dissolving. This is where you learned everything. How to walk, how to talk. This is where you probably first fell in love or had your first crush or got your heart broken or someone was mean to you or you made a best friend. I mean, I know when I go back to, you know, certain places that were very important from my childhood that I become overwhelmed with all those feelings. It's like they come rushing back in and color almost everything I say and do in that space.
Yeah, totally. It's like. It was. It's not easy. It's. It's weird how it's. It can be really hard. And I had a. You know, by all standards, like, a good childhood and, like, you know, loving parents. But, yeah, it's very hard. It was a relief to wrap this project up because now I don't need to go back there with my camera. I mean, I can go back and visit my dad and visit friends, but I don't need to engage with it the way I have been. And it is. It does feel somehow like there's always loss when I think about, like, childhood or. I don't know. I don't know why. And maybe that's why there's so much sense of loss.
Because you grew up. Yeah, because you grew up. I mean, going back to a childhood home for those of us who left and go back, have not everyone has that experience, but is incredibly profound. I think it's one of the most profound experiences. And I also know that you were also somewhat of an outsider in Buffalo, and I think that is in the work as well, which is fascinating, being both an insider and an outsider. Literally, just from, you know, you were a Jewish kid in a part of Buffalo where there were almost no other Jewish kids. Your family is an immigrant family, I think your great grandparents and, you know, I mean, so I think that's all in the. I'm sorry, I'm really analyzing you now. But anyway. No, no, from the work.
I. It's totally there. Like, yeah, my grandfather actually came. Came to the U.S. right. Yeah, we're Jewish. He came from what's now Ukraine, actually was hungry at the time, but he came from right before the Second World War, and the rest of our family was killed by Nazis and he came into the US illegally and, you know, started over. And, yeah, we were the only Jewish kids in our high school. There was one other kid, but, like, he kept it pretty quiet, you know, and it's. It's a strange feeling, you know, It's a strange feeling that informs maybe the way you. You grow up and you see. You see the world and you. Whether you. You know, how you fit in or don't fit in. And. Yeah, it's like the insider. Outsider thing. The conversation of photography is a really interesting one to me, but I'm like increasingly of the. Of the mindset that you're never. You're never an insider or an outsider, no matter who you are, what your identity is, or what your relationship is to people. I mean, it's useful for people to claim certain statuses for certain projects. And I get. There are certain things, like, I am from Buffalo. I know this place pretty well, but it's like, I think you pick up a camera and you're an outsider. You know, I mean, there's degrees of it. It's not black or white, but it's like, I always struggled with my own relationship to that place and the people. And I actually. But I actually think that's a useful place to be as a photographer, to have some insider knowledge, but to not be. Not be so. So like, stuck within it that you can't also see it from the outside, which can be really useful. You know what I mean? And all you need to do is, of course, look at Robert Frank's Americans to be reminded that, like, an immigrant came to the US and like, showed us America in a way that no one had, you know, before and changed photography and changed the way we see America. And it's like, that's a great reminder, I think.
So I want to get to a handful of process questions, but even before I do that, I don't know why. This is like a weird tick I have on the podcast where I'll say, like, what I'm going to ask. But then I'll be like, but before I do, let's just talk a little bit about your extraordinary way of shooting people and faces. Because I think that you're one of the most unique people, portrait photographers, how you frame and how you see people and what you. In this case, you were talking earlier about excluding. But I'm going to say what you include. There's a defiance almost in some of the portraits. I'm going to make sure that this person who may look downtrodden, that there are some flowers off to the side that are beautiful. So I can make clear that no one is all one way or the other. But there's always just so much complexity in your photographs of people. Can you talk about that and how you interact with people and what you, what you're looking for?
Yeah, I think that if you look at a face and you see contradictory traits or you see you somehow the complexity of what it is to be a person and all of those challenges that we all have, if that is somehow visualized, to me, that is the definition of beauty. And I find myself always moved by faces when I see that or I feel it somehow. Like a person's visual appearance can like articulate something that maybe I have felt but hadn't been able to articulate or put into words. And I see it in someone's face, for example. A simple example would be like a young man who exudes a certain kind of confidence or machismo, but there's vulnerability that they probably don't want to project but is visible. And that to me is profound and beautiful. I love this idea that people try to project certain things but fail. Right? Because they're not just that thing. They're. There are lots of things at the same time which in a way also gets at the title for me, which was like, it came from this picture which has the words King, Queen, Jack in it. But I, I somehow was reminded that the old fashioned term was knave for Jack, which could also mean like a person of, like a questionable, of questionable character, whatever that means. You know what I mean? And I like this idea that each person has those three traits or has those things inside them, you know, that you don't know. You never know who they are. And they don't necessarily even know because all of those things are in there in them. And. Yeah, when I was a kid, I'd visit my grandma in New York. She was the one who would sculpt the little nudes.
And I love that about her, by the way.
Yeah, yeah, she was like the coolest grandma ever. And, like, we would go into New York and, yeah, we were like, we're totally country bumpkins, but we had this really cool grandma and we would ride the bus with her and she would, I remember, like, sit. There were these seats on the bus, you know, where you, like, face. Sometimes you face forward on the bus, but sometimes there are those seats where you face with your back to the window so you're. You're facing a stranger.
Someone across from someone.
Yeah. And I remember, like, once or twice she had to be like. Like ask me, like, not to stare at strangers, you know, but, like, I. I loved that it was so exciting because, like, we didn't. We didn't really, you know, ride the bus where I was, you know, grew up. And so, I don't know, like, there's something amazing about this power that a face can have for another person. And I love the fact that a stranger, like, who's viewing the work, can look at another stranger and feel something. And I'm. I'm always. I'm always sort of moved and amazed by that fact. That really simple fact, like, why. Why should we care about this. The face of this person we will never meet or ever see? And. But I do feel there's something really mysterious and hopeful in that, and that it does have something to do with love. And as vague as that sounds, it's one of those things that remains really moving for me when someone allows me to sort of look at them and look at their face, make a picture of them and their face. I'm always so grateful because it's such a. It can be. It can be very vulnerable, you know, if you let your face, like, relax and always want people to, like, relax. Like, that's what I want is to let their face be open. And if they. If they do that, it's incredibly generous, trusting thing, you know, And. And it's very moving. It can be very moving.
How do you get them to that space? Is that. Do you know when you're talking to someone and meeting them, do you. Do you think they're probably going to go there with me or. Do you ever meet someone you think you want to photograph and then as you're talking to them, feel, I don't think I'll get there with them. Maybe, maybe I'll move on or, you know, what is that process?
It's, you know, I don't always know how it's going because I get really swept up and excited almost whenever someone says yes. And it's like, it's a, it's a real like thrilling experience. And it's nerve wracking and awkward too, you know, often because, you know, if you don't know each other, but I just get swept up in it and I just think this is, I always think this is beautiful, you know, and then later. Fantastic. Yeah, it's. I. Later on it's like I look at the film and I think, oh boy. Like, maybe I shouldn't have spent like four hours and like, you know, you know, 10 rolls of film on that. But yeah, it's always interesting. I don't always know. Like, sometimes I do this little thing at the end of the day where I make notes and I think which ones worked? And then I compare, I compare like later. But it's not, it doesn't always line up like what I think worked in the moment and what, what actually worked later.
Well, how could it. Because you're having an experience that is hard to separate right. From the photograph itself.
Yeah, Yeah.
I want to ask you about another sort of process question, the difference between and let's stick with King, Queen, Nave, otherwise in exhibition form, known as 19 winters, seven springs. So I want to talk about a. Titling things differently for different venues or whatever the word would be there. And different sequencing because I didn't get to see the exhibition of the Buffalo work. It was at Transformer Station, it was at the George Eastman House. But I did get to see an installation view on, online at the George Eastman House. Thank you very much. George Eastman House. That was quite fun. I, I did the virtual tour.
Oh, virtual tour. I didn't realize that was, that was online. Okay.
Yeah, yeah, it's super cool. I really enjoyed it. It was like Zillow, except it was a Gregory Halpern exhibition. So they were like, would you like to take the version Spiritual tour? And I was like, hell, yeah. So you have, so you have the exhibition, the exhibitions of this body of work, but it's got a different title and the sequencing is completely different. Feels like the emphasis was different. So there's also the inclusion. And we can talk or not talk about this. It's up to you. But there's also the inclusion of sculptures. These really beautiful, wonderful sculptures that you made of houses that are obviously three dimensions. But what's really interesting is the houses have two sides and maybe even three, and some of them anyway, and then they're open in the back. And you included photographs from a different body of work or in. In that open space in the back of the houses. But we can talk about that or not. But the thing I'm most interested in is how you decided to sequence so differently. And also the different names.
Yeah, the sequences were. Well, at Eastman, that was a super collaborative process with the curator, Phil Taylor, who was amazing to work with. And we made. The Eastman Museum made this miniature of. Of the space, and we had, you know, little miniature photographs made, and we. We played with that for, like, months. I mean, that was, like, such a luxury. It was fun to just pop in there, you know, every few weeks. We'd look at it and move stuff around. And it's taken me a little bit of time to just. To, like, get to the point where I know I need to let the book go as a thing. I mean, I do really traditionally think in book form, but I've gotten to the point where I realize if I think about the book too much when I'm making the exhibition, it fails in a way, because I want the feeling of the work to come through. But in order to do that, I have to treat the room as an experience, really.
Of course. Totally.
Yeah. And that's been. I feel like it's just in the last few years, I've started to feel more comfortable just say, just like, walking into a space, you know, three dimensions, and being like, okay, how do we make this experience do what the book is doing? And it really. In order to do that, I have to, like, yeah, forget about the book. And it's like, that was unsettling for me for a long time because I just didn't think in three dimensions or spatially at all. But I've started playing with size and. Yeah, as you mentioned, sculpture a bit and. Yeah. And collaboration with someone who knows installation better than me has been. Has been a lot of fun.
And you made a film. You made an experimental film as well?
Yeah, I'm experimenting. I'm. Yeah, I'm starting over in a way. It's like humbling. A few years of fiddling around with making a film along with a Dutch filmmaker friend of mine. His name is Joppa Rog. And we've been collaborating. And, you know, I have six minutes, so it's like, I'm humbled By the fact that anyone ever completes a full length film because I am shocked by how hard it is.
But it's hard.
It's. I mean, I know, you know, but I know I didn't fully appreciate it until I tried, but it's been beautiful and amazing learning experience. I've been using a 16 millimeter Bolex camera.
It's a classic.
Yeah, it's, it's, it's pretty. It's a magical tool, that camera.
It is, yeah.
Oh, the title. I didn't mention. I just, I literally just changed the title. I mean, that's like a part of my lack of certainty sometimes is the very last minute I came across that picture or that object that said King, Queen, Jack. And I was always a little bit on the fence about using the title 19 Winter 7 Springs. But after the show at the Eastman Museum, that picture happened and that changed the title of the whole thing.
One last process question, because I think it's really important and you know, we aim to do some teaching here on the podcast. Editing for you seems to be the actual process of editing. Not some of the stuff we've been talking about as far as thinking about things, but really getting into the nitty gritty seems to be an extremely tactile process for you. And I know that you cut up your contact sheets into sort of playing cards and move those playing cards around and categorize them and put them into different boxes and take them out of boxes. And that just seems to me to be so much fun. Like, really. I'm not trying to be, you know, sound shallow about it, but I think fun is important.
Yeah.
And so I just wanted you to talk a bit about that very tactile, physical way you have of editing work. And because again, I do think it's really important to try and inject that good time into the process, especially at a point where it could be extremely difficult.
Yeah, I think fun and play, you know, maybe play is even the better word because it's really helpful. Yeah. I do love the way the little context sheets become like playing cards. I have a fascination with games and like the relationship between games and life and so games.
Well, you always have a picture of a game in your body of work.
I do, I do. It's a little bit of a weird facet. I know there's like, there's like. With games, you know, there's like a setting and a stage and there's characters and players.
I love. When I came upon it in King, Queen Knave, I was like, there it Is.
Yeah, exactly. I can't get away. I mean it's like there's strategy in games but then, you know, things happen outside your control because there's an element of chance and there are these very clear power relationships between characters and games that like sometimes reveal things about life. And there's. There's winners and losers and some games there's literally black and white, which I find interesting and. Yeah. And then at some point the game is over and you know, that relates to life as well and. But yeah, no, the editing process. I love this idea of like shuffling. It's like shuffling or reshuffling a deck and spreading things out. Sometimes I'll randomly even place images next to each other and I'm always. Yeah, I'm always just trying to see what happens, what the work can do. Because if I over determine it, sometimes if I plan it too much, over conceptualize it, at least for me it's like it sometimes kills the experience for the viewer because I want the viewer to have this experience sort of that I've had which is like wandering around a place and not knowing what you'll find. And if I'm too, if I know too clearly, like well how I will edit it, then the viewer starts to feel that and see that and then they know what to expect and it's so play and chance becomes like really helpful in that process. Yeah. And also it's just nice to get away from the computer and like work with my hands.
Yeah, of course. Absolutely. So what are you working on now?
It's a great question. This is the first time in probably like probably almost 20 years I don't have a major project cooking like in the works. Usually I've got something slowly going in the background that I can always come back to and I don't. And it's a little unsettling, It's a little exciting. You know, I am a little scared that I'll like never come up with anything good. But I think, I think, you know, I don't know you like I was talking about that seven year gap between, you know. Yeah. The two books in between. I was like when I was finding my voice, I kind of wonder if I'm like going to have a gap now where it feels like unproductive and depressing but like in the end is really helpful. That's what I'm, that's, that's what I'm thinking. I think I'm hoping I'm entering a phase like that. So. But I guess it's to determined Would that be okay? Would what be okay?
If. If it was a while, how would you. Yeah, how would you handle that?
I think it would be good. I think it would be good because, I mean, what's the rush? You know, I. I don't know. Why do I need to make another book anytime soon? Like, it's. It'll be fine if it's a bunch of years between the next this one and the next one. And I think I need to, like, pause, actually, because I don't want to. I don't want to repeat myself. But if I don't do that, what is it that I'm going to do? I just want to make sure the next thing I do feels new.
Well, I think all of your work feels very distinct. So I personally would be happy if the next project was just a continuation of the visual language you've been using, because I think it's really magnificent and supportive and happy if it's something really different. But either way, I think we fans win with you because I know it'll be about life and honest and complex and all those things. So, Greg, thank you so much for spending so much time with me today. Love talking with you and, yeah, it's just really been wonderful. So thank you.
Thank you. Sasha, it's really great to hear you, the way you speak about the work too. It's great to talk with someone who totally gets it and, yeah, I feel that way. So great to speak with you.
So give the kids a hug and kiss from me and Andrea as well, and hopefully I will see you soon.
Okay, I'll see you soon.
All right. Bye, babe.
Okay, bye, Sasha.
Photo Work with Sasha Wolf is a production of the photowork Foundation. Executive producer is Sasha Wolf and the associate producer is Taylor Selzbach. 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 PhotoArk foundation and be sure to subscribe and review with all the stars on your listening platform.