Sunday & Wednesday

1. Gottlund Verlag released your second photobook, Same Difference. How was it like working in collaboration with Nicholas Gottlund? Did you make any trips to his Kutztown, PA studio for any parts of the production? Was it any different from your experiences working with Jason Fulford of J&L Books for your debut photobook, Golden Palms?

Each project had its own process and evolution and in both cases it felt very natural and unforced. I feel very fortunate to have had the opportunity to work with both Jason and Nicholas. There’s no doubt that the books would not be what they are without their invaluable input and feedback. Their commitment to their own work and all the books they help bring into the world is truly inspiring. The fact that they are both working in my home state of Pennsylvania is an added bonus.

Golden Palms took shape more slowly, coming together over the course of a few years. During that time Jason and I worked together in person several times, often at his studio in Scranton. Same Difference came together more quickly. I first got an email from Nicholas this past summer and we started working together shortly afterwards. He was interested in work that I was thinking a lot about at the time so it was perfect timing. We passed edits and sketches back and forth over the course of the summer. I had a good feeling about this project from the start, and I knew right away that this was going to be a great collaboration when he started putting together his edits. Once we felt like we were getting close to the final edit and the first round of proofs were printed, I headed out to Kutztown to meet him in person for the first time. It was great to finally meet him and to have a chance to work on some of the finishing touches in person. He has a beautiful work space out there. It feels like you are in the middle of the woods.

2. What is your working process like? Do you always carry a camera around with you? I’m particularly fond of your projects that seem to be compiled together long after the fact, such as Animals That Saw Me; or groups of older pictures, like Salad Days and 6 Old Pictures. Much of the wit and humor in your work, specifically in the Golden Palms book, seems to be very dependent on careful editing and sequencing. Are you always shooting with specific projects in mind?

In both the shooting and editing steps, I try to be as open as possible. They are a constant, if not always synchronized, feedback loop. I’m interested in making work that has a certain amount of openness to it, so a delicate ratio needs to be struck between intention and accident in both the shooting and editing stages. I like it when things get a little messy though, when projects and ideas and life all bleed and feed into one another. I find some of the most interesting surprises often originate from the points where these things overlap. I don’t always have a camera with me – or at least not always the right one – but I do my best to be prepared. I’ll probably never feel like I’m shooting enough though.

Editing is an entirely different animal. Sometimes I feel like I’m just feeding my archive, planting these seeds which I have to take care of and pay attention to over time. That means storing and organizing them properly and spending time with them in different forms. Over time you just hope that you notice when a few of them start growing into something more. Some pictures get together with other ones and relationships are formed, while others are lone wolves and seem to stubbornly stand alone. Sometimes a strange family grows from a few stray shots brought together by accident. If I’m really lucky they will grow into things that I couldn’t have imagined at the beginning. When that happens I know I’m doing something right, but I don’t always feel like I can completely control the situation, and I’m ok with that.

3. I have always been drawn to your project Johnstown, which pictures your hometown of Johnstown, Pennsylvania. Outside of the region, the town is primarily known for its infamous 1889 flood, which killed over 2,200 people after a dam upriver burst. When looking at the project, I cannot help but be reminded by the town’s history. In almost all of the photos, the surrounding hills and mountains, which have made the area so prone to flooding, are seen looming off in the horizon. The cigarettes resting in the outdoor ashtray remind me of the fragility of the town’s 19^th century homes. Is this reading looking too much into the history of Johnstown? Does the town’s history inform your idea of the work at all?

I’m glad you made reference to the flood. It is something that I think about and feel finds its way into the work. Generally speaking, I’m very interested in history and the ways that photographs can and can’t deal with it. In some ways I think I approach history in an indirect way, not unlike the way history seems to be felt in America: it’s out there somewhere, but not always in an explicit or overly conscious way, and more often than not it’s forgotten, downplayed or even willfully ignored. Yet its presence and effect on the present is real and undeniable.

On a certain level, you could look at a picture of a hill or a forest and think about the history of that landform, how and why it was completely different, perhaps unrecognizable even fifty years ago. If you go back hundreds or even thousands of years, it would be utterly unrecognizable. If you go back far enough that chunk of land was probably located on another part of the planet. So I guess I’m into the unfathomable timeframe of geological history too. I don’t pretend to be an expert on any of these subjects by any means, but having some awareness of the depth of these ideas is a source of inspiration and connection for my work.

Of course my personal history is part of it too. In the Johnstown work, I’m often walking down the same streets I’ve known since I was a kid. Many of the places are familiar to me from different points in my life, like when I walk past an old friend’s house or through neighborhoods or parts of town that had significance to me at different times. Even blank spots on my mental map are there for a reason, and are worthy of exploration. Each time I leave home and return, I seem to come back to a slightly different place. The ongoing nature of this project is essentially taking note of those sometimes virtually invisible changes that have taken place over the years, both internally and externally. Needless to say, this is still very much a work in progress.

4. The primary audience for this website is the student body of RIT’s photo program. Do you have any advice for students preparing to go into go into a photography world that, thanks to many factors, especially the internet, is rapidly transforming?

The most important thing is always the work itself. Finding a way to tune into and define your ‘voice’ is essential. If you pay close enough attention, the work will provide most of the clues you need to continue to move forward. So just focus on the work first and foremost, with whatever means available, and in whatever way that feels right in the moment. Nothing else really matters if you’re not excited about your own work and able to recognize and trust your instincts. This process should involve a broad range of questioning and periodically reviewing your assumptions. And while there is plenty of advice and suggestions out there about how to go about doing this, ultimately no one can really say exactly how you should go about achieving your own goals. It’s an utterly unique journey and timeframe for everyone. I think if you continue to learn new things from your work over time, you’re definitely doing something right.