art

The Edge Of Industry: Al Palmer

December 29, 2020 in interview

The Edge Of Industry: Al Palmer

Andrew D. McClees (ADM): For those who may not be familiar with you or your work, would you mind introducing yourself and your work?

Al Palmer (AP): I'm a photographer and book designer/publisher based in Newcastle-upon-Tyne, in the United Kingdom. I've been taking photographs for 14 years now and have exhibited my work worldwide. The past few years have seen a shift from focusing on exhibitions to releasing my work in zine and book form. The majority of my work deals with world building, creating fictitious imaginary places from photographs of very real places. On the surface it may look like documentary work, it's very much not. Recently I've been creating work that deals with the fidelity of information: how much detail can an image lose before it can't communicate the intended message across.

ADM: We're talking about "The Edge Of Industry" - would you mind explaining the concept behind the series for the audience?

AP: The Edge of Industry is a cycle of photographs taken at the site of a derelict magnesium works near Hartlepool in the North of England where heavy industry has died off over the past thirty years. These images indirectly reference the death of shipbuilding and metal works, the lack of government action to prevent the North and South of England dividing both economically and socially, creating a generation of workers with no future; directly they show the land has yet to be redeveloped; it remains in a perpetual state of ruin. With an increasing amount of closures among factories in England these photographs are both a record of the end of a specific industrial area and also a quiet farewell to the past of the North of England.

ADM: What was the inspiration for the series? How did you settle on the concept and what is your personal relationship to it?

AP: I'm not a documentary photographer but this is the closest I've ever been to producing 'straight' documentary work. As with all of my work, it's more about me than the place I'm photographing. The magnesium works is visually attractive because it's so weird looking, people from differing backgrounds see sci-fi movies, dystopian novels... I saw the recently history of my area and my people. I'm from here and it was the future of my people that was impacted by the government of the Thatcher years.

ADM: Digging in a little more to your nod to worldbuilding vs. documentarianism - would you say that you've built an imagined or extrapolated narrative on top of the magnesium works for Edge of Industry?

AP: There's less world building in The Edge of Industry then, say, my work in “I Believe (In None of This)” but I am of the generation whose parents lost their jobs in heavy industry so there's a degree of distance. The ruins in the photographs are clearly a metaphor for the problems in society caused by these places of work shutting.

ADM: Taking it a step further, will you work on a project on what you believe the future (bleak or not) to be? Thinking future-forward in photography is always an odd topic.

AP: By nature each photography can only be a document of the past. I tend not to think about the future too heavily, certainly not to the point of making work regarding it. You could say my work is about the present, using snapshots of the past. Giving this some thought I cannot figure HOW I would make work about the future. That'd probably involve actual world building, making my own utopian model city and photographing it. Which does actually sound quite appealing...

ADM: You also run Brown Owl Press - what was the impetus behind starting your own zine printing company, and how would you say the self publishing process has affected your photographic and artistic process?

AP: I'm certainly more ruthless with regards to the photographic edit! I'm very conscious of how a series flows now, rather than just picturing the photographs on a gallery wall. I think this has probably meant that I focus less on taking interesting individual photographs and more on serving the narrative.I started Brown Owl Press mostly just because it felt like I should. Why wait for someone else to do it when I can? I like being able to publish photographic stories by photographers that deserve a bigger audience but possibly haven't received one yet.

ADM: Zooming the scope out a little bit - would you say that your work, Edge of Industry included, tends to center on implied or "broken" narratives? why or why not, and could you give an example of how you think about or process that narrative?

AP: Without a doubt. I think that's the crux of what I find interesting about photography: it's not very good at showing a linear narrative, especially in comparison to film making and prose. I suspect that's why a lot of photographers like to imagine they are working in a similar way to a poet. It's a nice idea, it's romantic, but I feel comics are a close visual medium to photography - sequential media leaving out much of the detail. The Edge of Industry is the outlier in my work in that I'm not really trying to suggest much, more show it. Primarily I think of photography as something closer to collage than to painting. Roughly tearing off this bit, a tiny sliver of this.

ADM: In terms of understanding “Edge of Industry: as outsiders - both an audience and, in my case (along with a fair chunk of our readers) as an American, what would you say the most essential photos are to understanding the project are, and what context they provide for the rest of the series?

AP: I'm not sure any one photograph carries more weight than another in this series, there are only 16 photographs and they all combine to give a good sense of the location. There are two photos that show the horizon, one shows this flat, unspectacular landscape and then other shows the North Sea. I suppose they give the magnesium works some physical reference point. There are definitely parallels with, say, Detroit in this story. It'll be interesting to know how an American sees this work. It'd previously been shown in New York but I can't imagine anyone from NYC looking at this work in the same way someone from the mid-West would, for instance.

ADM: The photobook/zine has (seemingly, to me) really come into vogue over the last ten to twenty years, and there's starting to be quite a bit of discussion of the photobook as an art object - as a publisher and book designer - what do you think the key elements of the art book or photobook/zine are, and what makes them so compelling, rather than say a folio, or a hanging exhibition?

AP: There are definitely economic aspects to this - digital printing increasingly being both cheap and high quality, so a decent photo zine costs a lot less than it would've in the past. The flipside of that is gallery/exhibition space has never been as expensive. Everyone has a camera in their pocket and the rise of Instagram has definitely helped photographers never switch off, so this off-hand photography definitely seems at odds with a formal gallery space. Also, an exhibition is temporary and photographs are permanent. Prints are hard to sell multiples of (finite wall space for most customers) while zines and books are an easier item to sell - especially with so many sales avenues online. It's not just economics though, photography works best on a small scale in my mind. I can do it at my own pace, and I'm in control of every single thing. And I like having full creative control of my work.

ADM: How has your approach to narrative driven photography changed over the years - did you learn anything new while making Edge of Industry that you'll take forward with you to the next project?

AP: The biggest lesson learned from The Edge of Industry is to work more efficiently. It was shot in a single day, the entire series consists of of just 16 photos. Some projects require a huge sprawling inventory of images, some require very few. How you say it matters almost as much as what you say. The Edge of Industry is quite literal work, both the photographs and the title. I'm unlikely to work in such a straight forward manner again, at least in the foreseeable future.

ADM: What are your major influences, photographic or not, and can you tie them back to Edge of Industry, or have you diverged from outside influence or touchstones, as you've matured as a practitioner?

AP: My biggest influence visually is Gerhard Richter. Carving into the space between reproduction and expression is at the heart of everything I do. I also admire the fact that he doesn't work in the same manner consistently, my big fear artistically is to just repeat myself. Alec Soth and Joel Sternfeld were huge influences on me photographing, and I can definitely see the influence of Sternfeld's Walking the High Line on this, just photographing a relatively small area in an expansive way with a fairly uniform view. I tend not to take direct inspiration from single photographers now, my inspiration tends to be more abstract and on a larger scale: ideas, music, technology.

ADM: Dipping into that - can you speak on some of the Music, Tech, and Ideas that you've been thinking about and inspired by lately?

AP: I'm hugely influenced by the German music scene surrounding the Termina/Beat Bude/Ava/Tax Free labels. It's most producers and DJs from the house and techno scene (Glenn Astro, Max Graef, Am Kinem etc) moving beyond rigid genre and begin deconstructing various types of music. A lot of it's quite experimental but it's also very musical, which keeps me interested. Photographically, the work of Clara de Tezanos is influencing me a lot currently. Her work is so rich and alien to me, I'm really enjoying trying to 'solve' it. It hints at a lot of things and I'm really trying to suggest more than I'm trying to explain in my own work of late. The idea I'm focusing on of late is how much detail can be taken from a photograph before it no longer communicates efficiently. I'm wrapping up a two year project on this topic currently as well as the layout of a book on the subject.

ADM: What advice would you give to someone looking to create photographs, or sets of photographs that lean into both a narrative form (both implied or explicit), and one that seeks to do "worldbuilding?"

AP: Take photographs impulsively, edit with intent. Or, the opposite. I tend to think in terms of batches of photographs being a 'chapter' or a 'verse'. Pacing is really important to a photo essay and I think that's especially important when putting your voice to something. Lots of experimenting in the editing phase is where the narrative will flourish, figuring out which photographs are essential to the story, and also which are not.

ADM: From Andy Pham: Do you think there is any value in the “hierarchy” of the photo world, or art world in general, in terms of the division between “gallery artists”, big publishers, etc. and the rest of us trying to just make work that means something personally? In other words, do you think there are pros and cons to both, or do you think there is anything lacking on either side of this divide?

For better and for worse I'm quite a self-driven person so, I've never had any fear of the hierarchy of photoworld. I'm not daunted by people or institutions. I can see why some would be useful, and openly want to be involved with some of them but that's because of what they can do for me/what I can bring to them rather than any need to be accepted.

If a recognised gallery wanted to show my work I'd be very conscious of using that (probably finite) time to harvest connections, grow my audience and put that back towards my usual DIY practice as it would probably not be a long-term arrangement. That possibly sounds a little mercenary but the larger the institution, the less concern it'll have for you so get what you can out of the situation. And hopefully make some money.

There are no heroes.

ADM: What question do you have for the next photographer? (you can answer the question yourself, if you'd like.)

AP: What was the biggest single turning point for you as an artist? My answer possibly links to the previous question: when I realised that I could do things myself rather than wait of galleries and publishers doing it for me. That was when I really put faith in myself as an artist rather than just someone who takes good photos. Keeping that moment in mind is important.

ADM: Thanks so much for the interview - do you have any parting words, or advice? I know we can purchase your zines and books at Brown Owl Press - but is there anywhere else that we can see or purchase more of your work? -- Thanks again for the interview!

AP: My advice can be applied to almost anything: consistency is the most important thing for progress.

The Brown Owl Press website has a list of our stockists but we do 90% of our trade via the webstore. Anything I publish that isn't under the Brown Owl Press umbrella is available via my website, the first of a series of zines I plan on publishing came out a couple of months ago called Crawling the Walls and is still available.

Thank you for interviewing me! If anyone has any further questions or would like to reach out, feel free to send me an email.

“Film Photography” - a critical misnomer.

November 21, 2020 in Thinkpiece

“Film Photography” - a critical misnomer.

Andrew D. McClees, Edited by Maxime Lester and Billy Gomberg

“Film Photography” - a critical misnomer.

PC: Andrew D. McClees (2015) Typical Casual Formalist work.

Film or Analogue photography has enjoyed a bit of a renaissance over the last five to ten years. Kodak was reporting steady growth each year, over a three year period back in 2019. This growth can largely attributed to the growing niche or subculture of The Film Community on platforms like Flickr, and Instagram. The medium (rather than the subculture itself) hit a new level of notoriety in the modern era through support from and from celebrities like Kylie Jenner, Jason Momoa, and Jeff Bridges. For those not aware, the Film Community is a nebulous subculture within photography, mostly based entirely around shooting film as a hobby, largely in opposition to digital photography - a distinction largely pushed by companies including, but not limited to: The Darkroom, Film Photography Project, and Lomographic Corp - as a method of identity or lifestyle branding.

The Film Community has generated miniature social media (read +/- 100k followers, but no real presence outside social) celebrities (EX: Matt Day, Willem Verbeek, and Corey Wolfenberger) within it, notable for working on film and/or making content about analogue photography. These photographers of note, alongside their many disciples and imitators have dubbed themselves “film photographers.” At first glance, the term “film photographer” is applicable, it describes the medium that the practitioners work off of. However “Film Photographer” has largely come to denote an additional set of shared aesthetic criteria or commonalities which has very little to do with the fact that the work is shot on film - making the label at best colloquial, and at worst invalid. The term “Film Photography” has become a failure as a literal descriptor, and is primarily a colloquialism for a specific kind of formalist photography that happens to be shot on film while not commenting on film as a medium, and is secondarily used to denote a hobbyist who shoots film with no particular focus.

PC: Andrew D. McClees (2017) Casual Formalist Photography - with growing intent.

Every genre of photography can be defined by a set of criteria based on how the photograph is used (“Fine-Art” being a qualifier, rather than a genre or subgenre unto itself) and the subject matter contained in it. To pose some quick and simple examples: Landscape photography is about nature and the shape of the land, Portrait photography is about taking portrait photographs of people, Fashion is about showcasing different articles of clothing; the list goes on. So that poses the question: “What is “film photography” about?” Are the practitioners of so-called “film photography” doing photographic artwork about the film that they shoot on? Is the subject matter of their art directly relevant to the fact that they’re using film? Most often not. While there are artists who work in lens based mediums, alternative processes, and in photo-chemistry making art about the material that they use, they rarely call themselves “Film Photographers.”

The majority of the subject matter in “Film Photography” has nothing to do with the fact that it was shot on film. While much of the base aesthetic criteria associated with “film photography” is attributable to the medium and not the content; Grain, and Tonality being the most commonly cited positive features of film. Urban landscapes and diaristic slices of life are common topics and subjects in “Film Photography” but have little if anything to do with the fact that it was shot on film, and the tone and grain of film might add to the photo but they’re ultimately superficial features. There’s nothing about the subject matter that has to do with film — one could shoot the same photo on a digital camera and add all those touches (grain, tones, etc.) and for the most part nobody would know the difference unless you made them aware of it.

To invoke the bête noire of the film community: when was the last time a photographer who uses digital gear described themselves as a “digital photographer?” They don’t because it doesn’t actually matter to their work. If you want to describe yourself as someone who shoots or uses analog processes, that’s fine, but just as a use of language, consider using the term “film shooter” or at the very least if you’d consider adding a tag of “analog” or “film-based” onto your self description — ie “analog landscape photographer” that way I know you’re (rhetorical) a landscape photographer who shoots film. To offer up another angle there’s also the debate about hybrid vs. totally analogue processes, and the fact that every “film” or “analogue” image you see on the net had to be digitized in some format to get it on to the standard platforms of digital consumption. On top of that most of these images that are consumed via social media platforms were and are digitally edited - making it a debate on how “analogue” most of these images ultimately are.

Andrew D. McClees — Outtake From “DUSK” 2019 (Formalism as Expressionism)

“Film Photographer” in broad strokes has come to denote a casual or hobbyist photographer who takes snaps on film, usually in a moody style. That expression doesn’t adequately describe what the photographers in question are taking photos of - making the term colloquial at best. If one takes photos of one’s friends and family, why not call oneself a social photographer or a portrait photographer, or even a documentary photographer (personal gripes aside about passing off otherwise unremarkable family/friend photos off as art). If you shoot mostly to document your daily life, why not call yourself a documentary photographer, or a diaristic photographer, or something that speaks to what you do? There’s nothing wrong about being descriptive and specific about what you do or what you photograph. The term “Film Photographer” has created a ghettoized environment separate from the rest of photography. I’m not saying that we should abolish the film community or the tags associated with them, merely to point out that “film photographer” is meaningless and often has little to do with the medium itself, and fails to adequately describe most work under its umbrella.

So, now that I’ve gone to great length to describe why I think “Film Photography” has become bad terminology, let me offer up a potential academic term for it and an explanation of where I believe the movement’s artistic lineage stems from:

Casual Formalist Photography or “Casual Formalism.”

On its surface to the layman - Casual Formalism might sound like cognitive dissonance - it’s not so let me break down formalism first (in a broad definition), then I’ll circle back to the casual:

Formalism (in photography) is the part of photography that focuses on images that center on the “formal” elements - elements deriving from the “form” - Lighting, Composition, Tonality, and Medium (Film V. Digital etc). As opposed to realism (pure documentation - no perspective or decisions made) or expressionism (pure emotiveness or expression.) You can find a quick cheat sheet here.

Casual, at least in the manner I’m using it - refers to the broad assumption that most of the photographers doing this kind of work (ie Photos of conventionally attractive women, abandoned houses, “quirky suburbs,” old cars, or general nostalgia based photography) are not doing this as a serious artistic practice, nor are they aiming for a deeper purpose or commentary in their art. However, the photos being made are intentionally artistic enough to escape the label “vernacular” (going off of MOMA’s definition) in that they are created to be art, rather than truly commercial or documentary in nature.

I would offer up that most “film photographers” (or from here out “casual formalists,”) work very much in this formal scope - they aim to take aesthetically pleasing pictures that may or may not have some emotional or documentary (ie actively documenting a place or phenomena) perspective but tend to dwell mostly at surface level; e.g. a picture of a landscape or abandoned house that’s well lit and #shotonfilm might evoke a strong emotion, but ultimately it typically ends up being mostly about that composition and the lighting that gives it emotion - with a tertiary concern (from an outside perspective) being that it was shot on film - largely nothing about the photo actually matters that it was shot on the film except for the insider community knowledge.

Likewise, these photos rarely push the bounds of composition or structure in the formal sphere. The photos are often well composed, but they rarely push beyond standard practice enough to be notable for their composition, or a commentary on composition. On the topic of film itself, most of the photographers rarely actively consider or comment on the medium upon which their work is made, except for the superficial “Film is nostalgic, therefore this nostalgia based image (old cars, abandoned houses, vintage dress), is nostalgic,” making the fact that most of the images in the “film community” are shot on film almost entirely irrelevant to the images they shoot on that film. However, for whatever reason (perhaps it is that one singular superficial point, of film nostalgia) a lot of similar minded work ends up getting done on film, even though there’s absolutely nothing about it that necessitates being done on film.

“I hope those last four generations don’t look too far down on me” - Andrew D. McClees, 2019 from HARDLY LOCAL. (Documentary Photography with strong Formalist Elements as Expressionism)

This sort of lack of depth either in formalist concerns, or using those formal elements to pursue a deeper truth via expressionism or through documentarian studies is why I’ve deemed “casual” most of the art being made is by hobbyists - not professionals, or career artists. There’s largely nothing wrong with that - getting out and making art for personal fulfilment, as a hobby is a great thing in fact and largely beneficial to most who pursue it. My misgivings about it stem from a subset of photographers and creators riding their way to social media fame while offering up nothing in terms of critical or philosophical depth in their work.

In terms of stylistic origins I’d give equal credit to the Instagram algorithm (the propensity for the website’s algorithm to show people work or images that is relatively alike in nature), Stephen Shore, William Eggleston (along with Christenberry) and Todd Hido (though I’d argue all four are expressionist or documentary photographers who have strong understanding of formal elements). I realize there’s a whole subset of portrait and fashion photographers in The Film Community, but at the risk of getting meanspirited, most of them don’t have a whole lot of artistic lineage beyond “make a reasonable portrait of an attractive person,” though on the fashion tip there can be some legitimate artistic direction. There are many street photographers who still shoot film, but (in my experience) they tend to nest themselves more within the street photography community rather than say the film community even if there is some crossover.

Moving the scope in part I’ve derived the term from the trend of “zombie formalism” in painting. Though as a fellow photographer who started my current artistic career (not that on the whole I’d call it any great shakes as of now) in much the same spot, I don’t particularly hold the level of disdain for the movement the way Saltz seems to hold for it. Zombie Formalism lines up well with Casual Formalism in that both are superficial and relatively bland movements, but the comparison ends there - Zombie Formalism is a fine art movement and is typically only used to refer to a particular kind of abstract oil or mixed media painting, where Casual Formalism is a popular movement or practitioner base - though both have served as significant stumbling blocks for many practitioners in both movements, in that they can’t seem to move beyond or individuate themselves from the movement.

If you feel okay using “film photographer” after all this as a colloquium - that’s cool, as long as you’re aware. Likewise, please keep photographing, and keep shooting film. As long as you’re creating art, and getting something out of it, that’s the most important part. However as an actual definition of the whole artistic movement or the phenomena, or art itself, I believe it should be called Casual Formalism from here out - rather than “Film Photography.

Songs About Being Forgotten: Kyle J. Kohner

October 25, 2020 in interview

Songs About Being Forgotten: Kyle J. Kohner

Andrew D. McClees (ADM): For those not familiar with you or your work, can you introduce yourself, and give us a brief introduction to your work?

Kyle J. Kohner (KJK): My name is Kyle Kohner; I am a 24-year-old street photographer from the LA area (La Mirada, Calif), but was born and raised in San Bernardino, CA. I picked up photography in my sophomore year in college, was hooked, and with the help of a couple of my professors and photography friends, I never looked back. I mainly do film photography, black and white 35mm to be exact. However, if I am on assignment for work, I will shoot digital. During my final semester as an undergrad, I took a darkroom photography class, and from the course came the genesis of my first body of work, a zine I've titled "Songs About Being Forgotten."

ADM: We're talking about "Songs About Being Forgotten" - where did the concept come from, and can you speak on the title?

KJK: I like to think of "Songs About Being Forgotten" as a not-yet reckoning of fear. This project's title and concept was birthed from fear and uncertainty that I've always felt but could never gauge through words alone. A fear of finality, death, and not being remembered was especially palpable during my final year of college, where years of mental illness peaked. The initial form/draft, which was created during my last semester, was a reactionary pushback to this fear. Still, I'm trying to push back against this fear, and this zine is the vehicle. I call the photos within this project "songs," mainly because music and photography meet at this very magical intersection for me. Combining the two seemed like the perfect way for me to convey this fear of being "forgotten.

ADM: Are there particular aesthetic considerations that you took into account while creating the project - I know the whole thing is in black and white - but is there a particular purpose behind it, and the tonality you used - I know the collage nature of the book is a nod to Phil Elverum (below).

KJK: The reasoning for doing black and white was pretty straightforward—it helps convey the impermanence of decay and things forgotten. Many of the photos are high in contrast, which renders the ephemeral themes dark and drab. As you mentioned, I wanted to give off a collage nature to the book, akin to not just Elverum, but inner sleeves and liner notes of physical music in general. With the very first iteration of this zine, the class project, I did not know much about design or sequencing. In fact, I boringly constructed it out in a simple pattern: page with lyrics, then page with photo, page with lyrics, etc. After a year or so of looking at more photo books and zines, I was able to better understand the importance of sequencing and design, which now, this version of the book compels more in comparison to my first-ever copy.

ADM: Is there a particular narrative form you used for the zine? - I noticed throughout you used some repetition and photocollages - alongside consistent written excerpts.

KJK: I love the concept of an album cover, yet the pressure of picking an image to capture the music inside is daunting. As mentioned a bit earlier, photography and music have always had this fascinating intersect, and the photos inside, again, are these visual songs—album covers even. The book is square, slightly bigger than a CD, and smaller than an LP or EP. Inside, I paired the images with lyrics from songs that have at some point in my life devastated me as I struggle through the concepts of finality and the high likelihood that what I say or create now won't matter 70 years from now. The visual layout, in fact, was largely influenced by the visual work of singer-songwriter Phil Elverum, aka The Microphones, aka Mount Eerie. I love how Elverum designs and incorporates his photography with his music. If you check out his latest album (which is just one long song) on YouTube, you'll see that it's just Phil laying down photos he's taken over the years, one-by-one, to reflect his journey as a musical artist over the past two decades. But he's also thoughtful when designing the album art for his LP's and CD's, inside and out. With most of his projects, he sprawls handwritten lyrics across a collage of photos. His design for The Microphones 2001 album "The Glow Pt. 2" particularly sparked that of my collection of photographs. I'd love to explain the sequencing and narrative, but I'm also a believer that we can create our own stories from photos within a body of work, separate from the artist's intentions, by merely perceiving them. So I'd rather have viewers of the zine to figure it out for themselves.

ADM: From that - what would you say the most essential images are to understanding the project are - what songs did you pair them with, and why?

KJK: This one is hard to answer as I tried not to pin the weight of this project on one photo because I try not to shoot with a mindset of capturing the best singular image or that "decisive moment." But if any, I believe the images of charred buildings speak to me and the project the loudest. These two photos were the genesis behind this project, and I was able to pair it with a song that I felt best captured to the idea of "being forgotten." The track that particularly called out to me—and I hesitate to mention it—was "Carissa" by Sun Kil Moon (Mark Kozelek). On the track, he sings of his second cousin Carissa who died in an improbable housefire. She was a regular blue-collar individual living in the midwest, and Mark barely knew her. And yet, despite how menial her life seemingly was, he wanted to impress meaning upon her life, long passed her death, with this song. I find this most beautiful and admirable. After including this song in my book (paired with these two photos), it came to light that Kozelek is a fucking creep and an abuser. I almost expunged the track from my zine, but then the final product would have been unauthentic and merely reactionary to what had happened. Though I have since removed his music from my life, I cannot deny the impact this song had on me. I would probably point to the image of shoes hanging from the telephone wire as my favorite. It's a bit cliche, but I love how the shoes are still emphasized even when crowded by the bushy textures beneath.

ADM: What do you think the biggest advancements you made were over the course of the project? in terms of sequencing, and also shooting?

KJK: As someone who studied journalism in college, I once held to this idea that I MUST be clear as possible for the sake of my audience. Heck, this level of transparency is and should be applied for a lot of photojournalistic work because vagueness is a sign of an untrustworthy author. But with this project, especially regarding the sequencing, I had to reorient my learned approach to create something more personal and trusting of my audience, instead. I've always feared being misunderstood and not being clear, yet the way I've sequenced and even shot the photos for this zine was a way for me to give that fear up. So I'd say the most significant advancement I experienced through this project was the willingness to trust my audience and trust that the photos would convey more words than I could.

ADM: What was your collaborative process like? Prior to the interview you'd mentioned working with Max Heilman and Brooks Ginnan.

KJK: This project is much more than the zine itself. In fact, I paired it with a split single—two original songs. One track titled "Stream Of Silhouettes" is a super atmospheric piece of post-rock, written and performed by Maxwell Heilman and his band Anhelar. The other is a raw, emotively lo-fi cut titled "The Devil Inside of Me," written and performed by Brooks Ginnan. Aside from being a musician, Brooks also happens to be an up-and-coming model featured in films, music videos, and even in Vogue Italia. Though the songs are two entirely different worlds—one brooding, layered, and room-filling and the other stripped-down, haunting, and intimate—they share the same desperate spirit that yearns through affliction. I've known both Brooks and Max for six years. Because I've stayed connected with them longer than any other friends, they are sort of this antithesis to the idea of being forgotten. They represent laughter, love, and long-lasting memories—things that push back against the danger of being forgotten. Because of this friendship, I had to include them within this project. To best capture the zine's essence, I sent PDF copies to the two of them, and they provided me music they felt best reflected what they viewed. "Songs About Being Forgotten" is the fruit of this collaboration.

ADM: Was there a specific turning point that pushed you to print the zine up and put it out there, publicly?

I think like many people who have created and released some artwork lately, the pandemic really pushed me to buckle down and say hey," let's get this done finally." If there ever was a time to release something into the world, now was the time. It was an opportunity to take what has been a disadvantageous moment in history for everyone, make something beautiful out of it, and collaborate with other brilliant minds. No, I wouldn't call this my "COVID Zine/book," as this photo project has been in the making for almost two years. However, I'm sure we will be seeing a saturation of COVID-related projects from photographers within the next year, haha.

ADM: You've talked about musical influences (though feel free to add more if you'd like) but are there any other visual or photographic influences on the zine?

KJK: Studying journalism in college, I took a few photojournalism courses. The professor who taught all of them wanted us, students, to learn from the greats, sequentially. I loved this approach because it allowed our photographically naive eyes to appreciate the trailblazers of street photography. That said, one of my earliest inspirations was Elliot Erwitt. People point to him and notice the humor and irony in his work (which I always try to draw from), but he inspires me because his pictures are emotion(s) rather than reflective of emotion(s). (Which in fact, he is quoted saying, "I want pictures that are emotion.") I picked the photos I did for this zine for the same reason—I wanted to curate images that are what they feel like. I can also pinpoint three current favorites of mine—some more known than others. As of recent, Charalampos Kydonakis, aka Dirty Harry, is the first that comes to mind. His photos literally jump at you with an uncanny energy. He has an unparalleled ability to capture the oddities of life in all of its mundanity, so beautifully. His work is so surreal and is so incredibly impressive because of it. The second photographer is Dylan Hausthor. Though his photos are clearly tethered to a specific place that my own photography is not familiar with, his work has a spiritual and mythical quality that I aspire to channel with my own (though my attempts do not hold a flame to the magic Dylan captures). His use of light is also unlike anything I've seen from another photographer, especially when illuminating the organic textures a place [like] Maine lends itself to. There are many more photographers and their work I enjoy right now, and I'd love to mention them all.

ADM: What advice do you have for someone taking a pre-existing project (like the one you made in class) and refining it or repurposing it like you did (ie turning it into a collaboration, and a multimedia project)?

KJK: My advice to someone who wants to take a pre-existing project and refining it/repurposing it, is to simply be honest with yourself. I think one of the most horrible yet beautiful things about creating art is looking back at the things you DID. Almost always, for me at least, I writhe in disgust over photos I took even as early as three months ago. But being able to look at your older material and critique it with honesty will allow you to tap into what you truly want to create. For this project, I carried over about half the material from the very first version because I hated everything else in it—though I thought it was the best damn thing when I first put the zine together, haha. But my advice is best served as a double-edged sword. I think that though one needs to be honest with themself, they also need to trust their work and build up the courage to publish that zine, book, series of prints, or whatever they are working on. There comes a point where if you keep waiting, you'll never be satisfied with what you create. Thankfully, I just missed that exit and was able to just say, "Fuck it." For me, that point came with the desire to bring in people I love and cherish into the fold to make it a gratifying experience.

ADM: From Stefan Byrom: Which photographers/artists out there do you admire other than the more well known ones?

KJK: I want to mention Justin Yun. Though he happens to be one of my best friends, I, along with many others in the photo community, would agree he possesses a rare talent for his age. Unfortunately, he tends to keep to himself and remains reserved when putting his work out there. There are countless photographers out there who try to explore the concept of dreams and memories. But no one is as in-touch with these ideas and how to artfully reflect them than Justin. The way he can tap into these dreams and memories has helped inform my ability to go into my own subconscious to take photos that, again, "are emotion."

ADM: What question do you have for the next photographer? - you can answer it yourself if you'd like.

KJK: Outside of other photographers and photobooks, where do you find inspiration for your own photography?

ADM: Thanks again for doing the interview! Any parting words or advice? Where can we pick up a copy of the zine?

KJK: Bring your camera with you at ALL times. If you don't like carrying one around, get a point-and-shoot for casual outings and errands. Support your photography friends. Love one another as yourself; you'll be a lot happier than you could be, I promise. Always be fighting injustice in the world. No matter how small or big the gesture—it adds up—not toward points, but a better world around for those who are disadvantaged. Listen to new music—always. The world needs escaping sometimes, and music is the perfect way to flee.

If you find yourself interested, you can purchase my zine at kylekohner.com/shop and can check out more of my work there as well.