Griffin News

Julia Whitney Barnes‘ enchantment with the plant world is on full display in her work, Planting Utopia, which is currently on display at the Griffin Museum of Photography’s exhibition Elemental Blues at the Griffin’s satellite gallery at Lafayette City Center from April 1st through June 30th. We had the wonderful opportunity to sit down and chat with her via email about her flora-inspired cyanotypes this week, and her responses are as follows.

Please join us next week on Wednesday, May 21st, and Wednesday, May 28th, for our Artists’ Talk accompanying our Elemental Blues exhibition at the Lafayette City Center in Boston, MA. May 21st will feature artists Sally Chapman, Julia Whitney Barnes, and Anna Leigh Clem. May 28th will feature Brett Windham, Bryan Whitney, and Cynthia Katz.

Julia Whiney Barnes (Born in Newbury, VT) spent two decades in Brooklyn/NYC before moving to the Hudson Valley in 2015. She received a BFA from Parsons School of Design and MFA from Hunter College. Whitney Barnes works in a variety of media from cyanotypes, watercolor, combined media works on paper, oil paintings, glass, ceramic sculptures, murals, site-specific installations, and limited-edition prints. She has exhibited widely in the United States and internationally including the Albany International Airport /Shaker Heritage Society, Albany, New York; Dorksy Museum, New Paltz, NY; Ely Center of Contemporary Art, New Haven, CT; Hancock Shaker Museum, Berkshires, MA; Woodstock Artists Association & Museum (WAAM), Woodstock, NY; Institute of Contemporary Art, Portland, ME; Carrie Haddad Gallery, Hudson, NY; Kenise Barnes Fine Art, Kent, CT; Garvey|Simon NY, New York, NY and Galerie Julian Sander, Cologne, Germany.  Her work is in numerous private and public collections.
Whitney Barnes is the recipient of fellowships from the New York State Council on the Arts, Lower Manhattan Cultural Council, Arts Mid-Hudson, Abbey Memorial Fund for Mural Painting/National Academy of Fine Arts, and the Gowanus Public Art Initiative, among others. She completed two significant commissions in 2024 including an immersive double sided glass artwork for Public Art for Public Schools/NYC Percent for Art in Brooklyn, NY and a room-wide mural for the new Vassar College Institute in Poughkeepsie, NY in 2024.

Follow Julia Whitney Barnes | Instagram: @

You’ve mentioned that the most alluring aspect of cyanotyping is capturing something ephemeral and representing it in a way that can last forever. What motivates you to address issues of nature and permanence?

Julia Whitney Barnes: Nature has always been my muse. I collect inspiration from my forays into the natural world with the intent of bringing those experiences and feelings directly back to my studio. I approach each growing thing with equal importance regardless of whether it is a weed, rare species, wildflower, or cultivated flower. Through my use of the cyanotype medium, I manipulate physical impressions of plants grown locally in my Hudson Valley garden and other nearby areas, along with intricately cutout photographic negatives. Each selected flower is preserved through a pressing process in which I dissect and shape each form—akin to a specimen from a natural history museum—and then lay everything out in massive flat files in my attic studio. Most works have several species fused into one composition, often to the point where the exact plants depicted are open to interpretation. Given that sunlight starts the exposure process with cyanotype chemistry, I carefully arrange elaborate compositions at night and utilize long exposures under natural or UV light to create the final prints. Once the unique cyan imagery is fused, I meticulously paint the exposed surface with multiple layers of watercolor, ink, acrylic, and gouache. Each cyanotype is created by the power of light, inspiring viewers to look at these very recognizable images in new and different ways. I want each composition to be familiar yet slightly outside of time.

You’ve completed numerous murals and large prints in your personal collection—as well as some at PS 523 in New York city. What about large print is artistically fulfilling to you?

JWB: Scale has a significant impact on how people interact with art. When I create larger works, it envelops the viewer in a complete environment. In contrast, smaller pieces often function like a “window” into a different world. Each location also presents unique challenges. In a home setting, smaller artworks can feel more intimate and personal, while larger pieces in public spaces allow for many individuals to engage with the artwork at once.

At the Griffin, we love the harmonious aesthetic of your works. Where does your interest in geometry and harmony stem from?

JWB: The three works on view for this exhibition are from my Planting Utopia series. I photographed and collected specimens from over 150 plants in the herb garden at Shaker Heritage Society, in Albany, NY. The Society is located at the site of the Shakers’ first settlement in the United States, known as Watervliet. Its herb garden pays homage to the significance of the Shakers’ herb cultivation, and seed and medicinal herb industries. I developed this series of works on paper and canvas with plants collected from the Shaker herb garden. Their compositions were based upon nineteenth-century Shaker Gift Drawings that were complex, divinely inspired revelations of spiritual perfection, often symmetrical and incorporating botanical elements.

Are there any other cyanotype artists whose work inspires you?

JWB: So many! I love the concept of this exhibition highlighting artists working with the medium. Anna Atkins has been a major influence on us all, and my guess is that more people are making cyanotypes worldwide than ever before. I first saw Susan Weil and Robert Rauschenberg’s cyanotypes many years ago, and it was one of the things that led me to create cyanotypes. I have worked with the medium for about a dozen years (besides summer camp “sun prints” decades ago). At first, I mainly used the technique along with other forms of printmaking. Arthur Wesley Dow was another early influence. Annette Golaz and Angela Chalmers have written wonderful books on cyanotype that I always recommend.

You’ve bounced around a lot in your life, having spent time in Central Vermont, Brooklyn, and most recently, in the Hudson Valley, a well-known artists’ haven. How has your shifting environment impacted your sense of home and belonging in your art?

JWB: I spent the first 18 years of my life all over New England, then the next 18 years in New York City (mostly Brooklyn). We moved to the Hudson Valley almost a decade ago, right before the birth of our first child. I would come visit the Hudson Valley as often as I could while living in NYC and knew that the eventual plan was to move here. It was no small achievement for two self-employed artists to qualify for a mortgage, so we were thrilled to make that dream a reality. We live in a 100+ year-old house and make the most out of our quarter-acre garden.

What piece is most important to you (in this exhibition) that you want to highlight/spotlight?

JWB: This whole series gains meaning from being seen together. My works in this show are limited edition signed prints since the original works were too large to fit in this space. A dozen pieces from this series were on view last year at the Hancock Shaker Museum in the Berkshires, MA, alongside some of the historic Shaker Gift Drawings that inspired them, so that was a proud moment. All of the 19th-century works then traveled to the American Folk Art Museum for a fantastic show highlighting the Shaker works.

Looking at the other artists in the exhibition, what artworks have caught your attention, and why?

JBW: I am looking forward to seeing Bryan Whitney’s work in person. We are not related (that I know of) but clearly share a love of plants, the ephemeral, and frames. His series cyanotyping the wood for his frames is wonderfully expansive. I put a lot of thought into all my frames and use a deep blue on many that has gone through an intensive dying, staining, and lacquering process. Another standout is the seaweed works of Brett Windham Day. It’s fun to think about a pairing of Anna Atkins’ 19th-century seaweed blue and white prints with the contemporary full-color works.

Willow Simon (b. June 28th, 2005)

Willow Simon is a rising sophomore at Wesleyan University, currently majoring in English and History, and planning on minoring in Middle Eastern Studies. She specializes in journalism and creative writing and has a passion for working in audio.

Griffin Museum of Photography – Winchester, Massachusetts

The Griffin Museum @ Lafayette City Center Passageway – Boston, Massachusetts

Sally Chapman‘s project Living in the Bubble is set during the recent COVID-19 pandemic and demands that we slow down and take our time, whether in art or elsewhere. This project is currently on display at the Griffin Museum of Photography’s exhibition Elemental Blues at the Griffin’s satellite gallery at Lafayette City Center from April 1st through June 30th. We had the fantastic opportunity to sit down and chat about his fascinating cyanotypes via email this week, and his responses are as follows.

Please join us on the following dates for an online conversation with the artists:
May 21st Panel: Sally Chapman, Julia Whitney Barnes, and Anna Leigh Clem.
May 28th Panel: Brett Windham, Bryan Whitney, and Cynthia Katz.

Artist Bio:

Sally Chapman is a photographer living in Lowell, MA. After earning a BFA in ceramics and photography from Michigan State University, she worked for over twenty years as a ceramic artist exhibiting widely. When she returned to photography ten years ago, she gravitated towards tactile methods of printing. She discovered 19^th century photographic process of cyanotype and the flexibility that hand done processes invite a constant experimentation. She exhibited in the Griffin Museum 30^th Annual Juried Members Show 2024 with Honorable Mention; Soho Photo Gallery National Competition 2023, Honorable Mention; Texas Photographic Society, By Hand: Alternative Processes, Honorable Mention; The Halide Project, Living Image, Grand Prize Winner; A Smith Gallery, Directors Award; 18th Julia Margaret Cameron Awards, Honorable Mention; and Rockport Art Association and Museum National Show. Excellence in Photography Award. She has had solo shows at the Soho Photo Gallery, New York, NY; The Halide Project, Philadelphia, PA; Three Stones Gallery, Concord, MA; MIT Rotch Architectural Library, Cambridge, MA; Gallery 93, Brookline, MA; The Sanctuary in Medford, MA; and the Arts League of Lowell, Lowell, MA. She has been included in many group shows including at the Griffin Museum, Winchester, MA; Image Flow Gallery, Mill Valley, CA; Soho Photo Gallery, New York, NY; Art Intersection, Gilbert, AZ; Light Space, Silver City, NM; Photo Place Gallery, Middlebury, VT; and the Danforth Museum, Framingham, MA.

Follow Sally Chapman | Instagram: @

We’d like to start delving more into the significance of the objects you choose in your still life composition. Can you tell us more about their significance?

Sally Chapman: The series Living In the Bubble was created during the pandemic when we were all in our home and cut off from our usual lives. I found myself at home surrounded by all my stuff—some of the items are precious and sentimental, but many are just mundane tools. But when it comes down to it, it is all just stuff.

In terms of laying out these objects in your photographs, is there a certain randomness in their order, or are there any considerations you make beforehand?

SC: In laying out the objects, the main considerations were making interesting arrangements. I did a wash of vinegar water over parts of the image to give it a more ethereal feeling to the works, highlighting the strangeness of the situation that we found ourselves in living under lockdown. In doing that, the objects take on a sameness in value, but in viewing the pieces, it’s intriguing to look at all the different items. Adding the oil pastel lines gives a colorful contrast to the blue of cyanotype.

You’ve been a long-time supporter of the e Griffin, with your cyanotypes previously displayed at the museum’s 30th Annual Juried Members’ Exhibition in the summer of 2024 and featured in the museum’s 26th Annual Juried Members’ Exhibition in previous years. How has your art grown and changed since these experiences?

SC: My art is constantly evolving. I like to experiment with different processes, materials, and techniques. It’s wonderful to have the support of the museum as a place where that experimentation is encouraged and celebrated.

You’re not only educated in the world of photography but also have expertise in Ceramics, having obtained your BFA in the art at Michigan State University alongside a photography degree. Has your experience with ceramics and still life influenced your cyanotype prints today?

SC: I worked in ceramics for over 20 years and switched to photography about 15 years ago. Working in clay, you are totally and physically immersed in your materials. And the last few years that impulse has been brought into my photographic work. I’ve been turning the photography pieces into 3-dimensional work. And discovering the world of handmade artist books has given me the vocabulary that I was looking for to do that.

What piece is most important to you (in this collection) that you want to highlight/spotlight, and why?

SC: I did this series 5 years ago and it’s interesting to look at it again with some distance. It’s like asking for a favorite child, which is hard to do. But for the sake of discussion, let’s say Bubble #5. I usually give titles to my work, but this series has numbers as I wasn’t working with different images for each piece. Each one is an experiment in exploring different variations. In Bubble #5 the selected items are ones that generally have a verticality to them. They are laid out in a shape that is like a hook or an incomplete oval. That the general shape is open, there is a sense of invitation in it. Or it can be seen as a hook, as we were all caught in the whole situation of the pandemic.

Looking at the other artists in the exhibition, what artworks have caught your attention, and why?

SC: It’s wonderful to show with this group of artists. Cyanotype is such a flexible medium. I love seeing all the different ways that it has been used here. I’m struck by the X-ray images of Bryan Whitney, perhaps because they are so clean and precise, which is the opposite of my work, which is loose and intuitive. And the subtle textures that come out in the work of Anna Leigh Clems through her toning techniques are incredible. I think it’s interesting to see that a number of us are adding colors to the work to go beyond cyanotype blue. Julia Whitney Barnes with her colorful painting of designs over the cyanotype backgrounds and Brett Day Windham’s vibrant colors delicately added to the prints. I have long admired Cynthia Katz and her grids of small prints combined into wonderful compositions.

Willow Simon (b. June 28th, 2005)

Willow Simon is a rising sophomore at Wesleyan University, currently majoring in English and History, and planning on minoring in Middle Eastern Studies. She specializes in journalism and creative writing and is passionate about working in audio.

Griffin Museum of Photography – Winchester, Massachusetts

The Griffin Museum @ Lafayette City Center Passageway – Boston, Massachusetts

Cynthia Katz‘s work takes the wildness of nature to the next level, breaking down recognizable images into individual puzzle pieces. This project is currently on display at the Griffin Museum of Photography’s exhibition Elemental Blues at the Griffin’s satellite gallery at Lafayette City Center, from April 1st through June 30th. We had the enlightening opportunity to sit down and chat about her peculiar cyanotypes via email this week, and her responses are as follows.

Please join us on the following dates for an online conversation with the artists:
May 21st Panel: Sally Chapman, Julia Whitney Barnes, and Anna Leigh Clem.
May 28th Panel: Brett Windham, Bryan Whitney, and Cynthia Katz.

Cynthia Katz is an award-winning photo-based artist working in the Boston area. Her cyanotypes, one of the earliest forms of photographic technology dating back to 1842, are created in a way that is relevant and meaningful in current times. Process and discovery have been guiding forces that link all her work. This work has been described as being both mysterious and familiar, has been shown regionally and nationally, most recently at Three Stones Gallery, Jessica Hagen Gallery, The Danforth Art Museum, The Fitchburg Art Museum, and Soho Photo Gallery in NYC. In 2024 Katz was recognized by LensCulture’s Art Photography Awards as a finalist and a juror’s pick. She was awarded the Photography Prize at the 2024 Fitchburg Art Museum’s Exhibition of Art and Craft and was the first prize recipient in Soho Photo Gallery’s 2024 Alternative Process Competition. Her work is published in journals, books and blogs, including Manifest’s International Photography Annual 3, SlowSpace.org and LensCulture. Cynthia’s recent presentations include “Handmade Photographs” at the Photographic Resource Center in Boston, Three Stones Gallery and at Concord Art. She is represented by Jessica Hagen Gallery in Newport, RI. Her work is housed in private collections. Cynthia earned a BFA in Photography from the University of New Hampshire and an MFA in Photography from Bennington College. She maintains a studio at The Umbrella Arts Center in Concord, MA, and she lives in West Concord. Cynthia has been around photographs and photography her whole life. Her father was a NYC free-lance advertising photographer. Pictured here, Cynthia, her brothers and her Dad, DAKA, on a shoot. Her father used family members as models whenever possible.

Follow Cynthia Katz | Instagram: @cynthiakatzstudio

Your cyanotype prints are typically arranged in a grid format and reconnected in a mismatched manner. What draws you to abstract photography, and more specifically, the grid format?

Cynthia Katz: The grid format you refer to is from a body of work entitled Almost Gone. In Elemental Blues the piece from that series is entitled New. The series’ origin came from mining an overflowing box of failures that were about to go into a bonfire. As I was ripping up pieces, I noticed elements I liked/thought they worked and selected a photographic format that I’ve used a lot (645), and began to cut out rectangular segments. Hence, the work was “Almost Gone” to ashes. In this series, I RECLAIM, REIMAGINE and RESTORE visual elements, creating new narratives that reference the earth, the world under the sea and the cosmic world. I’ve always loved grids, and I have used them to put together disparate parts, creating new wholes. I love forms, lines, shapes, texture and pattern and the way abstraction can still carry meaning.

Walk us through the process of creating one of these grid systems? What parts are you most methodical?

CK: All of my work is very process oriented. I don’t map things out ahead of time. I cut out rectangles (I’m also using squares now), RECLAIMING parts I like. When I have a stack to draw from, I start searching for visual connections—REIMAGINING how new forms come together, and then work from there. There is a lot of moving pieces around and exchanging pieces, even up to the actual adhering of the segments onto the background paper (using a piece of 2 ply board to give it some lift), changing parts to find the best way to move the viewer’s eye through the composition. I’m mindful of needed pauses to balance busy areas, and the way the different colors flow is important. After all is said and done, I hopefully have RESTORED the parts into a new whole that is read both in totality and for its details.

Regarding the content of your work, many of them appear to feature negatives of botanicals as well as families. What about these two categories of subjects makes them a fascinating reference for your work?

CK: The only parts that are from negatives are the families. And they are MY FAMILY. I found old family negatives, so these are my ancestors. Some I know (my mom, my grandparents, aunts and uncles) but many are just part of my history… unfortunately I’ve lost the information of who they are.

The rest of the imagery is from objects (flowers, stones, seeds, etc.) around my yard and gardens. Cyanotypes are a contact print process, so it’s a 1:1 relationship for scale. Thus both the negatives and the objects are actual size.

I’ve been a gardener since I was little. I learned by my mom’s side helping her. I often plant flowers that I want to photograph, or use in these cyanotypes. And my garden comes together in the same way as these grids… little by little, plant by plant. I’ve photographed people and places for a long time, so this is an outgrowth of that other part of my practice.

In your artist’s statement, you describe your process as methodical and slow, mentioning that your prints include a “dose of politics and news.” How do these aspects of your creative process influence your cyanotype prints?

CK: I am a news junkie (which has been tough in these times) but it wasn’t until the first T-administration that I started using topics of immigration or war as impetus for my work. Kids in cages, border crossings, or the Ukraine War (I found out I am not Russian but Ukrainian during the war from a cousin who is researching our family) became subtle points of departure for making work. The piece Red, White and Very Blue in the show was referencing the way that the flag has become weaponized, but also the way our country has been divided and polarized, which makes me really sad. I don’t know that someone would look at the work without a statement or title, or hearing me talk about it and see political content. When I am printing cyanotypes now, I’m often thinking about our origin stories, our paths, our search for ourselves in the universe and on this blue planet.

What piece is most important to you (in this collection) that you want to highlight/spotlight?

CK: It’s funny that the three pieces in the exhibition are each from a different series, yet share a color palette that is based on straight cyanotypes. Hopefully they also are united by a consistent feel. The piece New One from the series Almost Gone is quite different from the rest of that work, being more minimal in color range and forms. Here, I worked with a color palette that was consistent and forms that were bold and repeat, vs. having a wide range of color, tonalities, and image forms. Almost Gone as a body of work has been pivotal to my growth and practice as an artist. It’s allowed me to consider failure in new ways and draw on abstraction in a medium (photography) that is typically representative and referential. Not to dilute the importance of New One, the other two pieces in the exhibit hold an important place for me in my current practice representing the two other ways I’m currently working.

Looking at the other artists in the exhibition, what artworks have caught your attention, and why?

CK: I’ve been familiar with the work of some of the artists in this show, all of whom I’m grateful to be sharing space with. I think our different approaches using cyanotypes enlarges the conversations about photography and historic forms. I love the way Bryan Whitney’s work is both simple and complex, and the luminosity is striking. There is an elegance and a majesty to his pieces. We were in a show together a couple years ago at Soho Photo Gallery in NYC, and I was captivated by his work from the start.

Willow Simon (b. June 28th, 2005)

Willow Simon is a rising sophomore at Wesleyan University, currently majoring in English and History, and planning on minoring in Middle Eastern Studies. She specializes in journalism and creative writing and is passionate about working in audio.

Griffin Museum of Photography – Winchester, Massachusetts

The Griffin Museum @ Lafayette City Center Passageway – Boston, Massachusetts

Anna Leigh Clem‘s work Dreamland, a project exploring nature throughout the barren shores of Canada’s Prince Edward Island, is currently on display at the Griffin Museum of Photography’s exhibition Elemental Blues at the Griffin’s satellite gallery at Lafayette City Center, from April 1st through June 30th. We had the fantastic opportunity to sit down and chat with her via email this week about her misty, dream-like cyanotypes, and her responses are as follows.

Please join us on the following dates for an online conversation with the artists:
May 21st Panel: Sally Chapman, Julia Whitney Barnes, and Anna Leigh Clem.
May 28th Panel: Brett Windham, Bryan Whitney, and Cynthia Katz.

Anna Leigh Clem (1990, NY) is an artist and educator working in photography, text, book arts, video, and other media to investigate the nature of ephemerality. Compelled by the ineffable secrets embedded in memories, dreams, and the natural world, her work makes tangible these otherwise invisible realms. Clem currently lives and works on the North Shore of Boston and holds a Master of Fine-Arts in photography and integrated media from Lesley University (2021) and a Bachelor of Fine-Arts in photography from Rochester Institute of Technology (2012). She received a Grant for Creative Individuals from Mass Cultural Council in 2025. Her work has been shown both nationally and internationally, at venues such as Bromfield Gallery, the Center for Photography at Woodstock, Foley Gallery, Visual Studies Workshop, and Elysium Gallery. She has published both trade edition books and artist’s books, several of which are held in collections at The Griffin Museum of Photography, Yale University, SMFA, SVA, and Pratt Institute. She has taught college-level courses at Northeastern University, Lesley University, Endicott College, and Montserrat College of Art.

Follow Anna Leigh Clem | Instagram: @aapertura

You work on the North Shore of Massachusetts and in Prince Edward Island on Canada’s Atlantic coast. Has both areas’ proximity to the ocean and far-Northeastern seaside culture influenced your work?

Anna Leigh Clem: Wherever I live, I am held by that place and immerse myself in it through my work. That being said, the ocean is such a mysterious and unpredictable being, I can’t help but be in awe of it. While it is not often the subject of my work, working near the ocean has energized and inspired me. It is most directly linked to the Dreamland series because the ocean helped create the dune system that the project is centered around.

Given that the 1880 Meachams Atlas labeled this region as “Barren Land,” how does your work subvert colonial or extractive cartographic narratives? In what ways do you see Dreamland functioning as a kind of “counter-map”?

ALC: Being “useful” has, in the western sense, hardly ever included beauty for its own sake. Dreamland, while visually strange, is mysterious, awe-inspiring, and full of life. My cyanotypes seek to portray this point of view through imagery and tonality. Because Dreamland was spared from resource extraction, it is now one of the more ecologically diverse and sensationally interesting places on the island, which is priceless considering how much has been lost to extraction and exploitation.

Since your work physically incorporates the place (through foraged toners and objects), how does that make the photographic image more directly connected to the real world or the subject it represents, strengthening or even challenging its indexicality?

ALC: With the toned prints, we can see an image of place and we know the plant matter sourced from this place is embedded in the fibers of the print, also visible in the color shift. The unframed prints also allow you to touch this place, and in some cases even smell it. This multi-faceted indexicality bridges the gap created by the inclusion of digital processes (scanning the film and making the large digital negatives for cyanotype printing) and creates a more immersive experience. The prints feel alive and no two are the same.

Have you developed a personal brew for toning your photographs, and if so, can you guide us through the process?

ALC: Yes—I particularly like the results I have gotten with strawberry leaf, which, depending on the temperature and pH level of the water and where the plant is collected from, among other factors, can yield a blue-green, dusty blue, grey, black, or brown print. Collect 15–30g of fresh strawberry leaves, often found in human-disturbed areas, and steep them in 2–4L of boiling hot water for 20+ minutes. Quantities depend on the size of the print tray. Strain the brew into the tray and steep your print for 10 minutes to several hours, checking regularly until you are pleased with the results. Rinse well.

What piece is most important to you (in this collection) that you want to highlight/spotlight?

ALC: Teeth Grow in the Heathland was an exciting image to make because of the thrill of finding this boneyard in the middle of a thicket in Dreamland. I enjoy the life / death duality depicted in the image.

Looking at the other artists in the exhibition, what artworks have caught your attention, and why?

ALC: I love Cynthia Katz’s multi-paneled pieces, where the forms are disjointed and come back together in unexpected ways. The work is enigmatic, and I want to keep looking.

Willow Simon (b. June 28th, 2005)

Willow Simon is a rising sophomore at Wesleyan University, currently majoring in English and History, and planning on minoring in Middle Eastern Studies. She specializes in journalism and creative writing and is passionate about working in audio.

Griffin Museum of Photography – Winchester, Massachusetts

The Griffin Museum @ Lafayette City Center Passageway – Boston, Massachusetts

Bryan Whitney‘s images use X-ray scans of everyday flora to examine nature from the inside out. This project is currently on display at the Griffin Museum of Photography’s exhibition Elemental Blues at the Griffin’s satellite gallery at Lafayette City Center from April 1st through June 30th. We had the fantastic opportunity to sit down and chat about his fascinating cyanotypes via email this week, and his responses are as follows.

Please join us on the following dates for an online conversation with the artists:
May 21st Panel: Sally Chapman, Julia Whitney Barnes, and Anna Leigh Clem.
May 28th Panel: Brett Windham, Bryan Whitney, and Cynthia Katz.

Bryan Whitney is a photographer and artist in New York City whose work involves experimental imaging techniques including x-rays, lensless imaging and alternative processes such as cyanotype. Whitney holds an MFA in Photography from the Tyler School of Art and a BA in the Psychology of Art from University of Michigan. He has taught photography at Rutgers University and currently teaches at the International Center of Photography in New York City and the New York Botanical Garden. A recipient of a Fulbright Grant for lectures on American Photography he has exhibited across the United States and internationally. His work has appeared in magazines such as Harpers Bazaar, Fortune, the New York Times, as well as being featured in books, posters and billboards. His X-ray botanical images have recently been acquired as a stamp designs by the US Postal Service.  

Follow Bryan Whitney | Instagram: @temporarypedestal

As an X-ray artist, your work involves revealing the hidden intricacies of the natural world. Metaphorically and symbolically speaking, why does transparency reveal to you artistically?

Bryan Whitney: Symbolically and metaphorically, transparency represents an understanding of the tru nature of reality. We tend to perceive the world as composed of discrete objects including ourselves, yet energy flows continuously through all things—x-rays, radio waves, and more—hinting at a deeper unity. Transparency becomes a metaphor for this unseen, interconnected reality.

You’re using very technological techniques for your imaging process; where does your interest in science and botany come from, and how did you discover the world of x-ray photography?

BW: I discovered X-ray imaging through my wife who works as a conservator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art where x-rays are used along with other scientific tools are used to study artworks. Intrigued by all forms of image-making, I received permission to experiment with unexpected objects. Over the past 20 years, I’ve continued this practice—now independently—using extra-large sheets of film (17 x 22”), developed by hand in trays. You might call it “X-tra large format.”

Addressing the material aspect of your work, you create your frames for your work. Considering your work is focused on the unknown interiors of objects, why focus on the outside of your work as well?

BW: For me, the artwork is more than an image—it’s a physical embodiment of ideas, emotions, and perceptions. Materials carry expressive weight through texture, color, and form, even in abstract work. I craft my blue frames from raw lumber to integrate fully with the cyanotypes, creating a unified whole—a Gesamtkunstwerk, as the Germans say.

Describe your photography process in the studio to make one of these prints as if you were in the studio with you.

BW: My botanical x-rays are made using a 1:1 imaging technique, akin to a photogram—no lens involved, and the film must match the object in size. After hand-developing and drying the film, I scan it and digitally adjust the image, carefully isolating the subject by using a digital pen, which is much like drawing. I then print an internegative on transparent film at the final print size. A high-quality watercolor sheet is coated with cyanotype solution using a Japanese hake brush, dried, and exposed under UV light in contact with the internegative. The image is developed in water which washes away the unexposed cyanotype solution and is dried. I mill, stain, and assemble hard maple frames, finishing with museum-grade UV-protective plexiglass.

Working in the Hudson Valley, have you had the opportunity or interest in working with the native flora in the region?

BW: Yes, I’ve used ferns from the Hudson Valley in my work. I often retreat to my off-grid cabins in the Catskills, which keep me closely connected to the local landscape and flora.

Some of your previous work has focused on portraiture-style photography rather than botany. How do you determine the subjects of your photographs, and what inspired you to work with the natural world?

BW: Like many artists the Covid time caused a realignment in my work. I was hiking everyday in the Catskills and started doing “portraits” of trees using a fisheye lens. I created a body of work called “Enchanted Forest” which I installed as a popup exhibition in a laundromat (!) and subsequently showed in a gallery. Fascinated by art history, I created “re-portraits” of Roman busts using a tilt-shift lens, and a series called“GAZE,” featuring thumbnail size19th-century tintypes enlarged onto fabric and installed in immersive circular form that you walked inside.

What piece is most important to you (in this collection) that you want to highlight/spotlight?

BW: The Lotus is a favorite—both for its symbolism and the tiny, Brueghel-like figures that many see dancing in its center. My botanical x-rays are not portraits of specific specimens; they serve as votive images, evoking the archetype of each plant.

Willow Simon (b. June 28th, 2005)

Willow Simon is a rising sophomore at Wesleyan University, currently majoring in English and History, and planning on minoring in Middle Eastern Studies. She specializes in journalism and creative writing and is passionate about working in audio.

Griffin Museum of Photography – Winchester, Massachusetts

The Griffin Museum @ Lafayette City Center Passageway – Boston, Massachusetts

January 17th 2025 — It was one of those days when the deceptively clear sky allowed the morning sun to beam down onto the fresh January snow so bright it made the ice crystals glisten like stars in the New England sky. It was one of those days when the nearby Winchester High School students still hadn’t been let out, and a quiet peace shone across the adjacent Judkins Pond, where a nest of swans had made their home. Here, neatly tucked on the shore of the Aberjona River, stands the Griffin Museum of Photography, endearingly referred to as simply “the Griffin.” On January 17th, the museum opened with its newest exhibition: Nuclear Family. This project collaborated with numerous artists both domestically and internationally to explore themes of family and parenthood—highlighting these matters through a queer lens.

I was fortunate enough to view the pieces just before the official opening night, allowing me to take in each other the pieces in a state of seclusion and privacy. This time alone in the ornate building challenged me to authentically observe and deliberate each of the numerous astounding photographs placed around the museum’s three spaces.

After briefly speaking with and enjoying the company of Executive Director Crista Dix, I turned around and entered the main gallery space. Three purple walls welcomed me into the room, and I immediately felt a sense of unequivocal warmth. 

In the center main gallery, the vivid pastels of Laurence Philomene’s monograph Puberty immediately welcome you into the space, a project exploring the multifaceted nature of transitioning. Philomene’s works, such as Angel Chimes (2021) and Daily Still Life/Bedside Table (2019), grant the viewers a small, unfiltered window into their life as a non-binary individual. Behind the pastels, themes of freedom and intimacy weaves together their pieces and add vibrancy to this exhibition.

On the main gallery’s walls, you can find numerous other projects, each observing queerness from each artist’s lens. What made this project so exceptional was having the opportunity to view how others interpret their queerness, each artist being vastly different from the prior. 

Mengwen Cao’s Liminal Space centered on joy and connection in the queer Asian diaspora. In this project, they allow those photographed to express themselves in a genuine and all-encompassing way, placing the ideas of strife and struggles in the LGBTQ+ community on the back burner, allowing moments of unabashed delight to shine through. These photos—characterized by their shimmering and opalescent quality—radiate nothing less than charm.

Nearby hangs Jess T. Dugan’s Letter to My Daughter, a series dedicated to their own five-year-old Elinor. This project takes the form of a video featuring photographs that beautifully paint together both the zeniths and nadirs of parenthood as a queer person—touching upon topics such as the challenges of conception, adjusting to parenthood as a queer person, and love. The audio behind the video hit home for me, with Dugan reading aloud a letter that was written to their daughter. It was genuinely fascinating to see Dugan spotlight this theme, as family is often a contentious topic within the queer community, and Dugan’s spotlight allows for an open and honest conversation about how identity and parenthood intersect.

Adjacent to Dugan hangs prints created by artist Yorgos Efthymiadis in his collection The Lighthouse Keepers. His pastoral depictions of his seaside hometown in Greece perfectly mirror the recurrent metaphors of lighthouse keepers guiding queer folk through his quaint hometown. Fittingly, the marriage between home, identity, and community glows from his pieces. 

Anne Vetter’s series love is not the last room that examines community on a familial level, utilizing their family as the models in their fascinating story. Observing everyday scenes through their gender-fluid lens, Vetter can accurately and meaningfully capture large swaths of family life, delicately subverting expectations.

What contextualizes these pieces? Matthew Leifheit’s Queer Archives series serve to document queer culture through its various movements throughout the 20th century, collecting and re-presenting materials that many major institutions would neglect. Leifheit’s archival work not only serves to question who is in charge of telling history but, in doing so, also keeps that same history alive. Leifheit’s series underscores a more significant issue within historical storytelling and keeps those silenced queer voices alive, a sight that was truly heartwarming to see. It’s stories like the one’s that Leifheit raises that provided me with a plethora of solace in my coming out, reminding the world that queer people have always been here and will always continue to be.

Moving out of the main gallery into the atelier gallery, I was greeted by artist Kevin Bennett Moore’s project Meditation in an Emergency. Moore, influenced by films of the mid-19th century and by their own experience as a queer individual, creates scenes that occupy a tangible and abstract space for the viewer. In essence, they are not the calm before the storm but rather the calm within the storm. The presentation of these pieces outside the main gallery serves to further isolate the works from those of the other artists and aids in driving home the themes Moore addresses.

Further on in the Griffin’s back gallery hangs the heartbreaking displays created by Matthew Finley in his series An Impossibly Normal Life, which follows his uncle Ken’s life as a queer man in the pre-1970s. Finley, who identifies as queer himself, reshaped his uncle’s life into something that didn’t focus on the shame of being LGBTQ+ but instead lived in an alternate reality where that same aspect was a social norm.

Adding a light shimmer over scenes of men acting in a way some would presume as ‘taboo,’ reshaping them into something positive was indeed a heartwarming and gut-wrenching experience. It’s challenging not to imagine what these men may have gone through, and Finley successfully achieves his goal of showing anyone “struggling with their identity what could have been and what could have been.” When exiting this portion of the gallery, I turned around to catch a last glimpse at the photos on the wall when a shimmer of sunlight gleamed through the window, making the whole room shimmer in a truly dazzling display. At this moment, I understood why the museum had hit so close to home. 

As the United States continues to change, it was truly touching to be invited to a space celebrating queerness without remorse. Whether in Philomene’s vibrant prints, Vetter’s calm and present shots, or Finley’s sparkling and emotional displays, it was clear that these artists put time, thought, and care into each of their extraordinary displays. As a local queer teenager, it’s moving to see such a celebration of queer art and queer lives. Despite my lack of expertise in photography, it was evident that what these eight artists created was nothing short of passionate, evocative, and dazzling.

Willow Simon (b. June 28th, 2005) is a rising sophomore at Wesleyan University, currently majoring in English and History, and planning on minoring in Middle Eastern Studies. She specializes in journalism and creative writing and has a passion for working in audio.

Griffin Museum of Photography – Winchester, Massachusetts

The Griffin Museum @ Lafayette City Center Passageway – Boston, Massachusetts

Mengwen Cao‘s project, Liminal Space, celebrates the everyday beauty, intimacy, and resilience of queer and trans people of color, with a particular focus on Asian queer identities. We had the opportunity to ask a few questions to Cao, whose work is on view in our Nuclear Family exhibition, which explores ideas of family and community through a queer lens.

Nuclear Family is on view at the Main Gallery from January 17 – March 30, 2025

Reception for the Artists – January 23rd, 6 to 8pm

An interview with the artist follows.

The tender gaze in Liminal Space feels deeply intentional. How do you create an environment where such moments of vulnerability and connection can unfold naturally during your shoots?

MC: My process is deeply collaborative. Before a photoshoot, I always ask my subjects how they want to be seen and what makes them feel safe. Growing up in a mainstream society that often tells us we don’t belong can create a somatic memory of fear around being seen. I’ve experienced this myself—I’ve frozen in front of the camera—so I understand how vulnerable it can feel. When I’m behind the camera, I try my best to create a safe environment where people can express their authentic selves.

This project began in 2017 when I first moved to New York and was searching for a queer people of color community. Photo sessions became a way to connect with others intimately and build relationships. Over time, the process has evolved into something more intentional and ritualistic. Lately, I’ve been treating photo sessions as a form of spell-casting or alchemy. We start with a collaborative vision session, where we have an in-depth conversation about their intentions, the past they want to shed, their present reality, and the future they want to call in. On the day of the shoot, we begin with somatic exercises—like massage or visualization meditation—to help them center themselves and connect with their vision. Then, we play. It’s not about performing a role; it’s a ritual to return to the self and remember the power of presence.

Given the collaborative nature of the work, do you have a favorite anecdote or interaction with a subject that speaks to the essence of this project?

MC: One of my most recent collaborations, with Haruka Aoki, felt like a crystallizing moment for this project. Haruka is a Japanese poet-illustrator and hope bender. We had been internet friends for a while, admiring each other’s work from afar, but we had never met in person. After our initial vision call, I was beaming with joy and alignment—there was a visceral sense that we had conjured this moment together. Both of us were in a transitional phase, working to liberate our inner child and claim our powe. Over five months, we exchanged tender emails across the ocean, building a connection that felt both intimate and timeless.

When we finally met in person for the photoshoot, it was during golden hour in Sunset Park, New York. The session flowed with such ease. There was a particular moment when Haruka looked into my eyes, bathed in golden sunlight, hugging a tree. In that instant, I felt like we had done this before—like we were two time travelers, doing exactly what we were meant to do. Haruka later shared that they felt as though their past, present, and future selves had all gathered.

Throughout this process, I felt a deep sense of trust and openness, a willingness to engage in this shared act of becoming. It reminded me that we are co-creating the future we want to live in by embodying our most authentic selves. This collaboration was a profound reminder of why I do this work—to create spaces where we can see and be seen, not just as we are, but as we are becoming.

For me, this work is also about ancestral healing and collective alchemy. By creating images that honor the complexity and beauty of queer people of color, I feel like I’m contributing to a larger tapestry of healing—one that stretches across generations. It’s a way of reclaiming narratives that have been erased or marginalized and offering a vision of wholeness. In these moments of connection and vulnerability, I feel the presence of my ancestors and the collective energy of all those who have fought for us to exist freely. I also wish to cast hope for future generations to grow with this kind of reference in mind. 

As someone who integrates your diasporic identity and embodied experiences into your art, how does your cultural background shape the visuals of your work?

My cultural background and upbringing in China are deeply embedded in the way I see and create art. I was born and raised in Hangzhou, a city with over 2,000 years of history, known as “the heaven on earth” filled with stunning temples, gardens, and pavilions. It’s also the setting of The Legend of the White Snake, a story that has been retold in countless ways, including a popular TV series that aired every summer during my childhood. In one version, two women played the main couple and fall in love—a narrative that, even as a child, felt quietly revolutionary to me. These early exposures to beauty, mythology, and subtle queerness shaped my imagination and my longing for stories that exist beyond the conventional.

Growing up in China in the 1990s, I witnessed the transition from analog to digital, which opened up a portal for me to access queer media from a young age. I lived two parallel lives: one in a conventional society where queerness carried significant stigma, and another on the internet, where I discovered vibrant queer communities and narratives from around the world. This duality made me crave more nuanced representations of queer lives—stories that weren’t just about struggle or triumph but about the quiet moments in between. In many ways, Liminal Space is my way of filling that gap for my younger self. 

In this series, I primarily use natural and environmental light to create a sense of intimacy and timelessness. I want to photograph queer people of color in their most relaxed, dreamy states—beyond the extremes of hypervisibility or invisibility. I want to see images of us resting, dreaming, cooking, hugging, and simply existing. These moments feel like a form of resistance and reclamation, a way of saying, ‘We are here, and we are whole.’ 

My diasporic identity also plays a significant role in my work. Moving to the United States in 2012 added another layer to my understanding of belonging and displacement. I often think about how people I photograph and I navigate these liminal spaces—between cultures, identities, and histories. Through this project, I’ve come to see my work as a form of ancestral healing and collective alchemy. It’s a way of reclaiming narratives that have been erased or marginalized and offering a vision of wholeness for ourselves and those who came before us.

You mention in your bio the importance of your nomadic roots, how has this untethered lifestyle affected your work as a photographer? As a person?

MC: Last year, I saw walking trees in Taiwan. They moves across the forest by growing new roots and relocating itself. I was mesmerized and felt deeply seen. As part of nature, I also follow the cycle of change. I’m constantly moving through different stages of comfort and growth. Maybe it’s in the nature of queer immigrants to constantly evolve and create environments for thriving. This untethered lifestyle has taught me resilience and the importance of building community wherever I go. 

My nomadic roots have also taught me to find beauty in impermanence and to embrace change as a constant. As a photographer, this has made me highly adaptable and open to new perspectives. I’m drawn to transient moments—the fleeting expressions, the shifting light, the quiet in-between spaces. As a person, it’s shaped my ability to connect with people from diverse backgrounds and to find a sense of home wherever I am. It’s also made me deeply curious about the stories of others, which is why my work often centers on human connection and shared experiences.

In this interview with Stas Ginzburg, we delve into the stories behind his photographs of New York City’s vibrant queer community. His project, Sanctuary, offers intimate portraits of the homes of queer, trans, and non-binary individuals, providing a window into their personal worlds and the spaces where they find refuge and expression.

Ginzburg’s work is on view through March 30, 2025 as part of Griffin Museum’s online exhibitions programming, Family Matters, focusing on LGBTQIA+ photographers, alongside the works of Jorge Ariel Escobar, Kyle Agnew, and Caleb Cole.

An interview with the artist follows.

Stas Ginzburg is a multidisciplinary artist based in Brooklyn, NY. He immigrated to the U.S. from Russia as a queer Jewish refugee. In 2006, Ginzburg graduated from Parsons School of Design in NYC, where he studied photography. Since then, his practice has expanded to include sculpture, installation, and performance art. When the protests for racial justice ignited in May 2020, Ginzburg returned to photography to document faces of young activists fighting for Black liberation. He has focused on portrait photography ever since, with an emphasis on the LGBTQIA+ community.

In the fall of 2022, a selection of Ginzburg’s portraits of young queer and trans activists was exhibited at Broward College in Florida. His work was also shown at the Queens Museum and Photoville as part of ‘Live Pridefully, Caribbean Equality Project,’ in 2021 and 2022, respectively. Currently, his photography is on display at the National Portrait Gallery in London as part of ‘Taylor Wessing Photo Portrait Prize’ and Pace University Art Gallery, NY as part of ‘Critical Connections: Protest Photography Past + Present.’

Ginzburg’s images are featured in ‘Revolution Is Love: A Year of Black Trans Liberation,’ a book published by Aperture in the Fall of 2022.

Why are you drawn to portraits? And what’s your philosophy when interacting with these subjects to capture such intimacy?

Portraits tell a story not only about the sitter in the photograph but also about the person behind the lens. I see a bit of myself in every individual I photograph. It is the power of the queer community—we all share similar trauma and experiences. We all deal with rejection and fitting in, finding our path and persevering.

Perhaps these unspoken shared experiences allow me to connect with my subjects on such an intimate level. I am humbled and grateful that I am invited into the homes of my queer and trans siblings. I try to establish a comfortable and safe environment where every person is able to relax and present themselves in a way that feels authentic and dignified. I then use my camera to capture and enhance that feeling.

If a photograph is worth a thousand words, capturing the nuance and complexities of these subjects in one series is impossible. How do you approach fitting as much information about their personhood in a single shot?

It is truly impossible to tell a story of someone’s life in a single frame. An individual portrait is just a small snapshot of a moment in time. Human beings are far more complex than that. However, creating a series of such moments can begin to convey the broader experience of the community as a whole. When we look at the body of work, study people’s faces, what they wear, the objects that inhabit their bedrooms and living rooms, a collective portrait starts to emerge.

I often think of my work as an archive that cements my subjects’ place in history for future generations. Despite our current administration’s best efforts to silence and erase queer, trans, and non-binary folx, my photographs stand as proof that we are here, we exist, we thrive, and we are beautiful.

As a multidisciplinary artist you return to photography in 2020, Why did you have a stronger connection with this medium to capture that moment in time?

When the protests ignited at the end of May 2020, I felt the urge to get out into the streets and see for myself what was happening. There was a lot of confusion and misinformation on the news, and I needed to experience things firsthand. At first, I wasn’t even bringing my camera to the marches because, at the time, I was interested in other forms of art—mainly sculpture and performance. My goal was to observe, listen, and learn.

I quickly realized that this was a historic moment that required documentation. I was in awe of the young generation leading these marches, speaking out about the issues, and sharing their experiences. I started making portraits of people I met in the streets. I remember feeling like a fish back in water, realizing just how much I had missed photography. This newfound excitement for the medium, coupled with the energy of the streets, marked the beginning of a new chapter in my practice.

Being from Russia but based in New York, can you explain your relationship between place and community and/or how you’ve built community while working in an urban setting?

My family immigrated to the U.S. in 1999 when I was 15 and just beginning to come to terms with my queer identity. Up until that point, I didn’t know a single queer or trans person, as it was such a taboo lifestyle in my hometown. There wasn’t a community I could relate to, or at least, I hadn’t discovered one yet at such a young age. 

When we moved here, I was busy adjusting to my new life. I started high school in Brooklyn right away and had to brush up on my English. I struggled to relate to my American peers because our upbringings were so vastly different. It wasn’t until college that I began exploring who I was as a gay man. 

In reality, it wasn’t until much later that I found my true community and chosen family. In late June of 2020, while photographing in the streets, I came across a group of queer and trans folx called The Stonewall Protests. This space, created by two Black trans women, Qween Jean and Joela Rivera, specifically uplifted queer and trans people of color who were underrepresented in the broader Black Lives Matter movement. This community gathered every Thursday in Greenwich Village and marched across the city, often stopping in the middle of the streets to burst into spontaneous runways and voguing balls—an expression of queer joy and resistance. 

It was within this space that I met many people who have since embraced me as their chosen family. I have photographed folx in the streets over and over again and I have now photographed them in their homes. We’ve become close friends outside of the protest scene and we continue to check in and care for one another. I am forever grateful to this community for showing me the power of chosen family and teaching me about radical love, mutual aid, the importance of holding space, and that none of us are free until Black trans woman is liberated.  

We love the sequencing of these images. Why did you pick these specific photographs and what is the conversation they are having with each other? 

This is the first time I’ve had the opportunity to publish all 19 photographs in the portfolio at once. While I’ve only been working on this series for two years, my goal is to create a collection of 40–50 portraits, enough to fill a book. 

For this particular sequence, I thought about how each subject’s energy complements or contrasts with the next. Some portraits are close-ups with bold pops of color, while others recede into the environment and are more introspective. Together, they create a rhythm that reflects the diversity and beauty of the community. My hope is that this arrangement invites the viewer to move through the portfolio thoughtfully, discovering new connections by taking in each individual story, while simultaneously piecing together a collective narrative.

In this interview with Kyle Agnew we learn the parallels between the Indiana Dunes, the phenomenon of Magenta as a color, and capturing joyfulness with Kyle’s queer identity and analog photographic practice. In this dialogue exchange, we discuss their project, Our Cheeks Blushed Amidst Prairie Grasses.

Kyle Agnew’s work is on view through March 30, 2025 as part of Griffin Museum’s online exhibitions programming, Family Matters, focusing on LGBTQIA+ photographers from, alongside the works of Jorge Ariel Escobar, Stas Ginzburg, and Caleb Cole.

Kyle Agnew is an Indiana native and received his BFA in photography from the University of Indianapolis in Indianapolis, Indiana. Kyle’s practice is a colorful, sentimental, cluttered closet where dreams can be written into reality through our imaginations. Kyle often works from a large archive of collective familial objects passed down from their grandmother to his mother, and now to him. They ponder this collection and its authenticity to all aspects of his identity, as well as using it as source material to create new queer fairytales and express a more multifaceted idea of queer love. Through exploration of the motifs and symbols these kitschy objects hold Kyle implores their audience to meditate on ideas of gender signaling, heteronormativity, and the nuances of queer love.

Our Cheeks Blushed Amidst Prairie Grasses

In the cannon of photography when queerness is invited to the table to be discussed, it often is observed through the voyeuristic lens of a queer male photographing a fellow queer male in the nude. Though rejoicing in the body and sexual experience that comprises a slice of queer life proves valuable, an over glorification of these images minimizes the complexity of the queer identity. Growing up in the Midwest, queer love was reduced to a purely physical and sexual presence – something deemed disturbing by the hegemonic gaze, I transgress this to propose an expanded view of queerness in the landscape as an embodiment of my experience.

bell hooks puts it best when stating that “[being] Queer’ [is] not as being about who you’re having sex with (that can be a dimension of it); but ‘queer’ as being about the self that is at odds with everything around it and that has to invent and create and find a place to speak and to thrive and to live.”
What does queer love look like? How can we position queer love as a natural component within our more than human world? How do I tell my partner I love and long for him across hundreds of miles of distance? Through the photographic investigation of the Indiana Dunes, the site of my engagement, and the Iowan prairie, the place me and my partner now reside, I challenge oversimplified views of queer love by expanding naturalist heteronormative narratives of the landscape. Furthering this conversation, my partner and I perform still-lifes in our interior domestic space in search for a view of queerness that implores the romantic, complex, effeminate, and saccharine. Queerness isn’t detached from the landscape but is innate to our world and its inhabitants, from the cellular to the sunset.

A Q&A with the artist follows:

Materiality plays an important role in your work. Where does the importance of touch come from in your practice, and in specific, to photography?

Before I entered and began graduate school I worked full time at the Indiana State Museum as an Engagement Specialist where I developed educational material for guests to engage with throughout the exhibits. This allowed me access to the Paintings of Frank Dudley, a Landscape painter from Indiana who documents the sensation of the Indiana Dunes in his paintings in effort to capture the Indiana Dunes in efforts to help conserve the landscape. These landscape paintings became a large source of inspiration for my body of work. I knew I wanted to offer the landscape a moment of intervention into the film so it can make a mark on the image physically and Visually. Dudley’s paintings are often romantic and impressionist as they offer the idea of the beauty of the space instead of a direct representation. His brush strokes are present, precise, and intervene onto the landscape; this offers Dudley a place to express his emotional ties to the Dunes. Through activating touch on the film by integrating sand, water, and other ephemera from the dunes into the development process I hope to activate the dunes as a collaborator with me instead of something I have control over. As if the dunes itself kissed the film it is able to make a mark like a painter onto the image of itself. I was very inspired and moved by artist Odette England who engages with the surface of film to embed a sense of emotionality and intent to the work beyond just the preserved image, such as in her image “Dad 3 Right Foot” where and image of her childhood farm is photographed, taped to the bottom of her fathers shoe, and then walked on around the space. Instead of having another person intervene though I ask the Indiana Dunes itself to collaborate with me and kiss the images with its sand to leave marks of our love there.

Can you explain your choice in using landscape photographs for this series exploring family and being in community (or apart from them)?  

When I first began graduate school I was making a lot of still lives and self portraits as I tried to navigate what I wanted to explicitly explore for my thesis and I kept coming to this feeling of loneliness and isolation from my loved ones that were now a few states away. The only way I knew to try and resolve this was to document the space in between us, physically, leading me to landscape photography. This became more focused though after my Fiance Walter Saide proposed to me at the Indiana Dunes, This space now held this event and our love and I wanted to try and show how the landscape and queerness could be tied together. My entire life growing up in Indiana Queerness was always positioned as something “unnatural” or not normal, by tieing queerness to the land as a normal function of ecosystems and animal groups beyond the human I hope to see that being queer is something normal across species beyond our own and not something to feel shame around but to be proud of. You are just as natural as two swans in love, the sand on the beach, or a group of clovers. 

You use the term “gender signaling” to describe your work. How do you use that concept in your overall work in ways that might not be as readily evident?

Throughout my work I think about what I present and what my audience infers from what I am presenting to them, these pink dream fields often feel soft and feminine which contrast to our more masculine bodies. This is in efforts to help show that anyone can like any color and that pink for me is reclaimed as this queer signifier of love.

 I also am an antique collector building upon an archive of Salt and Pepper shakers my Grandmother passed down to me. These figurines appear alongside figures throughout my bodies of work and are always presented as a “set” or “couple”. These figures also usually present in a stereotypical male female way due to this coupling of a set. The Shakers I collect and show though are either very feminine and still present as a set or couple queering them or vice versa. 

The color pink is used in many of your works, can you explain your personal connection to color and the representation of your queer identity?

Pink first is my favorite color, during my time in undergrad I became associated with it due to my interest in 1950-60 mid century design where color is used more playfully across decor of the era, especially in the kitsch. I think that is where and why this color felt right for this project is that sense of kitschy sentimentality I am occupying. The pink signals a feeling of warmth, a feeling of love, a feeling of belonging but is also a little kitschy and campy to indulge in it in such a way. I also want to use it unabashedly as a male identifying individual people do not always think that is okay in places I grew up when it is just a color like any other. I also wanted to use a color you can find in nature and that is a “natural” hue to our environment. In my first apartment in Iowa the sunset a brilliant pink or red evernight into my place. Seeing that color every night made me feel like I belonged even when other spaces made me feel differently. As a result, I went out every night during this pink hour and photographed my environment. It began the search for and insertion of pink into the natural spaces feeling as if I was looking for places that already understood my emotional headspace through color alone. 

I also think about the history of the color magenta. Magenta is a color that is chemically derived instead of made from natural ingredients. Magenta when first presented is a green crystal but when dissolved in water does it create this magenta hue. People even argue that magenta doesn’t exist because their is not a magenta wavelength of light. This story felt familiar to queer people as we are told we are unnatural or don’t exist when I see the sky turn magenta every night, or the magenta bloom of a local flower. That magenta exist and is apart of our landscape.

You take a playful and saccharine approach to this series’ theme, have you ever felt any pressure to make work that is different?

I feel pressure all the time to do different work. Before this body of work I made much darker melancholic work about self acceptance, but moving forward I wanted to make work and if that work was about my queerness I wanted it to be joyful and sweet at least for now. It felt important to make this for me in a way that felt like a hug from your partner, even though relationships are really complex I wanted to show the best of times and the overall love I feel for my Partner and making work around love that is uplifting. I think of the body of work in a similar way tonally as a love song or a young adult romance novel, where emotionality is hightented to portray the intensity of these feelings that may be reduced in the moment. I think about artists such as Clifford Prince King and Pixy Liao who navigate the world of love and relationships and what that can look like in a playful optimistic way.