In my last entry I mentioned that I was building something of my own while continuing to take on commercial work and navigating my personal artistic practice, which is directly related to the photographic body of work I am making as part of the Hartford Photo MFA.

I have been spending a lot of time trying to delineate between the two. Art and commerce. The work I make on behalf of others and the work I make for myself. It sounds like it should be more straightforward than I am making it seem, but it has actually proven to be somewhat difficult. Not the act of instinctively making the images I want, but the approach to doing so when the goal is the making itself rather than an approved result. I find that it is actually harder to be satisfied with an image when the person I am making it for is myself. But anyway, pretty slim pickings when it comes to complaints these days.

These last few months have involved some pretty deep trains of thought. Mostly thinking about pictures and photography as a whole.

About a month ago I was at the gym when a much older woman walked in late for her personal training appointment. Somehow the back and forth between her and the trainer brought up the fact that she is a photographer. I had forgotten my headphones that day and since the gym is pretty small, and I had been caught in the crossfire of the conversation, I said something like, “Did you say you are a photographer?”

In a somewhat hesitant way she responded, “Yes, I am.”

“Oh nice, me too,” I said.

She paused for a moment and then asked, “What kind of photographer are you?”

The question caught me unexpectedly off guard. I eventually found some answer to b.s. my way further into and then out of the conversation, but the question has been sitting at the front of my mind ever since.

What kind of photographer are you?

It seems like a straightforward question that should have an equally straightforward answer, but for me it kind of does not. In a way it circles back to the tension between art and commerce. If the work I yearn to make personally differs so greatly from much of the work I make commercially, then how exactly do I answer that question?

Being put on the spot has sent me spiraling a bit since then. I have been digging into my own work, trying to understand myself as a photographer more clearly.

How does the same photographer who shoots images like these for a client...

Wind up being the same photographer who makes these images for themselves?

Outside of the obvious answer that the first grouping of photos was shot for a hotel brand, there is a lot of room for rumination. And somewhere in all of that space there might be a definitive answer, but at the moment I cannot seem to find it.

At its most basic level, my answer is simply that I enjoy making photographs. Maybe it is the question itself that is confused and represents a somewhat outdated way of thinking. I am not sure I will ever be able to compartmentalize myself as a certain “type” of photographer. I am just a photographer.

And so that is what has been on my mind as of late.

On top of that, I have been reading Larry Sultan’s Water Over Thunder since picking it up a couple weeks ago, and that has sent me down a somewhat introspective rabbit hole about what it means to be a photographer in the first place. Representation in imagery. Perspective. The importance of writing while making work.

It has been amazing to read some of the journal entries Sultan was jotting down while making Pictures From Home. Particularly the ones about his interactions with his dad while photographing. I have also been going back to my copy of Pictures From Home while reading the section of Water Over Thunder where he talks about it. Pretty rad.

I know that moving forward, if anyone asks me, “If you could have lunch with anyone, dead or alive, who would it be?” my answer will be Larry Sultan. I would much prefer that question to “What kind of photographer are you?” any day.

Now + Coming Up

At the moment I am still working on building this thing of my own and it is going extremely well. However, I have made the mistake in the past of being a little too overzealous with projects and talking about things before they are ready. So I am keeping it close to the chest until it is worth going into more detail.

I am trying to be smart about documenting the process though, or at least keeping track of the order of operations so that when I do eventually share more about it, I can really dive in with anyone who is interested.

Right now I am finishing up two long-term branded projects, starting a couple of others, and trying to photograph as often as possible. Daily if I can manage it. As someone who does not always carry a camera around with them, that has been a bit of a push.

My cohort at Hartford is heading to Berlin in May, where we will be hanging our first group show together. I am excited to be putting work on a wall somewhere that people other than just myself can see, and honored to be doing it alongside this group that I somehow finagled my way into.

And to round things out with some exciting news, speaking of work on the wall, I recently moved into a new studio space. It is where I am running all of the pre and post production for current projects, working on new business, and most importantly printing and hanging work. Once it is a bit more set up and conducive, I will do a deeper dive on the space if people are interested.

Will try to be better about sharing here more frequently. It’s much more satisfying than the black hole that instagram has become.

After a pretty slow (read: abysmal) summer, fall has been packed with one exciting project and opportunity after another. Most weeks lately have included one or two days on set, a couple more spent editing, managing projects, and handling admin work, and the rest of my time, usually early mornings or late evenings, dedicated to making photos for my MFA program. My caffeine intake is definitely high at the moment, but I’ll never turn down a good cup of coffee.

Which is a nice transition to mentioning that I’ve also been more proactive than ever about taking meetings to meet and speak with folks about potentially collaborating. People with expertise completely unrelated to my own, in various fields, that could end up making for some interesting collaborations and partners down the road.

Building my first brand

This fall has also been an interesting time for me because, while all this production work has been happening, I’ve also been quietly building my first brand. For the first time, I’m the client, and it’s been a great way to get grounded in a client’s way of thinking as I approach this new venture. It’s not an experience we often get as freelance film and photography folks who are usually tasked only with translating a brand’s messaging into a storytelling, visually driven format. It’s been a humbling dose of reality to be the stakeholder of a brand in a holistic sense, rather than just the person helping to share its message.

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So far in this process, I’ve had the chance to collaborate with close friends who work in brand design, web design, trademarking, editing, animation, and even heads of agencies. In about a week, I’ll have a finalized logo, a brand bible with approved color ways, and many of the essentials needed to move this vision forward in a clean, concise, and dope way. I’ve gotten so much value from conversations with people who have spent decades building and maintaining successful brands. It’s been a real education, and while I’m going to keep things annoyingly ambiguous for now, I’m beyond excited to share everything once the time feels right. I might even consider opening up parts of the building process along the way. But for now, it’s build, build, build.

New Website

About a month ago, my new portfolio website went live. Earlier this year, I did a bunch of research and found a web designer whose work and approach I was really drawn to. His name is Nicolas Leuliet, and he runs the design firm NSLT Studio. I first reached out to Nicolas in February 2025, paused on the redesign for a bit, and then decided to move forward in May with an August start date.

At the beginning of August, Nicolas and I dove into discussions and started sharing site references. It was vitally important to me that the site have as few barriers as possible to viewing the work—both motion and stills. In the past, the main note I’d received from EPs and reps was that there were too many clicks before getting to the actual work. Now, every piece of motion in the portfolio is just one click away from the homepage. The stills page behaves like a light-box, where all of the images live on an overview grid, and only when you click on one does it loupe and zoom in for a closer look.

Nicolas and NSLT nailed the design, nailed the flow, and went above and beyond to make sure every note I had was addressed before we called it finished. It was another instance of me being the client, and one that was both eye-opening and refining.

It’s all coming together

This redesign felt like a natural extension of everything else I’ve been building lately, whether it’s refining my existing personal brand, developing a new one altogether, nurturing collaborations, or shaping how I present my work to the world. The site isn’t just a portfolio; it’s a reflection of where I am creatively right now, and the kind of work I want to keep doing and putting out into the world. It’s simple, direct, and intentional, which is how I’m trying to approach everything these days, at least commercially.

When it comes to an artistic practice, which feels completely separate from my commercial work, I’m still trying to embrace things being a bit more messy and lived in. I remember a professor of mine looking at an image I made and, after pausing for a moment, saying, “I wish you’d fucked it up a little.” So artistically, that’s what I’m trying to do—fuck things up a bit more, embrace the imperfections, and let the messiness breathe.

This year has exceeded expectations in some ways and fallen short in others, but one thing that’s become crystal clear is the separation between my commercial practice and my artistic practice. That line has been sharpened for good. There will always be some overlap in how I approach commercials artistically, but it’s a very different mindset from how I approach work as an artist. In commercial work, the product is the hero—everything orbits around it. In art, the questions are the hero, and there’s no need for resolution. Maybe that’s the real difference between being the client and being the contractor: one is in search of answers, and the other is in search of meaning.

See y’all soon!

But then something interesting happened. For the first time in my career as a director, I excused myself from a job. Without getting into specifics or more than generalities, I had a moment with a client where I felt incredibly disrespected and unseen. It was the first time someone made me feel as though my process and attributes weren’t valued. After a day or two of considering my position within the framework of this upcoming job—still about a month out from production—I politely excused myself. It was a job that would have paid me a proper directing rate, and while it stung to walk away from it financially, it felt good to leave the situation with my self-respect intact and a renewed sense of self-worth.

Growing up an athlete and playing lacrosse in college, it’s difficult for me not to think of a sports analogy in most situations. In most sports, coaches will tell you not to “play off your back foot.” In lacrosse, playing off your back foot usually refers to being forced into a weaker or defensive position instead of driving forward in control. When dodging or shooting, if your weight is on your back foot, you lose power, balance, and accuracy. You’re reacting instead of dictating. Defensively, playing off your back foot usually happens when you overcommit on a dodge or fake. You get caught leaning, your weight shifts wrong, and suddenly you’re scrambling to recover. That forces your teammates to slide and cover, which can leave another attacker open… I realized that continuing forward on this commercial job after being disrespected would have been like playing the whole thing from my back foot—overcommitted, off-balance, and already forcing others (crew, collaborators, even myself) to compensate for the imbalance. It’s a bad position to defend from, and an even worse one to lead from.

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This experience not only taught me a lot about myself and the standard I intend to hold myself to as a professional, but it also clarified what I want from my collaborators moving forward. I’m not a director or photographer who needs constant pandering—I think being hired to make something on behalf of a client is praise enough. What I do expect is for the lines of communication to remain open, respectful, and healthy. I’ve always gone out of my way to overdeliver, whether within scope or beyond available resources. In return, I think it’s entirely reasonable to expect clients to respect my creative process. Otherwise, what’s the point of collaborating and hiring me in the first place?

Hartford Photo MFA

After a stretch of seafood feasts and city wandering through favorite corners of Boston and NYC with family and friends, Jonah Markowitz—my good friend, longtime collaborator, and now fellow cohort member—and I made our way to Hartford, Connecticut, to begin the first of three two-week summer sessions at the University of Hartford.

We stayed at an Airbnb about ten minutes from campus, close to downtown Hartford. Orientation began on Sunday, July 27, and we arrived not really knowing what to expect. We figured the next two weeks would be filled with long days, plenty of critical thinking, and a whole lot of photography. What unfolded went far beyond anything any of us had imagined.

We shot boxes of black and white 4x5 film, then developed and printed them as silver gelatin prints the very next day. We went through rolls of color medium format, processed them, and spent upwards of 15 hours in the darkroom making c-prints, often well past midnight. We studied the history and evolution of the photobook as an art form, handling some of the most iconic works in the field and turning through their pages one by one. And we spent hours having our own work critiqued by legendary photographers.

It is an experience that deserves its own full write-up, and at some point I will get around to it. But even just a couple of weeks out, I can already say with confidence that it was a pivotal moment for me as an artist.

Upcoming Fall + New Website Coming

As Fall approaches, I’m excited to dive into both some new commercial projects and to go deeper into my personal practice as a photographer. I feel fortunate to be part of one of the world’s top Photo MFA programs at Hartford. Because it’s a limited-residency program, I’ll remain fully available for commercial work throughout the year, with the exception of two weeks each summer. It’s truly the only way I could realistically pursue my MFA.

Here in Napa, the wine harvest kicks off in the next couple of weeks, and I’m looking forward to getting back out into the vineyards to capture the process for both longtime clients and a few new ones. I’ve got some exciting projects brewing on both the motion and stills side that I’ll be sharing later this Fall.

And last but not least, I’m working with a web designer in France to build a completely new, custom website. I’ll share more as it gets closer to completion and the eventual launch, but needless to say, it’s already looking pretty rad.

Wrap Up

From the start, my intention with Ground(ed) Glass has been to keep my experiences as a director and photographer approachable and transparent, in the hope that my decisions or mistakes might help someone else navigating something similar, particularly in the commercial space.

I was hesitant to write about my decision to step away from a recent job, but it felt wrong to ignore an experience that was so challenging emotionally, professionally, and financially. Glazing over it would have been easier, but ultimately it would do a disservice both to myself as a creative and to the subscribers who come here for real stories that might help shape their own paths.

Overall, I think the biggest takeaway is to know yourself in the moments when it feels most difficult. I would never suggest walking away from an opportunity to make a living, but I do believe it’s worth doing if the tradeoff is compromising the very reason a client hired you in the first place. Recognizing when you are being set up to fail, or when unprofessionalism and disrespect cross the line, is crucial. At the end of the day, your name is attached to that project. And that shit lasts.

Chat soon.

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She’s also the James Beard Award–winning chef behind Girl & the Goat and a number of other acclaimed restaurants in Chicago, Los Angeles, and the Bay Area.

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The shoot was produced by Arnaud Zimmerman through his company, MNTRA, and lensed by the talented Christopher Clark. This was my third time working on a project with Arnaud, and my first collaboration with Chris.

We first kicked off pre-pro in late March, and I had a rough shot list locked about a week and a half later, roughly three weeks out from the shoot. I kept fine-tuning things with Chris right up until we rolled. He took a lot of initiative in pulling references based on the shot list and work he’d seen and found stylistically aligned. It was also my first time using Milanote on a project, thanks to him, and I think it’ll become a regular part of my commercial process moving forward.

Shoot Schedule

We had a full day of scouting on Friday, April 25. Our locations were split between LG’s SKS showroom, where we’d be filming Chef Izard preparing a meal, and three local grocers where she would be sourcing ingredients. The vendor locations were fairly straightforward: a farmer’s market, a butcher, and a fish market—all relatively upscale, which made sense given the featured product was a luxury appliance. The SKS showroom would serve as our studio and conveniently included an industrial-style kitchen set, with our hero appliance built in front and center.

Shoot Day #1

We kicked off the shoot with our studio day at the SKS showroom. Our talent's time was split between our motion crew and a stills unit working on an adjacent set, separated by a massive 20x solid. Since motion required more setup time, we scheduled all of our product shots without talent for the first block of the day. Chris and our G&E team did a great job staggering the setups, which was no small task considering most of our lighting had to be recessed into the overhanging ventilation system above the ranges. Our world also moved three times throughout the day, which made things more complex.

We lived on the dolly for 95% of the day, aside from one shot on a ladder-pod and another down low on a hi-hat. We shot on the Tribe Blackwings (X-tuned) paired with an Alexa Mini LF. Having now shot commercials on both the Alexa 35 and the Mini LF, I can safely say I still prefer the LF and the way it renders space on the large format sensor. That said, I’m definitely curious to shoot the next couple on the Venice 2, which I haven’t had the chance to use yet.

After we shot out the product portion, we moved on to all of our talent work. A massive wide of her entering, some unpacking of ingredients, and then we worked our way into her preparing a meal while utilizing the different features of our hero appliance. The G&E team laid down track in front of the long counter where Chef Izard was working, and we bounced between the Blackwings and an Angie 45–135 zoom. Between the smooth lateral and vertical dolly moves and the controlled zooms on the Angenieux, we were able to get a lot of dynamic coverage in a short amount of time. Chef was also a good sport about me asking to run things once or twice more to make sure we had options for the edit. I should also note that she’s regularly on camera, so I lucked out working with someone who’s incredibly well-versed in the rhythm of filming.

We ended the day with a zolly of our chef garnishing the dish and walking out of frame, followed by a top-down shot of the finished meal. Overall, I was pretty happy with how the day wrapped. We netted a lot of strong shots, pushed the look more than what the scope allowed, and experimented creatively with slow shutter, diopters, and dynamic movement.

Some days you leave set feeling a bit underwhelmed, even if you covered your bases. This wasn’t one of those days. I was genuinely excited to get home and start making selects.

Shoot Day #2

We began at Oxbow Market in downtown Napa. Chris would be operating primarily between an Easy Rig and sticks for most of the day, and outside of a few zoom-specific transitions built into the shot list, we were on the Blackwings most of the day. Stills were less of a factor on location, aside from our first vendor, so we ended up with about an hour and fifteen minutes of shoot time per stop.

I didn’t take many photos after our first location since there was less downtime between setups and our morning was much more compressed than day one. That said, I was really happy with what we were able to pull off. All of the communication during prep and our scout at each location played a huge role in keeping the day running smoothly. We landed some great transitions between vendors and captured more stylistic coverage with diopters, giving me room to get creative with how I move through scenes and in and out of locations in the edit.

After wrapping our three vendor locations, we headed back to the SKS showroom and shot a 30-minute interview in front of our Day 1 set, which G&E conveniently left lit and ready overnight. The dialogue from this interview will serve as the voiceover for our hero deliverables.

Wrapout.

This was one of those shoots where I felt like I actually learned something and got better at the job. Coming from a doc background, I’ve often struggled to find real opportunities to lean into the more stylized, elevated visual techniques that commercial work can offer. A lot of what I’ve been hired to do so far leans into branded doc content. And while I’ve pushed to elevate the visuals and incorporate more narrative language—like on the Luxury Collection work—it hasn’t always hit the way I envisioned. This shoot felt like the start of that changing.

I know it’s work for an appliance company and not a feature film—but if you’re not taking pride in the work you’re doing and pushing yourself in some way with each project, then what’s the point?

And in no way is this me complaining about the work I’ve been hired to do so far—branded doc-style content has allowed me to make a living telling stories and doing what I love. I remember listening to an episode of the Art vs. Commerce podcast where a director encouraged listeners to lean into their niche if they ever wanted to make a living at directing. There’s absolutely some truth to that. But there’s also real value in casting a wide net, pushing for more, and continuing to build your creative arsenal. It just takes time and a little bit of graciousness.

I owe a massive thank you to everyone who made this thing come together. Your time and talent aren’t lost on me. In the meantime, I believe the client edits have started to make their way out into the world via paid media. I just finished up the DC of this project that I am looking forward to sharing soon. Till next time!

And to be fully transparent, that’s the name of the game. Sometimes work’s incredible, and sometimes it’s a necessity. In the case of the latter, what makes necessity tougher to swallow is when you feel taken advantage of at the same time. That’s insult to injury.

About two months back, I was contacted by a “media company” to pitch on a fairly small campaign for an insanely large and well-known company. Their opening email said nothing about who the client was, only that there was an NDA attached below and that they had a fixed rate for whoever their director was going to be — three-day shoot and they’d budgeted about two days (on the low end) for a director. Immediate red flags, but given that they’d gotten my name through an old college friend, and knowing this company had been around for a while and I hadn’t worked with them, I reluctantly proceeded.

What followed were multiple hours of creative brief calls, a 40-page treatment with a surprise round of agency revisions dolloped in, all of which culminated in a 30-minute presentation call in which no one on the agency side had any questions. Along the way, I gave recommendations for other creative talent, such as photographers, DoPs, editors, etc. All in, I’d say I put in about 25 hours of work.

Days passed, and when I finally followed up on the following Monday afternoon, I received this response: “We’ve decided to go in another direction. Thank you for all of your time.” I’ve gotten used to losing pitches; it’s a huge part of my job. But something about this felt different. In all of our conversations, I’d been led to believe that this was happening. So I followed up and politely asked if they could give any more clarity on the decision. Never got a response, and later found out they reached out to two of the people I’d recommended. I’m guessing one of their CDs is directing it…

More than the question of what changed on the agency’s end, I was left asking myself, “Why do we pitch for free?”

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Pitching for free

Is pretty damn standard! In the U.S. at least… In places like Germany though, it’s actually becoming less of the standard. Germany has figured something out that the U.S. just refuses to: your time and ideas are worth something.

• Unpaid pitching in Germany is rare and generally frowned upon, thanks to industry guidelines enforced by orgs like the BVR.

• Most big agencies and prod. co’s follow strict rules — if you pitch, you get paid.

• If someone uses your treatment or concept (even partially), compensation is mandatory.

• Violating these norms can cost companies their industry standing.

Meanwhile, over here, it’s still “we love your ideas, we might even use a few, we’re just going in a different direction (a.k.a. having a CD direct it).” Cool cool.

Chalk it up to a hard lesson learned — but even then, it’s not like I’m in a position to change the behavior I’m learning from, especially when I’m the one being taken advantage of.

Wearing multiple hats

After I had 12 hours to lick my wounds and vent to a few close friends who understand it, I moved on to the next project in the docket — one-man-banding some commercial work for a winery here in Napa. I was about a week and a half out from what would be a two-day shoot directing and DP’ing for the storied Grgich Hills Estate.

Though I never refer to myself as a cinematographer, in a pinch, I can get it done in what I’ll call an “artful” way. That’s a nice way of saying I visually approach a shoot I’m directing and DP’ing in a manner I’d maybe consider more reflective of a stills shoot approach — shoot during both golden and blue hours on either end of the day, stylize high sun shots with things like slow shutter (as seen in the clips above), or just try to be inside in the afternoons.

Now that I’m writing it out, that’s also been my approach to any motion shoot I’ve worked on. I chose to shoot a lot of carefully composed frames, many of which were locked off on sticks. For the verité work, if I was going to be following someone, I had an EasyRig with the serene arm.

I chose to shoot the work on my Sony FX3 with three of the vintage Leica M lenses I own — 28mm, 35mm, and 40mm Summicrons. I framed everything for 4:3 because I’ve never had an original thought in my life and I enjoy following trends. The first morning of the shoot, I was on Grgich’s American Canyon property by 5 a.m., and by 5:55 I was watching the sun rise over the mountains to the east through some fog drifting across the reservoir on their property. This picture-perfect start set the tone for what would ultimately become a highlight in the list of projects I’ve done in Napa since relocating out this way.

Also, the FX3 fucks.

A shoot that could have been pretty mediocre turned into something I’ve been having a lot of fun editing. And it’s looking pretty solid for the scope. The fact that I scouted all of the properties about a month in advance certainly helped, but there were some nice surprises along the way too. Maybe that’s when things go best — when you overprepare but still leave room to be surprised and spontaneous within the scope of work. I guess that’s what’s possible when a potential agency or client looks at your 40-page treatment and, instead of taking advantage of the situation, actually follows through on tossing you the rock.

Continuing to show up

To wrap things up, I think one of the themes that’s started to come through in a lot of this writing has been the idea of tenacity in a career that’s usually filled with nine no’s for every one yes. And while it certainly sucks to feel taken advantage of by an agency or a potential client after almost a week of full-time pitch work, that’s the deck of cards we’re playing with right now. Even if there’s no changing that anytime soon, there’s a little bit of poetic justice in sticking with it, moving on to the next thing, and feeling those small wins when you get them, even if it’s just you alone, catching the perfect sunrise through some fog early in the morning on a camera system that costs one twenty-fifth of what you probably should be shooting on.

Got a fun BTS article from an LG commercial coming for y’all early next week — all shot on 35mm and my Leica M9-P. Director’s cut of that spot will be done in just a few weeks. Sitting on a lot of unreleased work that I’m excited to share in the coming months. See y’all soon and have a great weekend!

Episode 2 of Ground(ed) Glass just went live on YouTube this morning.

This one takes you through the full arc of a recent Pharma commercial I directed—from the location scout, to what happens once I get back home and start prepping, to how the shoot actually played out. I walk through some of the gear I bring on scouts, how I use it, and what my workflow looks like when I’m back at my desk.

Then I tell a story from the final scene of the shoot—when our ALEXA 35 camera completely froze on set. No fix in sight, right at the end of a long day 2 of 2. The way the crew adapted and how the client responded gave me a lot of appreciation for what makes a great production, especially under pressure.

🎥 Watch the full episode above, or here.

Hope you find something useful in it. As always, if there's something specific you want me to dive into in a future episode, just hit reply or leave a comment. If you enjoy it, be sure to like the video and subscribe to the channel. It helps more people find it and keeps this series going.

Thanks for watching and reading!

I started off my morning yesterday on a long call with my good friend, collaborator, and soon-to-be fellow MFA candidate, Jonah Markowitz. The main reason for the call was to start figuring out a place to stay during the two weeks we’ll be on campus this summer for grad school. (Turns out, renting a house in Hartford, CT is way more expensive than either of us expected.)

Somehow, the conversation drifted to Instagram. We were both reflecting on how great the app used to be and how far it’s strayed from what it was originally meant to do. These days, it feels like Instagram is trying to push everything except photography as part of its constantly shifting algorithm. Influencers, paid media, video, stories—it’s all being prioritized over still images. At this point, the only noticeable engagement I get is when I post work that has 10 to 20 people tagged (and a client has spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on it), I’m posting about traveling somewhere cool for a job, or I share a photo of a fancy camera to my stories with a few thoughts attached.

It got us both wondering if Instagram’s algorithm is primarily prioritizing content that pushes users to want more, as quickly as possible—whether that’s material things, experiences, money, freedom, or some aspirational version of all of the above.

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It got me thinking. Maybe this was Instagram’s plan all along. The app used to foster a sense of community among people who wanted to share their perspectives on the world around them. Hashtags were once a way to connect and amplify. I’m pretty sure I got a notification a few months back saying that Instagram would be doing away with following hashtags altogether, or at least that they wouldn’t have the same impact they once did. To be fair, they haven’t for a while. Who knows if they actually followed through with that.

Maybe imagining some evil IG overlord behind an array of monitors plotting against the users who truly championed the platform’s original purpose is a little paranoid. I work alone in a home office, so cut me some slack. Still, it all feels a little suspicious. I get that things change and evolve. I get that my profession makes me look at the app through a more critical and serious lens. I also get that even when I think a photo I’ve shared is strong, not everyone else will. But I feel like a lot of my peers would agree—shit’s kinda wack now!

Why does the story I post with my Leica MP get 780 views and 23 responses, while the one with a triptych of thoughtful photos—images that took me an entire afternoon to shoot, edit, and carefully space inside a 9x16 black background—gets 80? Why does a singular color photo in my feed barely register in the analytics, but a snippet from a client film pulls in thousands of views? God forbid you post a black and white photo...

You either have a ton of followers from a time when Instagram was better than this, you paid for a bunch of followers, or your profile is set to private and you’re just sharing personal photos. But for those of us who once saw the platform as a tool to engage professionally and maybe land commercial work, it’s turned into a place of overthinking and added stress. At least for me, it has.

So …

And so I think I’m officially done posting the still images and motion work that I care about personally. When we share work that actually means something to us and it gets no engagement—whether that’s a conversation or just a simple, mindless “like”—we tend to internalize it, and that’s super fucking unhealthy. The point of making photos is to make photos. For me, it’s how I learn more about myself and the world around me. The goal was never to make photographs for the sake of validation.

Will I still post commercial motion and stills work? For sure. Gotta play the game on some level. But the long-term, personal stills and motion work? Probably not. I think that’s where the appeal of connecting through platforms like this Substack or even YouTube really starts to make sense. Maybe this will be the place where I begin sharing more of the personal, project-based work I want to start meaningful conversations around.

Wrapping Up

I do hope that at some point, people will get so fed up with the direction the app is heading that Mosseri and co. will have no choice but to make some changes in favor of independent makers. But until then, the chips are going to fall however the highest bidder decides they should.

And rather than paying to “choose your own algorithm,” we’ll just keep getting opportunities to purchase “verification” (read: validation) to feel more culturally significant than Instagram’s current, broken algorithm would have us believe we are.

This is something I’ve been meaning to do for a long time. Not just start a YouTube channel, but find a way to open up the process behind the work. The projects. The wins, the headaches, and the quieter moments that never make it into a pitch deck or polished cut.

Today I published the first episode of Ground(ed) Glass on YouTube.
It’s part introduction, part reflection. I talk about why I’m starting this, what Ground(ed) Glass means to me, and what I learned from attending the Stanley/Barker photobook masterclass in Cambridge.

The video touches on:

• What this channel will be

• The experience of having my work reviewed by Gregory and Rachel Barker

• What it’s like to be a freelancer trying to balance client work with passion projects

• Why community and feedback are so essential to this kind of creative work

🎥 Watch the full episode here:

If you find it helpful, be sure to like the video and subscribe to the channel. It really helps get this in front of others who might benefit from it too.

If anything in it resonates, feel free to reply here or leave a comment on the video. And if you have topics you’d like to see me explore next, let me know.

Thanks for following along. More to come.

Brandon

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In early October 2024, I applied to the University of Hartford’s Limited Residency Photo MFA program. The decision came after a lot of research and conversations, not just about Hartford specifically but about the value of an MFA in general. Many photographers I spoke with had great things to say about this program in particular, and the more I looked into it, the more it made sense for me.

The fact that it’s a limited residency program is what makes this opportunity feasible. I’ve been a working freelance director and photographer for about ten years, and the idea of going to grad school while running my own business always felt far-fetched. However, Hartford’s model allows me to continue taking on freelance work while using the inevitable down days between jobs, which are frequent, to further develop my personal photographic practice. I’ll still be based in California, I’ll still be freelancing commercially.

What ultimately pushed me to go for it was the time I’ve spent over the last two years working on a photo project that I hope to turn into a book. Hartford’s Photo MFA is centered around the photobook as a final form, and while I fully recognize that one doesn’t need a master’s degree to make one, the quality of work coming out of this program and its alumni speaks for itself.

Applying

It had been ten years since I’d dealt with anything related to transcripts, and since I attended three different schools, retrieving them wasn’t exactly a one-and-done scenario. That ended up being one of the most time-consuming parts of the process.

From there, I moved on to the most creatively challenging part: putting together a portfolio of images. I wanted to pull from one specific project, the one I’m hoping to turn into a book, and submit it as the final component of my application. I haven’t shared many of the photos from this project, so there was definitely some nervousness about how they would be received by faculty.

The process took about a week of sifting through images, editing, and making editorial decisions about sequencing. In a way, it felt like a preview of the kind of work I imagine myself doing if I were accepted into the program.

Waiting

Knowing I wouldn’t be getting any answers until at least March 2025, I decided to also apply to the Stanley/Barker Photobook Masterclass, which took place in Cambridge, UK, in mid-December. I was able to attend, and it reaffirmed that I had made the right choice in applying to Hartford. The three-day intensive workshop and critique felt like a preview of the kind of work I would be doing as part of the curriculum if I were accepted. That focused, immersive work, dedicated solely to art for art’s sake, was something I had been missing for a long time.

Interview

In early February, I was notified that I had been shortlisted as a candidate to join the next cohort, which is what each incoming class is called, and that I would need to schedule an interview with the program director and the incoming program director.

The interview lasted about 45 minutes and focused on my work as a photographer, including my current practice, how I approach my work, and the ways I felt I would benefit from an MFA. They also asked about contemporary photographers I’m into and similar topics. One thing I took away from the conversation was that they weren’t just looking at my portfolio. They wanted to see that I had a perspective and could articulate it. Beyond that, they seemed to be gauging my openness to growth and how willing I was to shift certain aspects of my practice.

Accepted!

On March 12th around 12:30 pm PST, I received an email that an important update had been posted to my University of Hartford application page… I’d been accepted into the Low Residency MFA in Photography program. I accepted the decision and their invitation.

What’s Next?

Over the coming months, it will be work as usual. I’m sure there will be moments of figuring things out for school, but my first in-person session won’t take place until July 27 to August 10. Since it’s a limited residency program and remote, I’ll continue working as I am now while dedicating more of my free time to honing my photographic practice.

I’m also thrilled to share that one of my closest friends and frequent collaborators, Jonah Markowitz, applied and was accepted into the program as well. The opportunity to go on a journey like this with a close friend adds another layer of meaning and excitement. It’s something we’ll both grow from creatively and personally, and we’ll be able to push each other, give honest feedback, and hold one another accountable when needed.

I’m incredibly excited about this next chapter and the chance to continue my post-graduate studies. I’ll do my best to share as much of the process as I can. At some point, I’ll likely introduce some paid-only posts to Ground(ed) Glass as a way to help supplement the cost of attendance and provide deeper insights beyond these broader updates.

Whatever the case, I’m extremely grateful to those who have supported and followed along so far. I’m looking forward to what’s ahead.

Welcome in—please take off your shoes! Two weeks ago, I touched down in beautiful Tucson, Arizona, to direct a short piece for a major pharmaceutical company. That’s about all I’m at liberty to say about the subject matter, but needless to say, after getting the initial call in mid-December, being awarded the job and starting prep in early January, then scouting in early February and refining the shot list right up until the shoot, we were more than ready to get after it.

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I’d be working with my first-call DoP and good bud, Jared Levy, to make this thing happen. As mentioned, Jared and I were able to scout and lock in our locations a month in advance, so we had a solid game plan heading into what was scheduled to be a two-day shoot.

After landing, we checked into The Arizona Inn and then headed out with the EP and Line Producer to go over a step-by-step game plan for a scene we’d be shooting on the morning of our second shoot day—our talent and her friend exploring the Barrio Viejo neighborhood, adjacent to downtown Tucson. We arrived about 20 minutes before sunset and mapped everything out pretty quickly.

Barrio Viejo is a collection of adobe-style homes that have been renovated on the inside while maintaining their colorful character on the outside. I wish we’d been able to shoot this scene at this time of day—lighting is at its peak when it’s low here—but our schedule didn’t allow for it. We needed to be at a desert vista location for our martini shot at sunset on day two.

Pre-light

Our second day in town was a pre-light day for Jared and an agency/client scout + pre-pro meeting for me. Having worked with Jared so much over the years, we’re always on the same page about how we want things to look. We also had plenty of time during pre-pro to discuss the aesthetics of this piece and the different ways we wanted to execute the creative from a visual standpoint.

This level of prep—which is the right amount of prep—makes a huge difference as a director. It allows me to focus solely on the narrative and creative, knowing that the visual approach is already dialed in. Unfortunately, given the state of the industry, we’re not always given the time to prepare at this level.

Day 1

We kicked off shoot day one with our talent’s interview, which took up most of the morning. It was a bit strange for me because I wasn’t the interviewer this time—an aspect of doc-style commercial filmmaking that I really enjoy. However, with pharma work, the questions are often so specific that the client and agency typically prefer to have someone internal conduct the interview.

What I focused on instead was whether we were getting enough connective tissue and emotional hooks—soundbites the editor could use to craft something poignant and emotive. Whenever I felt the interview was leaning too heavily on facts or becoming repetitive, I had opportunities to step in and ask more personal, emotionally driven questions to help round out the story.

From there, we moved into scene work for the rest of the day. All in all, I felt really great about how our first shoot day went. Between the client and agency, we had about 13 stakeholders in video village, while our crew was another 12–14 people.

We were filming at a house location, and what could have felt like a crowded, chaotic day in a smaller space ran incredibly smoothly—thanks to great producing and our crew’s efficient use of time.

Day 2

We kicked off shoot day two in wardrobe and makeup with our talent and client. From there, we began rolling in the Barrio Viejo neighborhood, capturing a walk-and-talk scene with our talent and a friend as they presumably made their way to our second location—an open-air farmers market.

We broke for lunch at a spot just steps from the market, where we’d be filming our next scene. After wrapping there, we moved on to the first half of our final scene of the day: running coverage through the Sonoran Desert. By the time talent arrived and went through a wardrobe change, we had just about an hour to capture everything we needed. Fortunately, with all the prep time we’d put in—and having shot two running films with Jared in the last couple of years—we got what we needed and moved on to our final location: a series of sunset vista shots where our talent would be presumably ending their run.

That’s when we ran into our first—and really, our only—major issue of the shoot. The Alexa 35 we’d been shooting on for the last day and a half bricked.

From roughly 5:00 p.m. to 6:30 p.m., our camera team was troubleshooting an issue with the Alexa 35—eventually getting on the phone with a tech at Arri Burbank. Unfortunately, the issue wasn’t fixable on location. It had nothing to do with our crew; it was determined to be an internal hardware failure. Just bad luck. And with that, we lost our martini shot on day two.

Fortunately, Jared, our Line Producer, and I moved quickly to adjust. We rebooked our flights, confirmed an extra shoot day with our talent, and arranged to return to the same scenic vista location the next day (Friday) to capture the final shot. I even had to reschedule moving houses, which had originally been planned for the day after I got home.

Within 20 minutes, flights were changed, extra hotel nights were booked, and the plan was locked. Client and agency were kept in the loop, and despite the gear failure, they were fully on board with the solution. It was a great example of quick problem-solving and keeping stress off the client’s plate—turning what could have been a disaster into just another day on set. It was also a great example of client and agency being completely supportive in a situation that could have been stressful for everyone involved. I’d attribute that to the rest of the shoot running extremely smoothly—it built trust and confidence across the board.

Day 2.5

An added benefit of having another afternoon with our talent was that we could push for more coverage on the running scene we’d only had an hour to shoot the day before. We knew the sun would be setting around 6:21 p.m., and talent had agreed to be called to location at 3:00 p.m., giving us a solid two hours to grab angles and coverage we otherwise wouldn’t have had the time for.

Jared and I, being of the same mind and wanting to showcase the landscapes our talent was running through, focused on capturing them weaving through the canyons and climbing up trails. We shot as wide as 18mm to emphasize the vastness of the environment and used the 125mm for some nice compression. Of course, we were now shooting on an Alexa Mini, as the Alexa 35 had been deemed unfixable and needed to be sent to Arri for repair. But regardless, we made the absolute most of our time out there.

The video above is Jared shooting out the card as the sun dipped behind the Santa Catalina Mountains. A fitting martini to a circuitous shoot.

Wrapping Out

“Debriefs” like this are something I’d like to continue working into the regularly scheduled programming of Ground(ed) Glass … not that there’s really any kind of regular schedule with this thing. You’ll notice that, for the most part, my focus in these articles will be on the shoot itself—less on the talent, product, or content, aside from specialty shots or setups we might try in the future.

I think, especially with doc work—even in a commercial context—it’s important to respect the anonymity of the client, talent, and anything that might be considered IP. The real value lies in the lessons learned and the experiences throughout, particularly when it comes to client and production dynamics.

Chat soon—and yes, I’m still working on that YouTube channel…

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Imagine applying for a Creator position, only to realize it's actually a producer, director, DoP, gaffer, editor, colorist, and sound designer job—all for the salary of a mid-level marketing manager.

Welcome to the new era of production job listings.

A friend recently sent me a job posting that exemplifies everything wrong with how creative work is being positioned today. The company was looking for a Creator to "lead productions," but the role also included scouting locations, making shot lists, managing equipment, shooting, operating gimbals, color grading in DaVinci Resolve, handling client revisions, and organizing a seamless archive system.

For all of this? They were offering between $60K and $110K a year.

They expect one person to deliver the work of an entire crew, year-round, under a trendy job title that conveniently avoids calling it what it really is: a full-scale production role that should be paid accordingly.

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The Disguised Race to the Bottom

This isn’t just a one-off listing. It’s a pattern I’ve seen more and more:

• Companies combining multiple specialized production roles into one, expecting the same quality output at a fraction of the cost.

• The growing assumption that directors are also DPs, editors, sound designers, colorists, and producers—because social media has blurred the lines between professional production and content creation.

• A willingness to sacrifice creative vision in exchange for an all-in-one execution machine.

What’s most frustrating is that this approach ignores the reality of how great work is actually made. Each role in a production exists for a reason—because real creative work is a collaborative process. When companies cram all of these responsibilities into a single “Creator” role, they aren’t just underpaying one person—they’re devaluing the entire industry.

Why This Hurts Everyone

This trend isn’t just bad for the individuals who take these jobs. It’s bad for everyone in the industry—freelancers, agencies, production companies, and even the brands hiring these roles. Here’s why:

• It devalues specialized roles. Instead of hiring a proper director, DP, or editor, companies assume one person can do it all—and that the quality won’t suffer.

• It forces talented professionals to undercut themselves. Skilled directors and filmmakers, desperate to stay competitive, feel pressured to accept roles that should require an entire team.

• It’s unsustainable. Burnout is inevitable when one person is expected to handle the workload of a full crew.

• It diminishes creative vision. When companies expect a “Creator” to execute everything solo, the work lacks the depth that comes from real collaboration.

What Needs to Change

Companies need to start respecting and properly compensating production professionals. If they want a full-scale commercial director, they need to be willing to pay for one. If they’re looking for a scrappy content creator, they should be upfront about that and set realistic expectations. A production job should not be disguised as something else just to fit within an arbitrary salary range.

Action

If we don’t start demanding fair pay and proper recognition, we are only accelerating the devaluation of our own industry. Accepting these unrealistic job expectations only reinforces the idea that high-quality production can be achieved without investing in the people who make it possible.

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It’s been a little while since my last post here. November and December were jam-packed as I wrapped up some contracted projects I’d been working on throughout the fall. Business slowed a bit in mid-December, as it often does, but now, as January winds down, things are beginning to pick up again.

The last few weeks in Northern California have brought an abundance of foggy mornings. I’ve been taking full advantage of them, heading out early before the mist lifts to make photographs. There’s something magical about the stillness of fog—it feels like stepping into another world.

What’s Coming Up?

To kick off commercial work for the year, I’ll be heading out to Arizona next week to scout for a shoot scheduled for the end of February. The project, for a large pharma brand, will film in Tucson and be lensed by my good friend Jared Levy. It’s always a great way to start the year when a well-organized shoot comes together with talented friends. I’m especially excited that we’ll be shooting on the Alexa 35—I’m eager to see how it performs.

Beyond this big project, I’ve been busy planning for the year ahead—building treatments for potential commercial work and developing a few passion projects I hope to bring to life in 2025. It’s been far too long since I’ve had the time to work on a personal project. At the moment, I’m developing three: my first feature documentary, a narrative short, and something a bit more experimental.

Ground(ed) Glass YouTube Channel

During the quieter stretch between December and early January, I filmed the first episode for the Ground(ed) GlassYouTube channel, which I plan to launch in early February. Right now, I’m focused on wrapping up the finishing touches and doing some due diligence to make sure it’s as polished as possible before it goes live.

It’s definitely going to be a work in progress—I’ll be figuring out things like how often I’ll post videos and their average length as I go. Ultimately, the channel will complement this Substack, giving me the chance to do more showing than telling.

You can subscribe to the channel ahead of its launch here.

More Soon!

I’ve been keeping as busy as possible over the past month while also allowing myself some much-needed time to reset. My thoughts are with everyone affected by the devastating wildfires in LA—it’s heartbreaking to see the impact. I’m hoping to find a way to raise additional funds to support those in need, beyond what I’ve been able to donate personally. More on this soon!

Keeping it short and sweet to kick off the new year, but I’m looking forward to a creative and productive 2025. Here’s to making it a good one!

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Welcome back! I wasn’t really sure if this new Substack project would pan out as I’d hoped, but I’m happy to share that we’re just a few subscribers away from 50. And while I realize 50 is a small number in the grand scheme of things, the very idea that 50 people would want to join me on this venture into the unknown world of online self-publishing is pretty humbling. So whether you’re currently a subscriber or just considering it, thanks for stopping by.

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A couple of weeks back, I received an email from one of Ground(ed) Glass’s readers with some questions about artist representation—agents, production company rosters, and the like. When I read the email (quoted below), I was thrilled because it was exactly the kind of interaction that motivated me to start Ground(ed) Glass. The following excerpt is shared with full permission from the inquirer.

“Hi Brandon, not sure if you remember me, but I was a shuttle PA for that **** job a few months back… Just reaching out to let you know that your second Substack was an enjoyable read! … I would like to mention that this Substack of yours is something I’ve always looked for but never found. It is helpful. Even the sentence about sending follow-up emails, getting coffee, or letting an EP know you like their work was helpful.

As a director seeking representation, some topics I’d like to read more about would be how to get representation and what it’s like to cast these nets & build/maintain relationships with brands and EPs. There’s a lot more I’d love to know more about, but I’ll leave it at that for now. Thanks for doing what you do & for the honesty.”

I definitely remembered this person and the 4 a.m. ride to the airport we shared the morning after wrap, when he’d probably only gotten home around 9 or 10 p.m. the night before. He was great! What really stood out to me from his email, though, was that last part.

“Seeking Representation”

The topic of “seeking representation” as an artist—specifically as a director—is one I’ve encountered, considered, and wrestled with time and time again throughout my career. It’s something that most artists in the commercial, branded, and narrative spaces deal with at some point, and I’m sure each one has a different take on it. From this point forward, I can only speak on the topic based on the experiences and situations I’ve found myself in.

Much like the person who sent me the email above, I too was once a PA trying to make a living off $150-$250/day gigs while pursuing directorial attempts in the short doc space on the side, both on my own and with friends. To put it politely, I was an overzealous 24-year-old who spent a too much free time on Instagram, exploring the work of commercial and narrative directors, cinematographers, and photographers alike. When I visited their profiles, they always had production companies, reps, agencies, etc., listed in their bios… And at some point, my mind began to equate that to someone’s success.

In a way, I think my desire to be represented or “on a roster” at a production company tied back to that human need for belonging—the feeling of having a crew that backs you up, nurtures you creatively, and pushes you forward. Alongside this, there’s also a certain amount of legitimacy, whether earned or not, when a director or photographer is repped. It signals to potential clients and agencies that a company has put its belief behind that person’s vision.

So, of course, the second a buddy of mine and I got our first Vimeo Staff Pick, I started emailing some of these production companies. In hindsight, I now realize how desperate that must’ve looked. But I’ll chalk it up to hungry naivety before I cringe to death.

To my surprise (and absolutely no one else’s), I didn’t hear back from 95% of the people I reached out to. And the one production company that did invite me in, probably did so as a courtesy. But through this process of outreach and silence, I began to have really frank conversations with people I met along the way—ep’s, producers, other artists, programmers, sales agents… and, most importantly, myself.

What I had to learn—and what ultimately became the throughline in many of these conversations—was commercial viability. I needed to understand that, at the end of the day, production companies are indeed companies. While everyone loves a good passion project, passion projects cost money; they don’t make it. Production companies employ people with families, provide medical and retirement benefits—in other words, they have to make money. So the talent they invest in and “add to a roster” must demonstrate commercial viability. Whether a director has a spec project that went viral, a short film that won a festival, or fills some commercial niche—everything comes down to whether a production company and its sales agents can sell it. And creating commercial viability takes time and refinement. I hadn’t truly taken the time to refine yet; I wasn’t commercially viable at that point.

These conversations continued over the next few years, growing deeper and developing into ongoing discourse—both internally and with others—as I kept building. As I kept refining. As I kept maturing. Any outreach I continued with production companies became more about building a relationship and sharing new work than simply seeking representation.

Whenever my friends and I got tossed into the game, we made the most of our time on the field. That is to say, we put entire budgets on screen, did spec work, spent years of savings, sacrificed, messed up, and pushed as much as we could with what we had in order to create work we genuinely cared about and could be proud of. We challenged ourselves and one another. In the process, all of that work and sacrifice has proven to be invaluable to the continued building of relationships with production companies, EP’s, agencies, etc.

It’s been amazing to see what the linear relationship between tenacity and opportunity looks like in a career that has, so far, been anything but linear. The most difficult and intimidating part of doing anything creative on your own—especially as a freelance professional who needs to make a living through their art—is the unknown. Not knowing when the next job will come in. Not knowing if you’ll get paid on time for the job you’ve already done. Not knowing if sharing a new project will end up working to your benefit or detriment. You have to navigate these uncertainties yourself and that’s scary.

This quote above may be the only useful or even remotely insightful thing Donald Rumsfeld has ever said—I learned of it in Errol Morris’s documentary about him, The Unknown Known. But regardless of its origins, it rings true for me and the approach I’ve tried to take as I move forward in my career: be confident in the things I do know, accept that there are things I don’t know, and know that there are some things I have yet to realize I don’t understand. Accepting this is why I find it so easy to forgive my younger self for being so eager.

Ask Why.

I’ve become a bit more subdued in my approach to outreach. I still do it, but the reasons are less about seeking validation and more about practicality and necessity. For instance, now that I’m regularly taking on commercial stills work, having someone to negotiate terms on things like usage and creative fees—and to put me forward for more jobs that my portfolio can now help sell me on—would be beneficial. It’s about necessity.

When it comes to seeking representation as a director, the things I’ve written about here and all the other experiences I’ve had navigating the industry as a freelancer—especially in the last two years—have led me to always first ask, “Why?” Am I looking for validation, or is there a real need for this? Have I worked with this company before? Do they seem genuinely eager to collaborate? Are they willing to support other creative pursuits and passion projects? What kind of work are they usually putting forward? What does their forecast look like? Are they consistently offering me low-budget jobs? Have they truly taken the time to get to know me?

Where I once viewed representation as a one-way street, I now see it as a deeply mutual relationship, where both the production company and the director need to be working toward something more. For me, that means taking the time to get to know one another on a personal level, letting that deeper relationship foster mutually beneficial success. Otherwise, what’s the point?

Slow Down

So, while this may be my long-winded way of trying to explain something to myself, I hope some of this insight answers—or at least sheds a bit more light on—the question this reader emailed about. My advice: slow down and focus on finding your voice as an artist through the work that keeps you up at night. Take your time and let that process unfold naturally.

I'm now at a place where I’m fortunate to be working regularly with a few different production companies. I have an international rep who puts me up for work outside North and South America and Canada—opportunities I might not be presented for otherwise. What I’ve learned, though, is that even though I am getting work through production companies as a freelance (off-roster) director and photographer, what truly matters is the work itself: cultivating relationships, making the most of my opportunities, and overdelivering whenever possible. I recognize that I’m doing what I always wanted to do, just perhaps on terms that were a bit of an “unknown unknown” to me five or six years ago. Would I still be open to the possibility of being exclusively on-roster at a production company? Absolutely—but knowing what I know now, I would approach it in a more mature and business-forward way.

Rather than asking for something, share your work and treat each project you’re truly proud of as an opportunity to start new conversations. See the value in yourself and in what you create. I can almost promise that the worst you’ll get is no response at all—and in that case, it likely wasn’t worth your time to begin with. The right opportunities will come to you when your work speaks clearly and powerfully for itself.

Peace and Love!

As I’ve progressed through navigating the motion part of my career, my love for photography has also blossomed into another career avenue. This time, I would say that my approach to finding photography references feels somewhat more linear compared to how I find motion references.

Instead of initially referencing long-form work (like I did in with motion), I first noticed the editorial and commercial work of other photographers. As I began to look deeper into their work, I consistently found that quite a few had ventured into fine art—having their work displayed in galleries, exhibitions, and eventually bound monographs. Photobooks. The be-all, end-all.

Photobooks have have become an obsession for me. I use them as references for my own stills work and also as references for composition, sequencing and framing in my motion work as well. In the spirit of sharing resources and championing the work of other artists I respect, here are a handlful of photobooks that have been circulating on and off my desk for the last few months.

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För by Agnieszka Sosnowska

Published by Tresspasser, Agnieszka Sosnowska’s För is

“[An] intimate portrait of the artist’s life and community in a remote corner of East Iceland. Sosnowska was born in Poland and raised in Boston. Coming of age between two countries and disparate cultural identities, she felt neither fully Polish nor American during her youth. It wasn't until adulthood that she moved to Iceland and found the place where she truly belongs … In this tight knit world, she uses a large format view camera to photograph the land and people with tenderness and unwavering commitment. Set amidst the harsh elements and rugged beauty of the Nordic landscape, För is a book of gratitude and love  – a story about finding home and a chosen family that carry through the seasons of life.” — From Tresspasser

The way Sosnowska approaches landscapes, and the people and details that bring further context to them, is inspiring. Her photos have a sense of haunting beauty and intimacy that remind me of the first time I watched an Ingmar Bergman film (specifically Persona). It looks like it's currently sold out, but I’m sure you can find copies on the second-hand market.

If you’re interested in learning more about Agnieszka Sosnowska, För, and her photographic process, I highly recommend giving her episode on Ben Smith’s A Small Voice Podcast a listen.

Rotting from Within by Abdulhamid Kircher

I always think deeply personal work is the most difficult work to make universally appealing, but Kircher’s work in Rotting from Within hits hard for me.

“Rotting from Within refers to a feeling described by Abdulhamid Kircher upon the unearthing of his father’s history: the discovery of the generational trauma within the patriarchs of his family and the subsequent task of uncovering the artist’s self amongst the things passed down. Beginning at the age of seventeen with the reacquaintance of his estranged father, recently released from incarceration for selling drugs and attempted murder, Kircher’s self-led journey into photography coincided with a reflection on his past.” — From Loose Joints

While the description may seem daunting, the photos speak directly to what’s summarized above. And while everyone always has a different reaction to stories about familial dynamics and children's relationships with their parents, Kircher’s extremely personal work strikes a golden universal bell for me. The work is raw and unflinching in its honesty.

Rotting from Within was recently nominated for the Paris Photo-Aperture PhotoBook Award, as well. Best of luck to Abdulhamid at Paris Photo this upcoming December!

Dormant Season by Erinn Springer

Erinn won the Charcoal Publishing Prize in 2021 and the publishing of Dormant Season is the result of that well-earned accolade.

“Erinn Springer returned to rural Wisconsin after the loss of a close family member, hoping to reconnect with her memories of home. Created with her family and strangers, the resulting series depicts the contrasts of the modern midwest where everyday occurrences get caught between past and present.” — From Charcoal Press

The photo pictured above is the first photograph featured in the Dormant Season monograph, and it’s my favorite from the entire body of work. I liked it so much that I purchased a print from Erinn earlier this year after receiving my copy of the book. Everything I love about photography is depicted in this photo, and when you realize all of the components that had to align with her spontaneous decision to go out and shoot in a field in the early hours of the morning, it feels even more special.

Erinn has also started venturing into the music video arena. She recently directed three music videos for Bon Iver’s newly released EP, Sable,—seemingly bringing her muted, monochromatic approach from still photography into motion. Definitely worth checking out!

Judith Joy Ross: Photographs 1978–2015 by Judith Joy Ross

I was introduced to Judith Joy Ross’ work by another photographer earlier this past summer, while on a job in Seville. Ever since then I have been transfixed by her approach to making photographs, specifically portraits, of strangers. Every single image feels so lived-in and vulnerable. What makes these pictures even more impressive is that Judith used an 8x10 view camera to capture all of them.

“I have a large, beautiful wooden camera. I'm a quick talker and I can convince people in a few seconds because I'm sincerely interested in them. But I am more interested in capturing what I see in them. It's not that I want to be their friend. It's that I see their life and it's amazing. And I want to put it in an image. It's a short but deep connection. Then I go back to being alone but have one more lightning bug in a bottle. One more piece of evidence as to who we are.” -- Judith Joy Ross

What makes the experience of looking at Judith’s work even better is if you also watch and take a listen to this interview she gave at SVA, with Joshua Chuang, a few years back. It’s always fun when you can tell all the photographer truly gives a shit about are the photos.

Baldwin Lee by Baldwin Lee

In 1983, Baldwin Lee set out with a 4x5 view camera to document Black Americans across the American South, capturing them at home, at work, and in nature. This decade-long project profoundly shaped Lee’s understanding of his country and himself. Over seven years, he produced nearly 10,000 black-and-white negatives via his 4x5 view camera. Nearly four decades later, the monograph Baldwin Lee presents eighty-eight of these images, highlighting his dedication to American life and creating one of the most poignant bodies of work from that era.

I first heard Baldwin’s story on his episode of Sasha Wolf’s PhotoWork podcast and was amazed that his work had remained relatively unknown since the 1980s. I’m so glad both he and his work are finally getting the recognition they deserve.

Thanks!

If you’re thinking about diving into the expensive habit of collecting photobooks, I’d recommend checking out Charcoal Book Club. They send members a photobook each month and have exclusive access to titles that often sell out quickly.

Thanks again for stopping by for this third entry on Ground(ed) Glass! More coming soon...

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We arrived a few days before The Feria and were able to capture footage at Feria del Caballo in the city of Jerez. Andalucía is a beautiful part of the world, and it was exciting to work there and visually capture such a rich and vibrant culture.

63 Raw Acres Launch

Upon returning to California from Seville, while editing the three deliverables we had agreed on for the Seville job, I jumped right back into some long-term work for a new vineyard here in Napa: 63 Raw Acres at the Top of Soda Canyon.

63 Raw Acres is a long-term commission where I get the rare opportunity to document the process of someone starting a vineyard in the 21st century, here in Napa, CA, through both cinema and photography. It’s rare because at this point, there really aren’t any “new” vineyards. Property is scarce, and property with growing permits is even scarcer.

Cory Wagner, the man and entrepreneur behind it all, published our first film together at the beginning of June. You can take a look at the short doc here:

The approach is definitely small in scale, but it’s been nice to get back to some documentary-style roots and explore more storytelling devices in the edit through intercutting archival and multimedia sequences.

We are in the final stages of revisions for Episode 2 right now and should be sharing that soon(ish).

Hilton

Right after the first episode of 63 Raw Acres dropped, I found myself back on the road in mid-June on a stills-only job for Hilton Signia and Hilton for Business.

The shoot started somewhat local to me at the Signia in San Jose. From there, we traveled to the Signia in Atlanta. Overall, it was three shoot days—two alongside the motion team and one stills-only day. Each day was jam-packed with setups and its own unique challenges. Nothing out of the norm for any commercial shoot, though.

I felt fortunate to have an excellent lighting tech, Joel Barhamand, travel with me throughout the project. Joel is an excellent photographer in his own right, so he came to set with a clear understanding of motivated lighting in large spaces. I wanted to stay as wide as possible in most scenes to show off the spaces, and Joel was always hustling to create unobtrusive and motivated lighting setups.

Overall, the shoot and accompanying travel went well, and I’m hopeful there will be more chances to jam with the Hilton crew again.

EuroSummer (™)

Upon getting back home from the Hilton gig, Jonah and I went right into prep for the second leg of our project with Capital One and Prior. We headed to Paris the first week of July to capture more content for a curated cardholder trip. This marked my first time visiting Paris and kicked off a month-long work trip to Europe, spanning four countries.

Paris for the First Time

Yeah, I mean, Paris lived up to the hype. The fact that Jonah and I were capturing content as part of an already-organized, curated cardholder trip meant we got to do things and access places that most people don’t, unless they’re paying an exorbitant amount of money—filming a private dinner at Musée Picasso, shopping for cheese and produce with Dominique Crenn, capturing the fireworks display over the Eiffel Tower on Bastille Day from a private balcony in the 16th arrondissement … casual things like that. It was a work trip that didn’t really feel like work, and even though none of what we captured is worth displaying in the portfolio (at least in the way we delivered it to the client), it was an experience we wouldn’t have had otherwise.

Paris was also memorable because I picked up an M10 Mono LeitzWetzlar from the Leica Store Beaumarchais while I was there. I’d traded some gear for an M11 Mono in 2023 and regrettably sold it earlier this year, so when I found this M10 Mono for a good price, I bit the bullet and went for it. I only had a 75mm Summicron with me, but it felt right to be putzing around Paris for the first time, capturing it in black and white.

TLC in Athens

From Paris, I traveled to Barcelona for a week of R&R, and from there I went to Athens, Greece, to direct and photograph Episode #6 of a branded series I’ve been working on for the last year and a half for Marriott’s Luxury Collection. The creative for this episode revolved around music in Athens and the Hotel Grande Bretagne. My good buddy and frequent collaborator, Jared Levy, lensed the episode. This was the fourth episode Jared has shot, and after we wrapped, he went on to shoot his fifth episode in Venice, Italy. Like all of the Luxury Collection jobs I’ve worked on, our production timeline was super truncated and incredibly packed. We got there, scouted, shot over two days, and then I flew back to NorCal to do laundry and get a haircut before flying back to Europe for a two-week trip through Sicily.

Sicily

An amazing couple weeks trekking all over the island of Sicily with my love.

Casting Wide Nets

Needless to say, the summer was filled with a lot of fun jobs that included quite a lot of travel—and a lot of laughs. It’s not lost on me that the last year and change have presented challenges for many in our industry, so I hope this doesn’t come across as a sort of shit post or an opportunity to show off. It’s a recap for sure, and definitely an opportunity for me to share a lot of my favorite images from the road—but most importantly, it’s a way for me to segue into how all of this work came to be.

One of the reasons I’m challenging myself with this Substack is to share how I’ve been able to sustain myself as a freelance director and photographer, with the hope that my approach to getting work might offer some insights to other aspiring creatives. All of this work, in one way or another, came from casting a wide net. Nets, actually. The times I’ve struggled in this industry have been some of the most illuminating for me as a professional, because struggling has always reminded me that unless I’m doing outreach and cultivating relationships, I’m not going to work.

It’s not about being pushy or annoying; it’s about sharing your work with the right people, grabbing coffees, sending catch-up emails, or just letting an EP know you dig the work they’ve been putting out. If you don’t feel great about something you’ve been working on or just finished, and you don’t want to get hired to do more of the same, don’t share it. Don’t post it. Wait until you have something to show that you’re proud of. It will mean more down the line.

What Would You Like?

The biggest thing I want for Ground(ed) Glass is to be helpful and resourceful for the people putting time into reading it. What are some topics you’d like to hear more about in the future? Feel free to leave suggestions in the comments or reach out via email at groundedglassco@gmail.com.

I’m going to avoid giving you my bio, but if you’re curious as to why you should take note of anything I’ve got to say, take a look at this About page. Some of you may know me, and some of you may not—but whatever the case, I’m stoked you’ve decided to check this out.

What’s Ground(ed) Glass?

Other than one of the best plays on words I’ve ever come up with that is applicable to both motion and still photography, it’s a place to take a closer look at the work, discuss creative processes and approaches, the challenges we face, and the unique moments that make it all worthwhile. It’s about sharing insights into the worlds of directing and photography—both commercial and personal.

Why Now?

I think it’s a lot of things. Different experiences, both personal and professional, have culminated in me wanting to try and build something like this. Not to be cliché, but looking back, I wish my future self could have written a letter to my past self about what I was about to go through. (Trust me, I made a short doc that revolves around this whole idea—I’m obsessed with it.)

And so maybe Ground(ed) Glass is a way for me to write a series of letters to my past self. Or to the past self I see reflected in others who are on similar journeys, if that makes sense. Letters that embrace and dissect the struggles and letters to show how amazing it can get—through the work and the people.

Social Media

I’d be lying if I didn’t also mention that a bit of this has to do with how wasteful sharing work on social media has started to feel. It’s lost some of its allure, and though I will continue to play the game, it’s started to feel like I’m just throwing work into a bottomless content canyon. Shit posting. And for what? To keep up?

Social media perpetuates this myth that every new job has to be bigger and better than the last. It’s a pleasant thought, and it’s nice when it works out that way, but a lot of jobs are not portfolio pieces. I don’t post most of the projects I’m working on. Then there are times I post projects I normally wouldn’t because it appeals to a certain type of work I’m trying to get more of…

Bottom line—very few people are out here making a living off their art. All of us are making a living off the technical prowess that’s associated with it, but not the art itself.

Self Challenge

This new project is a way for me to challenge myself. As a freelance director and photographer, I feel like a lot of my career has become a series of short sprints (i.e. production), followed by “training” periods consisting of creating treatments and proposals, estimates, and back-and-forths with existing and potential clients. Lather, rinse, repeat.

My hope for Ground(ed) Glass is that it becomes a place for me to brake-check and take stock of it all while sharing some of the ups and downs. Writing, like photography, has always been a way for me to slow down and appreciate moments that I may have otherwise missed. Through this attempt at reflection and sharing, I figure some of the things I have to say may wind up being useful to someone for reasons more important than my own selfish ones.

Thanks For Being Here

Whether you’ve been following my work for a while or are just stumbling upon Ground(ed) Glass for the first time, I’m genuinely grateful for your time and interest. This space is as much for me as it is for anyone who finds value in it, and I’m excited to see where it goes. I hope you stick around, share your thoughts, and maybe even find something here that resonates with you. Thanks for being part of the journey.

I’m aiming to publish a few posts each month, but I don’t want to create a strict posting schedule for myself just yet—so stay tuned for more. In the next post, I’m looking forward to diving into some recent work.

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