Welcome to In the Flash, a reader-supported publication about intent and creativity in photography.

Happy New Year, everyone!

A few weeks ago I sent out a Reader Survey and more than 200 were kind enough to fill it out and send me your thoughts about this newsletter. For one of the survey questions, I asked if there are any topics you’d like me to cover going forward, and I got a few questions that I thought would be fun to answer in the first post of 2025.

What's one of the favorite images you have taken?

In 2014, New York Magazine sent me to Paris to shoot fashion week. One of the shows on my list was the Stella McCartney collection at the Paris Opera. I have been an avid Beatles fan since I was 15, so the possibility that Paul McCartney could actually show up backstage was almost too much to bear. That morning, I spent a couple of hours photographing models getting their hair and makeup done, spinning around every time I heard footsteps at the entrance, but alas, it wasn't Paul. And then, the PR people came to kick every photographer out. So I did what any self-respecting Beatlemaniac would do. I hid in the women's bathroom.

After everyone left, the opera house became very quiet, and I decided to poke out of the stall and assess the situation. Just as I stepped out, I heard footsteps and a familiar voice. So, so familiar. A few seconds later, Paul walked a few feet in front of me and disappeared down the hallway. I sank into the bench, too shellshocked to stand, much less take a photo. As it slowly dawned on me that I missed my chance, I heard that same voice coming back from the other direction. I picked up my camera with trembling hands, and a moment later, Paul stepped out straight in front of me. He saw me, waved, and smiled as I took a single shot. Then he disappeared again.

I walked the streets of Paris afterwards and cried, overwhelmed by the surreal moment of seeing Paul McCartney in the flesh. The photo is crap, of course. But for me, it's the most magical image I've ever taken.

I still don’t understand why you prefer to be called a Photographer and not an Artist when what you do is ART.

Imagine you are meeting people at a party, and a philosophy professor introduces themselves as an “intellectual.” No one would dispute that they are, indeed, an intellectual — a broad group of professionals with PhDs — but it would sound cringey. That’s how I feel if I had to introduce myself as an artist. It’s a blanket statement that sounds more self-congratulatory than descriptive, because the follow-up question of “What kind of artist?” would bring me back to photography.

I also think about it this way. Art can have two meanings. One meaning describes the intent — when an individual does anything creative, no matter if it’s good or bad, it is art by default of its origin, and the term is used as an objective descriptor. In this case, all photographs are art, and everyone who takes photos is an artist.

Another way is to use the term as a qualifier and define an object as art only when it is good enough to reach a certain level. With this meaning, just a minority of photographs can be art. You know if someone is using the term as a qualifier if they define some photographs as “not art” (let’s say wedding or commercial photography). But the paradox of using the term in this way is that it can only be given by an outside observer. If each individual would describe their work as art, the word would lose its meaning as the qualifier it aims to be, and the term would go back to its first meaning, defining every single photograph taken as art.

This is why I welcome if other people want to describe me as an artist but feel seasick to call myself one.

Photography's Phallic Stage or Why Photographers Should Stop Calling Themselves "Artists"

I would love to read if you ever have projects that you started but didn’t finish. How do you handle that and do you ever try to finish them?

I have a folder of unfinished photo projects that I baptized as the Graveyard. It stares at me, accusingly, whenever I browse through my personal archive. Every now and then I peek inside with a faint hope of discovering something I missed, a way to resuscitate the malcontent ghosts. To date, not one has been revived.

I often quit projects before I have a chance to fail, and few ideas make it past the honeymoon stage. A personal project is a weighty commitment that pursues a hazy end goal lacking any assurance, so efficient quitting, much like folding in poker, becomes a necessity to separate the half-baked ideas from the ones I am ready to invest in. Yet, I am overwhelmed by a sense of guilt whenever the Graveyard folder appears in my peripheral vision.

A couple of examples from the Graveyard.

This was going to be my thesis project for my MFA Photography program. I spent a couple of months photographing New Yorkers and recombining them in street collages. Didn't spare the black and white art sauce either. It took me years to understand why these didn't work.

In 2016 I spent three weeks in Hanoi, Vietnam, photographing the daily lives of post-millennials. I fell in love with the city, had the best time shooting, and anticipated the amazing photo series to come. It even had a great title — The Renovation Generation. On coming back home, I quickly realized three weeks is not nearly enough to make this work. Instead of investing more time and money, I grew despondent and quit. This one still stings.

I understand why you never discuss what is in your camera bag but I am still curious. I'm especially wondering in your lighting kit because it looks like you travel light with minimal gear. Would you consider doing a post for paid subscribers that discuss your equipment?

Since it’s the New Year, here is a list of everything I shoot with and my setup in photos.