My contribution to Raven Chacon’s Tiguex; September 27, 2025 photo by Alyosha Goldstein
But there’s also something rare here. Being a weirdo—or just different—isn’t just tolerated, it’s celebrated. I don’t think any other place in the country has this much genuine uniqueness. That recognition of individuality is part of what makes New Mexico one of the last truly original places to live.
Read MoreEvery summer, for a while now anyway, around my house we start to anticipate that wonderful day… sometime in August, when summer finally “breaks.” It doesn’t end—it still gets hot during the day—but there’s this special, intangible release from the dried, bony grip of the desert heat. You don’t know exactly when it’s going to happen, but you definitely know when it finally does.
In all honesty, this summer hasn’t broken yet. maybe tomorrow? maybe next week? it’ll happen, and when it does, I’ll feel that slight relief, like I’ve turned the last bend in a tunnel and can finally see light again.
This desert heat makes it near impossible to do much of anything outdoors during the day. And since my job is 100% remote now, I spend almost every day in the confines of my well-air-conditioned studio. The luxury of time and space can sometimes turn into a trap, of course. Especially when I realize I’ve spent the whole day by myself, staring at a screen… albeit a screen covered in my own artwork, rather than doom-scrolling through social media.
I’ve spent a good part of the past couple of years slowly but surely moving away from straight photography. Collage, and the side roads it opens up—cyanotypes, encaustic—have led me down a rabbit hole of found faces and anonymous antagonists in a kind of self-created history. All of it comes rolling out of my brain, takes form, gets trashed, re-photographed, reproduced, repurposed. sometimes many times over. I don’t know if it’s good or not. if I’m making IMPORTANT work, or if I’m just deluding myself. On good days, I just appreciate the ability and the space to create, mostly undisturbed. On bad days, the existential angst takes over, and I waver between “what’s the point?” and “there is no legacy for most of us, so why even give a fuck?”
Soon, the desert will start to cool, the days will grow shorter. The swamp cooler will be covered for the long winter, and maybe I’ll come back and read this again, and even laugh at the desert doldrums I’m wallowing in right now.
When will it break? When?
The smell of diesel exhaust, hot rubber or plastic flowers, blooming cat shit in the hallway, salt in the air, smoke from burning garbage or vine leaves, grilled fish, and the pungent, sour remnants at the bottom of a Moretti bottle.
I recently returned from what is now my fourth trip to Sicily in a year. This was solely a vacation—though I did bring cameras and art making some material. I spent most of my time sleeping, reading, swimming, lounging in the sun, eating, drinking, and daydreaming. I was also gathering material for my future art practice, leaning heavily into the collage and mixed-media direction I’ve been steadily exploring.
I also accumulated a huge envelope full of receipts—bank statements, restaurant bills, grocery lists, even IKEA slips—all with the intention of running them through my thermal printing toy camera. Sample images are included here.
This time away—certainly from my studio, but also from America—had a number of effects on my thinking. Being separated from the daily political, Trump-related hysteria was a relief. Even though I couldn’t completely block it out, the eight-hour time difference made it feel slightly more distant.
I thought a lot about photography—and more generally, about art-making. I wasn’t especially motivated to make photographs on this trip. I used my phone as a visual sketchbook, but beyond that, I didn’t try to seriously capture anything. My relationship with photography has been tenuous at best, especially over the past five years. Since the pandemic, I’ve been pushing into other visual directions.
Yet I record a photography-based podcast, so I keep one foot firmly planted in that world—even if sometimes my legs are stretched quite far across the divide.
While traveling, I kept thinking about why artists travel in the first place. One obvious reason is to be inspired by unfamiliar or different environments. Still, I often feel that taking photos in distant lands can verge on armchair exoticism at best—or exploitation of local people and traditions at worst.
To reconcile those feelings, I try to think of inspiration as a two-way street. I see things I’m not familiar with, I get visually inspired, and yes—that act is selfish, even greedy at its core. But if I can translate that inspiration into my own creative expression and share it back with the world, I feel like I’m at least tipping the scale back toward equilibrium. I take the inspiration, I mold it, and then I give it back.
Photography, specifically for me in these places, is a double-edged sword. I do get visually stimulated and make images quite freely when I’m overseas or in a new environment. However, I also try to avoid the predictable—the things that have already been seen and photographed to death. I think that’s why I’ve gravitated so strongly toward hand-manipulated work, collage, and multimedia. I feel those pieces carry at least an extra layer of my own perspective—my own aesthetic.
Food for thought as I jump back into my studio practice and prepare for a long, hot summer in the desert. Dreaming of the Aeolian Islands off the coast of Sicily might be the one thing that keeps me grounded.
I thought I'd take this opportunity to check in with all my readers (maybe just one or two regulars, haha!) and fill you in on what I've been up to over the past few months. It's been a challenging time, and I've been doing my best to stay positive while focusing on my personal work, my health, and my life in general. The world around us can feel increasingly overwhelming, but thankfully, I have my studio—a true sanctuary. It's my safe space to create, reflect, and grow every day.
I’m excited to share that I currently have two exhibits here in Albuquerque. Over a week ago, I had the opening of my solo show at Zendo Coffee. The work on display is from my Burn Index desert series, which features photo collages with encaustic wax. The opening was really special to me. I had a great turnout and was thrilled to sell some pieces on the very first night. I also released a companion zine to coincide with the show, and I still have a few copies left. If you're interested, you can grab one by following this link.
As I write this, I’m preparing to head downtown to 516 ARTS, Albuquerque’s premier contemporary art space, where I'll be part of a group photography show titled New Tableau. The show is curated by a good friend of mine, Daniel Ulibarri, and features a mix of local and international photographers. I’m truly honored to be included in this exhibition. The work I’m showing at 516 ARTS is a very personal new series called Sic Transit Gloria Mundi. It explores my relationship with my father, who is featured prominently in the artwork. Like my previous work, these pieces combine photography and encaustics. The series consists of 31 images, each printed on old Latin textbook pages, mounted onto board, and then covered in wax.
While it’s incredibly exciting to have my work displayed, this also feels like a period of closure for me. It’s giving me the space to unplug and decompress, allowing me to focus on other things—like hitting the gym several times a week, working on my podcast, and dedicating time to my day job, which thankfully keeps the bills paid.
Looking ahead, I’m excited for the months to come. A trip to Sicily is on the horizon, which definitely adds a little excitement to my life! But I’m also eager to explore new creative avenues.
So, that’s my update! I’d love to hear what you’ve been up to as well—feel free to share in the comments.
A view through a prism; May 2024
I spend most of my days in my studio. This is the benefit of remote working. As long as my laptop is open, emails rolling in, numerous Zoom meeting, etc… I am “on the clock.” The advantage of having all of my art supplies readily available is a blessing and a curse. My studio space resembles my brain in many ways. Sometimes I need to turn it off, which in this case means randomly pulling “work in progress” off the walls, so I can stop thinking about THE WORK for at least a little while. The upside of working in this environment is that I can dabbler with an idea at anytime, and garner quick results, via Lightroom and my decent Canon printer. Case in point, I got a bug up my ass yesterday about my ongoing boredom with “straight” photography. At the same time, complete abstraction seems too easy sometimes, or just a plain, self-indulgent mess other times. The problem (not really a problem) with photography in general is that it seems so intrinsically tied to the real world (broad generalization, I know.) Somehow, someway, reality need to peek it’s head into the camera, and onto the subsequent print, or else it drifts into something else, something (primarily) non-photographic. I’ve taken to shooting through prisms lately (as seen last year in full effect in Paris) and I think what I like about the approach (when it works…and often it doesn’t…) is that it breaks just enough from reality, and falls into the territory of “uniqueness.” Reflections and transparency wielded in a barely controllable manner, with a heavy helping of serendipity. It reaps non-repeatable results, for sure. Images that are only by me, for better or for worse. Even dabbling in the studio becomes a journey into unknown territory, and as the above image can attest, sometime the results are magic.
Simulated capture of the eclipse with a simulated Polaroid, iPhone app.
A total solar eclipse occurred this week, visible to a large swath of the North American population. Unfortunately, New Mexico was not in the path of full totality, and the cloud cover obscured the partial eclipse in our sky. Still, there was noticeable shift in the midday light, and experiencing even a small bit of a shift away from the everyday was enough to give pause and provoke some deeper thoughts.
It was fascinating to watch coverage of the eclipse on my computer monitor. NASA did a wonderful job of tracking the progress via a live stream, complete with moody, new age music. The result was not schmaltzy but quite the contrary. The power and glory of the cosmos making its presence known to a great mass of people is a rare thing. Watching crowds gather and celebrate a celestial event was heartening. We all share this world, and it was nice to be reminded that we are all within something greater than ourselves.
More time in my old hometown. I’m not going to pretend that it’s an enjoyable place for me to visit. With the cold, damp blast of winter, it’s even less hospitable. My camera provided little solace, though a wander through the woods down the block from my father’s house gave me a small bit of nature; a reprieve. Back when I was a kid, you could cross paths with a skunk or a possum in these woods. But in the decades since I left, deer have become ubiquitous in the area. They show little fear of humans, which is maybe a blessing and a curse for both sides of the equation. I did come face to face with this youngster while wandering through the late February thaw / muck. We sized each other up before parting ways. Two lone creatures trying to get through life while surrounded by suburban sprawl, we shared something in common on a gray afternoon in New Jersey.
From time to time, I spend a few hours in a community darkroom here in Albuquerque. Though it open to “select” members of the community, the nicest thing about it is that when I book time there, I have the entire darkroom to myself. No fighting over when to turn on the lights, and I can use multiple enlargers at the same time. I like to experiment with expired papers, odd exposure techniques, and often times, found negatives.
One a recent visit, I found some “failed” film on the ground, stuffed in the corner of the darkroom, covered in dust and dirt. A few rolls that someone had obviously loaded incorrectly into the developing tank, it had chemical marks, streaks, and plenty of evidence that the film stuck to itself during the processing. The creator obviously discarded the film, seeing no value in it. On the other hand, I find these kinds of mishaps intriguing. I sometime distress my film intentionally to get the kinds of random results that this artist clearly distanced themselves from. I rolled up the forgotten film and brought it back to my studio. I eventually got around to scanning it an manipulating it in Lightroom. I like the unrestricted chance to play with this film, allowing for panoramic abstractions that are more about the medium itself than the need for any recognizable image. I love the results. I suppose I should give credit to my anonymous collaborator. One person’s trash is another’s treasure, indeed.
I was sad to hear over the past few days that photographer Larry Fink had passed away. Larry was of a generation of photographers, coming-of-age in the 1960s, when social consciousness was at the forefront of their work. Larry always struck a strong balance between documentary approach and fine art aesthetics. He was unique because, though he was social aware, his work was not simply dismissed as “cause” related. Maybe it was the Rembrandt-like lighting he often achieved with his flash. Larry is probably best known for his look at social stratification, the “haves” and the “have nots.” This work is the basis of much of Larry’s career, and is the featured subject of his outstanding book Social Graces from 1985.
It was around the time that this book was released that I first became aware of Larry Fink’s work. I was a college student at the time studying photography in New Jersey and I actually had a connection to Larry through a friend who worked as a darkroom assistant for him in nearby Pennsylvania. As part of my studies and involvement in the photography department, I thought it would be a good idea to reach out to Larry and see if he might come and meet with the fellow photo students at my school and also make a presentation. I got his phone number from the friend left him a message, and then lo and behold he called back, leaving me a message on an answering machine (old technology, I know…) The message made my film student roommate freak out that somebody of the caliber of Larry Fink would be leaving me a message. That’s the kind of world that we lived in that a figure such as Larry would make that kind of impression on us. Larry did agree to come spend a day with me and my fellow photo students, and he was charming and gracious ; very giving with his time, and I remember the work that he shared as part of his presentation left all of us inspired and impressed.
Needless to say, Larry’s whole career produced a string of stellar bodies of work. You can easily Google “Larry Fink, photographer” and see examples of his work. It’s sad when the greats of the medium pass on, but we are fortunate that they leave us inspiring bodies of work that will last far longer than any of us will. Thank you Larry, rest in peace.
I recently returned from a trip to Paris, France, where I attended Paris Photo, the largest annual photography gathering in Europe. This was my first visit, and thanks to my podcast, I was able to secure a press pass. The show itself was overwhelming, with numerous galleries showcasing a wide array of work, including classic photos, new photography, and digital photography. There were also booksellers and book signings, and to top it all off, an installation by Daido Moriyama.
The Paris Photo show spanned four days, and I found it so overwhelming that I attended three times. However, the city had many other photography-related events taking place simultaneously. One such event was Polycopies, an independent publishing photo book event held on a boat stationed on the Seine River. Polycopies served as a “punk rock” response to the larger, corporate attitude of Paris Photo, and I personally found it more to my liking. Another noteworthy show was OffPrint, focusing on books, not limited to photography but encompassing various printed matter. It drew a diverse crowd and added to the cultural richness of my experience.
The Pompidou Center hosted a photography exhibit well worth attending, titled “Corps à corps - Histoire(s) de la photographie” featuring an impressive array of work spanning the history of photography. I also had the pleasure of attending a photo exhibit by Julia Margaret Cameron, showcasing beautiful Victorian glass plate prints at the Jeu de Paume museum. However, one of the highlights of my time in Paris was attending a Michael Ackerman photo exhibit at the Camera Obscura Gallery in Montparnasse. I even had the opportunity to meet Michael and engage in extensive discussions about his work.
In addition to savoring delicious meals and indulging in a bit too much smoking, I immersed myself in the photography that surrounded me. The experience left me inspired, and I found myself compelled to capture many moments through my lens. More on that front will undoubtedly come in the future. I've already marked my calendar for next year's Paris Photo dates, eagerly anticipating another visit to this vibrant city that truly shone as the center of the photographic world during a wonderful week in November. I consider myself fortunate to have been a part of it.
