One cold morning, a very willing, dedicated, and humble friend, and half a day of retouching.

In the past I’ve touched a bit on my conceptual process but sometimes I can feel a bit defensive about it because in some ways I feel like it’s a bit backwards to how I imagine a proper conceptual artist should work.  To clarify – first, I don’t always have the true meaning of the work figured out before I make it – then I get down, thinking, as an artist, the work doesn’t mean as much if you don’t have a clear intent when making it.  I have some notion that all true artist have clear intentions on all their work – they concept it, they think it through, they produce it, frame it, present it, and defend it.  Truth is I almost never understand my work until it’s finished.  I think it’s because my work is a bit outside the traditional realm of photography.  I am very rarely photographing life as it is, but rather creating my own images based mostly on imagination.  With this being my work flow, generally speaking, I only come to understand my work after it’s been created.

Some of the work I do is just fun, just image making for the sake of it, but then there are images that are really personal and important to me.  Really from the beginning all the images start from the same place – it’s only through the process of making the stuff that I figure out if it’s any good, how much it means to me, and what it is I’m doing.

The first person I showed this shot to was the man in it.  In an email he responded with paragraphs describing what he saw in it – all, of course, in complete earnest.  I could hardly respond.  I could just think how I loved the fact that an image takes on new and excitingly different forms in different individuals minds.   So much of the intrigue is in the viewers own narrative that I’m often hesitant to explain what the image means to me.   I don’t want to ruin the impression of an image with words because if the viewer can create their own narrative, filling in the blanks with their own story, then the work really becomes alive and personal.  That’s why I think my best work is the work that doesn’t have a statement, but asks a question.

With all that said I still, in some ways, feel like it’s appropriate to talk about what it is that I did in this shot.  In earnest, to me, when I look at this image, I see myself.  I see my fear of the unknown, my fear of change, my fear of death.  By making this picture I think I’m living through the man in it because he’s a lot braver than me.

I often feel like, as a photographer, my work isn’t as valid as other photographers’ because it doesn’t attempt to document or capture the real world.  I’m always impressed by the photographer’s like Jon Snyder, Justin Fantl, Mcnair Evans and others – who manage to use photography in it’s original (and possibly most effective) purpose – the creative and uniquely personal observation and documentation of human life and the world we live in.  Though, I admit, I am not as skilled in those areas, I make consolations by achieving merit in other categories.  I think the work I do is important as well – though the nature of it doesn’t rely as dependently as the aforementioned type on the mimetic nature of photography, I still think the work I do can be explorative and moving, just in the same way as the others.  If I sound a bit defensive, it’s because I do love so very much that documentarian style of photography and, in some ways, feel like I missed my chance at being that kind of photographer – but really, I don’t think anyone has any real say on what type of artist they are destined to be – so here I am, sharing photos of dudes in underwear taking dips into the ocean.  Enjoy!

-Matt