WHEN THE WORK BEGINS TO SPEAK BACK

For over two decades, my life has revolved around two interconnected paths: making photographs and working in and around the gallery world—each continually shaping and informing the other. One behind the camera, the other in front of the wall. Not just how I make images, but how I speak about them, present them, and understand their impact.

I’ve been the one turning on the lights each morning, hanging new work, meeting collectors, and talking about photography with anyone who walked into the exhibit. I’ve sold millions of dollars in art—some of it mine, some of it by other artists I respect deeply. But more than anything, I’ve spent thousands of hours standing in a space surrounded by images, learning how people see.

That’s not an experience most photographers get.

Many photographers can go their entire careers without ever needing to speak about their work in a public setting. But when you work in a gallery—or spend years as an artist-in-residence, like I’ve done at the Four Seasons—you start to realize that speaking about the work clearly and honestly isn’t separate from the creative process. It becomes part of it.

You learn what connects.
What confuses.
What opens the door for someone else to feel something.
And over time, that act of speaking shapes the work itself. It sharpens your understanding of what you're trying to say—and how to say it with clarity, nuance, and purpose.

That’s why, in my immersive workshops and mentoring programs, I always try to bring in this element: encouraging photographers to speak about their work. Not in a rehearsed or overly polished way, but in a way that’s honest, personal, and expressive.

And if you’re not ready to speak about your own work, start by speaking about someone else’s. Choose an image by Salgado, or Kenna, or another master photographer whose work resonates with you—and try to articulate why. What’s working in the image? What are you feeling? This practice builds the same internal muscles: perception, interpretation, and voice.

In recent years—especially now—I’ve leaned more fully into writing about photography. Here on The Curated Landscape, I’ve been sharing insights and interviews with fellow photographers. I’ve also been writing artist features for the Wailea Contemporary Gallery, for example, which has allowed me to engage with other fellow artists in a different kind of dialogue.

Once again, I find that the act of articulating someone else’s vision is quietly shaping my own. Every exchange deepens the process. Every reflection adds another layer.

You don’t have to wait for permission. Or the perfect words. Just begin.

Sit with one of your images—or a master’s—and try to describe what’s happening, not just visually, but emotionally. What’s the image saying? What’s it asking? What’s alive in it?

The more we speak, the more we see.

And in time—if we’re listening closely enough—

the work begins to speak back.