Today's Inspiration | Damari McBride
in Inspiration
I met Damari McBride in a coffee shop in Seoul, South Korea. We were there, along with several other hobbyist photographers, for an off-camera flash course hosted by speed-lighting expert Dylan Goldby. I ordered a latte, plopped down in an empty seat next Damari, and began chatting away as if we were old friends picking up a conversation where we had last left it.
While that initial chat was over seven years ago, I distinctly remember how affable Damari was. With an infectious laugh and a cheeky smile, Damari had a particular magnetism. It was obvious that he had a great sense of humor and a friendly demeanor. But, I could also tell that McBride had many more layers under his jovial façade. There was an artist’s sadness about him and I imagined what he was like when he was alone, without the presence of others and social conventions in place.
Soon after, Damari returned to the United States and I moved to Japan to launch my portraiture business in Tokyo. Ever since we have kept in touch and continue to act as a support system for one another.
It has been an honor to watch his photography career develop and to witness his artistic journey. From analog portraiture in the streets of New York to his stunning work with Photographers Without Borders in South Africa, from his residency at Atlantic Center for the Arts to his musings in mixed media, I am always interested to see what is next for McBride. He is a leaf in a river and I remain constantly curious to know where he will wash out of the rapids.
I wanted to know more about the ebbs and flows in the evolution of McBride as a photographer and he was kind enough to sit down with me to answer some of the questions I have always had about his craft that, until now, I have just never asked.
DAMARI MCBRIDE
If you had one minute to give a complete stranger a synopsis of who you are, what would you say?
I’m a portrait photographer currently based in New York City. I’m a married man and have a corgi named Peach Queen Latifah Holt Alexander McBride (who I paid ten extra dollars to have her registered because of the length of her name).
I love traveling.
My biggest passion outside of photography is cooking and baking. I don’t want to toot my own horn, but I’m pretty good at it (unless is it curry, I’m still struggling with that damn curry).
My favorite subject to photograph is people, any person, any human. I am interested in humanity and the societal conditions we individually and collectively endure. We always speak to our differences and what makes us unique rather than what connects us. While being different is something that should be appreciated and discussed, I find that there is much more that connects us than separates us.
I like the human aspects of life and create work that explores that human connection.
You grew up in Michigan. Tell me a bit about that experience and your formative years.
I grew up in Grand Rapids. As a kid, I was always daydreaming and creating. I built clubhouses and mixed “magic potions” to protect them by mixing different cleaning supplies together. I tried my hand at BMX riding but failed. You know, crazy kid shit. I honestly don’t know how I’m alive.
I was a creative kid and always needed to be moving. I need to touch and experiment with things. I doodled. I got into music. I messed around with anything that kept my imagination running wild.
Do you feel that those formative years influenced you as a photographer?
Yeah, I do think that my youth had an influence on me as a photographer. I still daydream and create with a ten-year-old perspective. I’m always wondering “what-if.” My childlike wonderment hasn’t gone anywhere and I don’t ever want it to.
How did you get to this point in your journey as a photographer?
I played around with the idea of myself as a photographer for the longest time. I questioned whether or not a career in photography was something I wanted to actually pursue. I had a lot of self-doubts.
I think the biggest milestone was making the decision to move to NYC and actually go for it, become a professional photographer. That was a tough decision, to move to such a competitive market. But, I did it and that leap of faith paid off.
Since moving to NYC, I have been able to shoot on film sets, expand into videography, and meet other creatives who continue to inspire me. The reward was worth the risk.
Why do you pick up the camera? What is it about the medium that resonates with you?
I have ADHD to the max, shit is real. My mind moves at such a fast speed it is, at times, hard to control. Photography helps me interact with the world at a calmer, more sustainable pace.
Photography is also a tool I use to help me communicate. Sometimes I find it difficult to put my thoughts into the written or spoken word. Photography, in a way, became my language. Through my camera, the world looks clear to me. Because of the slower pace that my style of photographing demands, I am forced to slow down, to see instead of look.
What have been some failures you have experienced as a photographer thus far? How have you reacted in relation to those failures?
I think my biggest failures have come from constantly beating myself up. Comparing myself to other creatives pushed me into stagnation, a place of little creation, inspiration, or motivation. It didn’t help when rejection letters and emails came in after submitting the work I actually managed to produce during that dark time. Between my inability to accept rejection and my own self-doubts, I was my own worst enemy.
I don’t really think you ever get over the rejection that comes your way, or at least I haven’t. I have, however, changed the way that I absorb rejection. A good friend of mine told me, “There is always someone that’s going to be better than you smarter than you, more creative than you. But don’t let them out-work you.” That advice is a constant reminder that I need to work harder. I need to put more work out.
Now, for every “no” that I get in my inbox, I just create another body of work that’s important to me and put it out into the world with my middle finger in the air. I now view the “failures” as opportunities for progress instead of catalysts for stagnation and self-deprecation.
PHOTOGRAPHERS WITHOUT BORDERS
A couple of years ago, you had a stint in South Africa with Photographers Without Borders (PWB). Can you tell me a bit about how that collaboration came about?
At the time, I had just become a freelancer. Anyone who is a freelancer knows that you have to invest in yourself before anything else. After years of living abroad, I felt an itch… I needed to leave New York. I wanted to travel, to go overseas without breaking the bank. I also didn’t want to compete with the never-ending line of photographers scrapping to land that glorious travel or documentary assignment.
Thankfully, Lord Google led me to Photographers Without Borders. I worked up the courage to apply and was quickly accepted. PWB used my portfolio to gauge my ability set and matched me with a project that would be a good fit for my visual style and for their organization. A couple of weeks after receiving the great news that I was onboard with PWB, I received my final assignment.
I was sent to South Africa to cover a story about poaching in the Hoedspruit region, a five-hour drive northeast of Johannesburg. You might know of the region because it is where Kruger National Park is located. Hoedspruit happens to be adjacent to one of Africa’s largest game reserves, a wildlife conversation area where poaching is a multifaceted problem due to the economic disparities in South Africa.
Before I knew it, I was in the thick of one of the most powerful experiences of my life.
What were some of your initial reactions when arriving in Africa?
Elders. Old grannies. Black people, who look like me, were everywhere.
There was wildlife, actually in the wild instead of a zoo’s cage.
I noticed kids who looked healthy, not like the ones portrayed in the Donate-A-Dollar to Africa commercials you see at 4:00 a.m. on television.
I saw life.
I felt like I was home.
My first impressions also allowed me to see that poverty can wear one hell of a mask. Poverty exists everywhere, it just looks a little different from place to place. The struggles that families in South Africa face reminded me that we have a collective struggle, it just appears a bit differently. I was reminded that someone, or some group of people, always gets the short stick. Those unlucky enough to draw the tiny straws have to hustle… struggle. They have to provide and often have to resort to the unthinkable because they are deprived of the basic needs and necessities to survive.
Even though you were working with a pair of NGOs, the work you created in South Africa resonates like a personal project full of striking portrait subjects. After your work with PWB, do you feel that your time acted as a catalyst for a larger body of work or for a future personal project?
I do feel like my experience was a catalyst for a larger body of work. The PWB project prepared me for documentary and social project commissions that I would love to pursue. My work with PWB was my first assignment of this nature. I didn’t know what to expect.
Now, after the experience, I have a larger picture of what it takes to approach these types of projects with not only my visual style but with a deeper appreciation and understanding of the human condition. I think that this mentality translates into some of the portraits that I made in South Africa and encourages me to continue to pursue this type of work.
ATLANTIC CENTER FOR THE ARTS
After returning from Africa, what came next?
Just before leaving for Africa, I accepted a teaching position at a non-profit. Stepping off the plane in America, I knew that I had to return to work the very next day. I didn’t have time to process the experience I had just had.
I was upset that I didn’t have the time or space to process my emotions. The PWB assignment made me want to move further away from a life as a full-time professional to one of a more balanced freelancer, a position that would not only allow for creativity but for the time it affords artists to be reflective. So, I quit.
Shortly after exiting the rat race, you applied for and received an invitation for a residency at the Atlantic Center for the Arts. What you set out to accomplish during your time at the ACA?
What type of artist am I? That was the central question I set out to answer for myself. I wanted to discover and define who I am as an artist. At the ACA, I had the time to contemplate that question. More, I was surrounded by like-minded creatives from diverse backgrounds that challenged me to dig deeper in my quest to answer that central question.
During the residency, I discovered just how much I love people and the stories and experiences that define them.
As a photographer, I love to capture vulnerability, which is one of the greatest strengths one can display. Being vulnerable shows humility, strength, courage, and our human nature at its core. When we give in and let our guards down, we have the ability to connect with others without saying anything at all. My work at the ACA shows the beauty of vulnerability and the discovery of the type of photographer I desire to be. I want to challenge the way we, as society view vulnerability as something to be hidden instead of shown. I want to become more vulnerable and have the ability to freely share my own mistakes, shortcomings, thoughts, misgivings, fears, and heartbreaks without the fear of judgement, without being labeled.
My time at the ACA was exactly what I needed. For years, I had created quality work but told myself I wasn’t good enough. I searched everywhere for validation, everywhere but within myself. There, at the ACA, I found that validation and was left with no more excuses. I was empowered. I found an answer to the question I came to the ACA to discover. The experience was transformative and led me to who I am currently am as a photographer.
What did you learn about yourself from your residency at the ACA?
I learned that I am good at what I do. I have a strange way of connecting with subjects when I take my time and create images that tell their story just by looking at their portrait. I learned that slow and steady does win the race. I learned that is okay to take your time to make a good photograph. I learned that I am still my own biggest enemy.
The change, though, is now I notice when I am being self-defeating and I actively fight those inner voices instead of feeding into the lies that I spew to myself. I accept that there are better photographers than me. I accept that I am just at the beginning of my journey as an artist. But I now also accept that I do have something special to offer… and nobody is gonna outwork me.
See more of Damari McBride’s work at his website and be sure to follow him on Instagram.
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Somewhere Above Ethiopia
I have a fear of flying and will do almost anything to make air transit emotionally bearable. I pack an extra shirt in my carry-on just in case I nervously sweat through the one on my back. I have plenty of peaceful music downloaded on my phone. I keep a special amulet or two in my pocket even though I am not religious or superstitious. I also hold a stash of “airplane candy” just in case. Short of having a service animal registered, I do all that I can to soothe my fears.
After boarding, I try not to look at other passengers, be over-stimulated by the romcoms playing on screens, or get too fixated on my pre-determined escape plan should the aircraft take a plunge (I honestly make an overly detailed action plan before each flight takes off. It’s ridiculous).
My greatest flight comfort is a window seat. If possible, I pay the additional fee to pre-select my seat or, at the very least, beg for one at the check-in counter. I prefer to be near a wing where, in my phobic-mind, the plane is most stable and where an exit row is usually nearby. Oddly, window seats make me feel less claustrophobic and I covet the tiny area of space between my seat and the convex edge of the plane. Those extra square inches make me feel that I have some sort of protective bubble around me.
Without a doubt, the best part about a window seat is the chance to view the landscapes far below, gaze at giant cumulonimbus clouds, or peer at stars that seem so much closer from 32,000 feet. The natural world, an arms-length away, is my soothing, constant in-flight entertainment.
After a ten-hour red-eye flight from Bangkok and a quick layover in Addis Ababa, I was glad to finally be on a domestic flight heading north towards Lalibela. The sun was up I could have my first real glimpse of Ethiopia.
From cruising altitude, it wasn’t possible to get any sort of perspective of Ethiopian culture (other than noticing the agrarian nature of the countryside). But that didn’t matter. I was able to recognize, at least from above, that I was already in love with Ethiopia.
For the duration of the short flight, I didn’t have any fear of flying. I didn’t sweat through my shirt or pull out the prayer beads from my pocket. Instead, I sat in awe of the expansive landscape and was again grateful for a window seat.
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Hids’ Cafe & Bar | Food Photographer
Takayama, Japan
Japanese restaurants are abundant in Takayama. Because of this, Hids’ Cafe and Bar (HCB) is a culinary oasis. For those who have had their fill of local cuisine, HCB is a godsend. But with offerings like succulent grilled chicken (served with blackened corn and zucchini), classically battered fish & chips, and juicy steak platters, it will be hard for anyone to pass on HCB’s menu.
HCB also serves as a bar. From Hida beer to a signature ninja cocktail, fresh kiwi-shochu concoctions to perfectly crafted espresso drinks, HCB has a slew of beverage options to quench any thirst.
The cafe’s interior is tasteful and the atmosphere is inviting. Simply put, HCB is one of those places where you pop in for a quick bite of lunch and end up leaving two or three hours later.
The Problem
With so many F&B options around Takayama’s tourist district, HCB wanted to ensure that customers didn’t just stop to have a peek inside. They wanted clientele to swing open the doors, grab a table, and indulge in the carefully crafted menu.
HCB realized that customers don’t choose a restaurant solely based on location. Consumers want atmospheric interiors. We want to dine at restaurants with five-star reviews. We want visuals of our meal options. For some reason, we feel a need to see a dish before we order it. When it comes to food, visuals make us salivate.
HBC had it all; a modern menu, stellar staff, and inviting space. All Hids’ lacked was the imagery that would entice entrée orders.
The Solution
HCB decided to commission a full run of their food and beverage offerings for both print and digital platforms. After meeting with management, we decided to correlate the project visuals to the defining characteristics of the location. Additionally, we settled on a few guiding words that would move us towards a mood for the imagery.
Simple. Open. Sleek. Chic.
I decided to utilize large amounts of negative space, clean compositions, and some of the colors that reminded me of Takayama (greens and bright browns found in the cedar forests of the surrounding mountains and the grays of the cobblestone streets leading from HCB’s doorstep to Takayama Station nearby).
I also decided to strip the compositions of the accouterments commonly seen in modern food photography. I didn’t want flatware, massive sprigs of garnish, or dashes of spice strewn all over the place. I wanted the focus to be on nothing but the amazing food and beverages made at HCB.
The Result
The images produced during my time in Takayama are not only being used in-house by HCB but are also being utilized on TripAdvisor and other social media channels. Hids’ is already being recognized as one of the best cafes in Takayama and links to HCB are popping up on a number of tourism websites. Since launching its F&B visuals campaign, HCB has reported an increase in customer volume and overall revenue.
Is your business in need of new imagery? If so, get in touch today to discuss your commercial food photography project in Tokyo, throughout Japan, or beyond.
Bartender at Godz, a basement bar in Shinjuku that blasts heavy metal.
Shinjuku Hotspots for American Way Magazine
Over the past couple of years, travel editorial assignments have taken me far and wide. My occupation as a fulltime photographer is the stuff daydreams are made of. I admit the job has its perks. I get to see a bit of the world, learn about different cultures, and enjoy making images for a living. Professionally, I couldn’t ask for more.
But one of the drawbacks of being a professional travel photographer is the time away from home. It doesn’t matter how long an assignment is. It doesn’t matter if the job takes a few days or a couple of weeks. Time away from home takes a toll. As a general statement, I don’t like being away from my family, my comfort zone, and my own pillow. Don’t get me wrong… I love travel assignments. But, I don’t love being away from my wife and son.
Last October I received a commission from my good friends at American Way, American Airlines’ inflight magazine. After a few months with a hefty travel schedule, I was happy to learn that the assignment was here in Tokyo, photographing some of Shinjuku’s lesser know spots. Shinjuku is, perhaps, Tokyo’s most famous neighborhood. Still, there are many haunts that are overlooked, unknown to the throngs of tourists who come to Tokyo.
While I rarely visit the district, I admit that Shinjuku is a great place to photograph. The gritty alleys, seedy nightlife, and the world’s busiest commuter hub (Shinjuku Station) can make for photo-gold. The neighborhood also happens to be right down the tracks from my home in nearby Kichijoji. Considering this, I was happy to work on the piece and was just as thrilled to be home in time to kiss my wife and son goodnight.
Check out a couple of images from the assignment and, if you are interested, read more about these Shinjuku hotspots in the Neighborhood Watch section of American Way.
Preparing gyoza at Danji Dumplings.
Gyoza ready to fry at Danji Dumplings.
Chef at Ouka Ramen.
Danji Dumplings exterior.
Tokyo’s best halel ramen at Ouka Ramen.
Kuriya’s aging menu, posted for review in Kabukicho.
Piping hot stew on offer at Rakudaba.
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Today's Inspiration | Dylan Goldby & Tattoos of Asia
in Inspiration
I have spent a lot of time with Dylan Goldby. We travel together, teach together, and, more often than not, just sit around and make fun of each other. Goldby is a complex person, but spending time with him seems so simple. Throughout our decade-long friendship, I have learned just as much about the importance of comfortable silences, how to appropriately time crass humor, and how to remain calm during a gout attack as I have about what it takes to be a professional photographer. Above all, Dylan has taught me what it means to be humble.
Dylan is one of those photographers who never really promotes his work. He is not the kind of photographer who toots his trumpet to his peers. He isn’t compelled to inundate his followers with blatant calls to action or daily promotional posts. He is the antithesis of the “sage on the stage.”
Ask Dylan Goldby what he has been up to lately and you will likely receive a short answer, “Ya know, nothing much.” However, Dylan’s definition of “nothing much” is quite skewed. His quiet, deflecting retort actually means that he has been busy capturing the disappearing professions in Asia (such as the blacksmiths and woodworkers of Vietnam), writing for pro-level blogs such as FStoppers, photographing private and corporate clients in Korea, publishing e-books on off-camera flash techniques, and spending months on the road documenting the dying tradition of facial tattooing in Asia.
Nothing much… right? Dylan is just too humble to talk about the deep work that he is doing as a professional photographer.
While Goldby was somewhat reluctant to talk about his work, I pressed him for an interview. I wanted to know more about “nothing much.” I wanted to hear firsthand about Dylan’s craft and how he has become the best photographer you’ve likely never heard of. Specifically, I wanted to know more about Goldby’s Tattoos of Asia (TOA) project, one of the most culturally significant documentary photography projects currently in production.
WHO IS DYLAN GOLDBY?
Describe yourself as a photographer in five sentences or less. Go…
I’m a full-time photographer in Seoul, South Korea. I mostly work with families, especially the adoptive community. However, there’s a sprinkling of travel editorial, corporate events, and couples photography in there as well. In my “time off,” I’ve been working on a personal project, Tattoos of Asia, for several years.
You grew up in Australia. Do you feel that those formative years influenced you as a photographer?
I’m not sure Australia had a direct influence on who I am and what I do aside from making me want to see a broader swatch of the world. Growing up in a small town meant books and escapism to me.
My mother always worked hard to ensure we had as many varied experiences as possible while we were growing up. We hosted our school’s Japanese exchange teacher for the sake of learning about another place, were invited to watch my mother fit shoes after school, worked with my Nanna in the Salvation Army basement preparing food packages for the underprivileged, watched drag race meets from the front row, rode motorcycles, played sport, camped in the forest, cooked our own food, whatever it took to get us interested in a variety of things.
When it came to learning, we were never told “no.” I guess that might be where my curiosity about how others live came from. There’s more to dig here… but I think that would require a book.
Why photography? Why do you pick up the camera? What is it about the medium that resonates with you?
I honestly don’t know what else I’d do. I love the process of creating images and being able to document the world as I see it. It drives me to explore the world, to learn, to go out when I really can’t be bothered, to meet new people, and to look inward a little more.
How did you get to this point in your photography career? What were some of the major milestones along the journey?
I started photography, much like many, as a hobby to document my travels. Through that, I met a few people with larger aspirations than simply pointing a camera at what they saw. I began working with some of the local expat-run magazines here in Seoul. This gave me access to so many different subjects - from food to CEOs.
However, I would credit a bit part of my choice of direction and the value I place on photography to the very first adoptive family who contacted me. It was from photographing that session that I found what I really value in photography, the story, and began forging my path.
What was the magnet that pulled you to adoption photography?
When I got out of that first session, there were a thousand thoughts flowing through my mind. An adoption session is a rollercoaster of emotions that swings between the absolute joy of playing with a child to the heartbreak of separation. Processing those emotions as I looked over the images from that day, I realized that this type of photography had value beyond a record for the parents and work for my portfolio. The work had the potential to be a way for the child to look back and understand their own story.
What is your favorite subject/s to photograph? Why?
I love to photograph humans with stories to tell. My personal work has always leaned towards tribal culture, traditional culture, and the older parts of town. I love stories with a little grit and people who haven’t lived in the construct we’re expected to live in nowadays. I love what makes us unique, not what makes us the same. I have very little interest in the rapidly gentrifying world we live in. When it comes to my bread and butter, it’s always great to be out working, but my favorite sessions are documentary adoption sessions. Being able to create a record with meaning for these families is a real honor.
TATTOOS OF ASIA PROJECT
Years ago you started your personal project Tattoos of Asia. What were the origins of the concept? How did the idea move from ideation to action?
The project started with a three-week journey to visit the Lai Tu people in Rakhine State, Myanmar. The goal at that time was to put together a book of their amazing faces, but it quickly expanded into telling more about their culture.
Your first section of the project was on the Lai Tu Chin people in Myanmar. How did you decide to focus on this group of people?
It was 2015 and I was absolutely exhausted. It was my busiest year yet as a full-time photographer and I needed a break. My oh-so-forgiving wife let me take a couple of weeks to a destination of my choice and I chose Myanmar. The recently re-opened Mrauk U Township was chosen as I wanted to get away from it all. I had no idea what I’d find there and I didn’t do any research before going. I just needed out.
When I arrived, I met a bored tour guide one afternoon as I was wandering around the temple area of the town. It was off-season and he was just out appreciating the place he lived in. We got chatting and I asked him about the photos of tattooed women I’d seen in a couple of the restaurants around town. I ended up hiring him the next day to take me out to the villages they lived in and from there we decided to petition the local police to allow us out of the tourist zone to visit a few more. For the next couple of days, I spent my time with him and a couple of friendly police officers staying in villages and getting to know the locals.
When I got back home after this trip, I think it was only a few days before I’d convinced my wife I wanted to live there for a month and work on a personal project. It was from there that the project started to build in my head and a couple of friends decided to join me on the project.
What were your first experiences with the project?
From that first trip, I think the things that resonate with me most were the moments people opened up to us. It struck me again and again how forthcoming people were. Coming from the west, where everyone is so worried about privacy, personal space, and shielding themselves from others, it was wonderful to be welcomed into people’s homes and have them be so honest with us. Sipping tea and talking about your life with a stranger is something that is incomprehensible to many of us and yet we were welcomed every single time.
The difficulties also stand out in my mind. The villages we visited were some of the least developed in the whole of Myanmar and are only accessible by boat. A recent flood meant that the river was full of animal corpses in places and villages were just starting to get back on their feet. Getting sick was a constant worry and an occasional reality, but very quickly became a part of life. We ran out of water a couple of times, as well as villages, had run out after the floods. It was tough, but it was also the way the locals live every day in that area. We knew we’d be fine.
And then you got home… What post-production like after your time with the Lai Tu Chin people?
Post-production was intense. I’d never worked so long in the field without being able to see my images before. On previous trips, I’d always been gone for a short enough time that I usually took a laptop to work on and I could at least see what I’d photographed. But, on this trip, it was all hands on deck until I returned home with thousands of images that I hadn’t had a chance to review during the trip. Not only that, but I’d interviewed every one of the 100+ ladies I photographed so that all needed to be typed and collated ready for writing the book.
Then there was the book design. I worked on the book with my friend Pablo Fuentes Gómez for the design. There was a lot of back and forth to make sure the images would fit the design we’d discussed. For both of us, this was our first project of this magnitude, so it was very much a collaborative effort as we pulled all the materials together and found out what worked and didn’t.
After post-production, why did you decide to launch a Kickstarter campaign for the project?
I decided on Kickstarter because I knew I wanted to get this book into the world and have it begin doing what it was supposed to for the Lai Tu people. The combination of being able to fund the printing and get additional promotion for the book made Kickstarter the perfect avenue.
From there, I held a solo exhibition on the launch day of the Kickstarter in an attempt to spread the word about the project here in Seoul. The exhibition actually got us a good portion of the way towards our goal in one night. It was really great to feel the support from the community here in Korea.
How did you conclude that you were willing to move forward with a larger, more longitudinal project? With funding in place, were you ready to immediately ready to expand the project?
The book wasn’t even out when I started planning my next journey. It struck me that the Lai Tu couldn’t be the only people in Asia with facial tattoos. There had to be other cultures that had done something similar in the past. A few days of searching the Internet gave me a list of destinations and peoples. At the time, I don’t think I quite realized what I was getting myself into.
There’s never actually been any funding for this project. All proceeds from the Lai Tu project have been put into a fund for the villagers that will be used to help with education and drinking water - the two biggest issues they perceived as affecting their day to day lives. In terms of funding this project, I’ve been working as hard as I can while home in Korea and saving enough to make one trip happen at a time.
Why return the proceeds from the book to the Lai Tu community instead of using the funds to expand the project?
In the western world, it’s almost unthinkable that a person would knock on your door unannounced and request time with you for an interview and a portrait. In parts of Asia, this is simply not the case. People live with their doors open and welcome visitors as guests at any time. This was certainly my experience with the Lai Tu people and I wanted to repay their kindness in some sustainable way.
What does your pre-production work look like for a segment of the project?
There is a lot less information available about each of these groups of people than you might think. With groups like the Konyaks, their perceived barbarism in the west has fetishized them enough that people have taken an interest. There is a lot of misinformation spread because of this. Sifting through the misinformation is certainly part of the pre-production.
However, since a lot of what I’m after is personal anecdotes from my subjects, the best thing I can do to make that happen is to find a good guide. In these regions, the job of “fixer” simply doesn’t exist. So, finding a guide who I can communicate well with and who is willing to take on the larger job of facilitating this project is a must.
Tell us about your experience with fixers? To you, what makes a good fixer for a project like TOA?
This is perhaps the most taxing part of the whole process. Communication is key for a project like this and there isn’t anybody in any of these regions with experience in doing something like this. Most of their clients are tourists who want to see something exotic and use a guide to help them play out their fantasy of what a villager’s life must be like. It’s an easy trap to fall into and making sure that doesn’t happen means breaking your guide’s preconceived notions of what a visitor wants.
If you can get to that stage with your guide, you’re most of the way towards making the trip happen. My first day with a guide never involves going to meet subjects. It’s always a discussion day. We get to know each other, talk about the project, have a cup of tea, have a beer, and get a good night’s rest. I need someone who is willing to be a part of a team with goals in mind. Once that’s established, anything can be achieved.
Upon arrival on location, what are the personal and professional essentials needed before you can begin photographing?
That’s a big part of what I discuss with each of my guides. I try very hard to contribute to this by keeping my cameras in the bag and spending time with people before we get down to business. I try to ask them a bit about their houses, their day-to-day work, and their families. Once we’ve established a bit of rapport, I like to show them my work so they know why I’m here. I share some stories I’ve been told by others and let them know that I’d love to hear about them. Again, the guide/fixer is a huge part of this. Without them, I’m lost. I’ve had a couple of experiences with unmotivated guides and things just never work out.
Can you describe your headspace while photographing the subjects for TOA?
The actual photography for this project is a little bit like coloring by numbers. I have an overall goal of the things that I want to achieve and the images I want to get for the project. I know that I need the project’s trademark portrait on black for most of my subjects, but when I come across a particularly interesting person, piece of culture, or location, I’m always open to making more photographs. The goal of the additional imagery is to reinforce something that was said during my interview with the subject or something that will be required to pad out the book. I’m always trying to strike a balance between seeing where the rabbit-hole leads and getting what I need to put together the final book.
Is there a particular subject from TOA who clearly stands out to you?
I immediately think of Sahnai Wangsa. Of everyone I have interviewed to date, he was the frankest and candid when it came to his culture and brash with his words. I appreciated his time so much because he was so unapologetic. When asked about his tattoos, he told me of getting drunk with his friends so he could take the pain. He told me the story of his father's death that led to the events that earned him his tattoos.
When Sahnai had had enough, he told me he was done and needed a puff of his opium pipe. Whereas many tribes have lost the knowledge of why they have tattoos and many individuals are ashamed of the events of their past, Sahnai Wangsa owned his life and was frank with details.
Much of your work with TOA uses a still image to introduce a person. However much of the project is about detailing the story of that person. Why is it important to gather these stories instead of just focusing on stand-alone portraits?
Photographs, for me, are really only part of the story. There’s only so much an image can do and it’s far less than the oft-overused adage “A picture is worth a thousand words.” For me, learning about the person, something about their life specifically, is what really makes this project interesting. There are plenty of historians and academics out there who can give you a great overview of a people’s culture, but these studies, by nature, leave out the personal details. That’s what I’m after when it comes to these portraits.
Not all of the images in the project are of single subjects. You capture village life, rituals, environments, and details. Does your process change as you transition between individual subjects and wider work within a village or tribe?
It’s important to me to pad the project with images that are not just of tattoos. A portrait can never give you the full story of a person and a close-up of their tattoo much less so. For this reason, I do my best to document any elements of culture I come across during my travels.
Passing traders and greedy tourists have taken so much from people in these regions that there often isn’t much left and people are cautious about showing what they do have.
By spending time and establishing rapport with villagers, I am often given a privileged glimpse of some of these cultural relics and treat them with the respect they deserve. When it comes to things like ritual, you have to be careful that you’re not being performed for - this is often the case. Even if you are, it’s important to ask questions in order to understand the traditional aspects of the practice and make sure your photographs show those. It is these images, along with portraits, images of the landscapes, villages, and even simple things like a fireplace that brings more to the project than what the portraits alone can.
What have been some failures or hardships you have experienced working on TOA? How have you navigated the inevitable hiccups?
Honestly, I think everything that could go wrong has gone wrong. Success or failure isn’t dictated by these things, though. It’s all about how you deal with them. On the first trip I took, I had a camera fail in the extreme summer heat and a flash start pulsing on its own. We also had to hitch a ride along the river as we lost the screw from our boat. I’ve been sick more times than I can count and had freezing cold sleepless nights in the mountains. Flat tires, dead batteries, mud-filled shoes, bug bites by the hundreds, and running out of water have been frequent occurrences on these trips. But, when things go wrong, you just have to sit back and appreciate where you are, change the direction of what you're doing, and remember that although your pampered soul might not like elements of the situation you’re in, the people around you live like that every day and they’ve welcomed you into their lives.
At this point, you have worked on the project in India, Taiwan, Myanmar, and Laos. Are there any common threads that you have found between these tattooed people of Asia?
Many more than I thought I would, to be honest. With many of these peoples living in secluded valleys or in villages dotting mountaintops, I honestly had expected more disparate cultures. However, many of the beliefs between cultures have parallels and many of them have common stories to explain elements of their culture.
What have you learned about yourself while working on this project?
As a photographer, I’ve learned a lot about slowing down and making sure you get the shot you want. There’s no going back to many of these locations or visiting these people again. I’ve learned to trust my gut. I’m better at recognizing whether or not I truly care about a certain photograph or not now that the excitement of seeing something novel is over.
Personally, I’ve realized that I much prefer the simple countryside life over city life. Being able to focus on one thing and simplify life down to that has been a blessing for my mental well-being. Clean air and freshly grown local food are also a treat we miss out on in the city.
What’s next for Tattoos of Asia?
There’s just one more trip left and I will have achieved what I set out to do. This is a project that will never fully be done and I would love to revisit some of the peoples I have spent time with and there are a couple of other peoples with facial tattoos that I would like to include if time and funding can be found. But, you have to draw a line somewhere, right?
Once that trip is done, the process of writing and designing the final book will begin. I’m hoping to have everything ready to go for a 2022 release. When that time comes, I’m hoping to also have an exhibition or a series of exhibitions to go with the release.
And then?
Likely a break and a stiff drink. Haha. Really, though, I’m not one for sitting still. Something will come to me, just as it has with this project. What that is, I don’t know. I’ll keep moving through life as I always have until something slaps me in the face.
Directly purchase Hmäe Sün Näe Ti Cengkhü Nu, the first book of the Tattoos of Asia project, here.
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Butter Lamps, McLeod Ganj (2006)
Photo Flashback | McLeod Ganj, India
I woke well before the sun and scaled the infamous stairs leading to Jogiwara Road. I was careful to stay in the middle of the seemingly never-ending climb. The nettles were plentiful and encroached on the uneven staircase. The darkness and my sandals were the worst possible combination for the climb.
I crept uphill through the languid town towards the bus stand, McLeod Ganj’s main intersection. I greeted a gentleman with leprosy and then veered left with other shadowy figures. Most of us moved swiftly down Temple Road to the Tsuglagkhang, attempting to be on time for the 5:00 a.m. prayer service.
I passed the sleepy guards outside of the Photang, the Dalai Lama's residence. It was an odd feeling knowing that His Holiness, just returned from a lecture series abroad, was a stone’s throw away.
I made it to the complex by 4:45 a.m. and entered one of the world’s most renowned religious centers. Hundreds of pilgrims were already gathered at the temple, processing clockwise with prayer beads in hand or bending into supplicating postures. I meandered through the corridors and noticed a glint of light coming from one of the interior prayer rooms. There, elderly monks lit butter lamps, sending out their cosmic energy for those who could afford to have the prayers made. The scene was mesmerizing.
I purchased a lamp and asked the elder for a specific prayer request. As the monk turned to light my lamp, I casually snapped a photo. Now, over a decade later, I can’t remember what I petitioned the holy man to pray for. Perhaps the universe received his mantras. Perhaps not. Either way, I am glad I have a grainy image of that tiny moment in time.
About the Image
Date: March 2006
Film: Ilford 400 Black and White
The film roll was processed a few days later in McLeod Ganj, India. A blue and yellow sign above the developer’s kiosk simply stated, “STD and Photo.” At the time, a photo-developing-pay-phone-center seemed like just the place to have my film developed.
I remember getting the photos back a few days later and being enamored with this particular shot. Out of the hundreds of photos I made on my first trip to India, this image sticks out in my mind. It was the first photograph I had ever made that I was visually happy with. Now, in hindsight, I realize that Butter Lamps served as a catalyst for my career as a travel editorial photographer.
