Seeking, Exploring, and Expanding

Most of what I’ve learned about making a photo book comes from studying books made by my favorite photographers. But, it is incredibly helpful to have directed assistance, teaching, and inspiration.

Toward the goal of learning more, this is what I am doing.

I’ve subscribed to Process ☼ On Photography, by Wesley Verhoeve. Every Sunday a newsletter arrives to my Inbox from Wesley. Currently, he uses these weekly posts to describe where he is in making his own book, NOTICE Journal, Volume Two (2026), which is available for pre-order now. I have ordered my copy and cannot wait to hold it in my hands and study each page with love and respect.

I’ve signed up for a series of four mentoring sessions with photographic artist and writer, Sal Taylor Kydd. I’ve admired Sal’s work for years and own several of her books. I’ve often dreamed of attending one of her workshops at Maine Media, but for a variety of reasons, attending those workshops is out of my reach. I was delighted when I discovered that I could still learn from her by way of online mentoring. You really never know if the person you admire from afar is anything like the person you imagine them to be. The best you can do is make a judgement based on their work, and try to choose a mentor whose opinion you value. And of course, keeping in mind: How do I balance a mentor’s feedback with my own gut instinct? Working with Sal has turned out to be one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. She is warm and generous and kind. Her insights and editorial guidance have been invaluable. Within the first session, I was quickly able to narrow the focus of my project, recognize my own strengths, and begin to play with my work in a way that feels lighthearted and fun. She has the ability to offer constructive feedback that feels safe and encouraging.

Finally, I am taking another short online course, Stillness of Summer, with Paul Sanders. While this course ostensibly has nothing to do with my flower project, it has given me unexpected benefits. Assignments that involve slowing down to receive photographs, letting go of judgement about whether pictures are good or bad, noticing overlooked spaces and stillness and light, all lead to stronger pictures. Some of the photo assignments have dovetailed nicely with my floral portrait work, and Paul has offered feedback that advanced my work, too.

Pictures + Text

Wesley Verhhoeve continues to share his process for making a photo book, step-by-step, in real time. His post today, When Do Pictures Need Words?, is a huge help to me as I make my photo book, Florilegium.

By and large, I do not feel that my Florilegium photo book requires words. The book is a visual experience where readers are invited to see flowers as I see them. Captions would be clunky. Naming flowers would turn the book into a study of botany. Describing my visits to flower farms would be more in line with documentary work. But I do think that a few words to help set the context, a preface, might be a positive addition to the book. This would be akin to a project or artist’s statement. I also love the idea of including poetry, a considered quote, or a thoughtful essay. But I’m still working on these ideas and holding them back for the book.

Learning a Little at a Time

 

What I have done already counts.

The thousands of pictures, the classes, and the hours of practice.

The books I have read and the books I have made.

The crappy work and the truly extraordinary work.

The versions of myself that have shown up and grown up.

I can be happy with what I have already done AND still be restless for more.

Contentment and ambition can live alongside each other in relative balance.

Now I wonder, how far can I go with this?

What else can I learn?

Can I move beyond perfectionism toward more authentic, personal moments?

Lost Gardens

I try to research and locate flower farms near our home, but often, flowers are grown in very unofficial ways that do not involve websites and advertising. As we drove through King George County on our way to visit George Washington’s birthplace, Wakefield at Pope’s Creek, I spied this sign for a flower farm on Route 3. Things looked promising. The American flag danced in the summer breeze, and a sign across the highway read “open,” so we pulled in. But as we roamed the property, it was clear, the farm had closed up. The grounds were still mowed and there were flowers lingering—rose and hydrangea bushes, gladiolus, and a large fig tree with so many bees attending the fruit that the tree literally hummed. But there were no flowers to pick, no person to pay. Things change and businesses come and go, but there are always remnants of sweeter days before the farm was lost.