Finding Inspiration Through Photo Joiners

Hey, hi, hello.
It’s been a minute, hasn’t it? Life has a funny way of pulling us in different directions—enough to let time slip by and passion projects sit quietly in the background. To those who’ve kept a curious eye on what I’m up to when I’m not up to much at all—here’s a little something new. Hope you enjoy the update~

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how we see—how photography can stretch or bend that seeing, especially when we stop trying to make everything line up so neatly.

In my last post, I shared one of the images you see above—what’s known as a photo joiner, taken with my Widelux camera. For those unfamiliar, a photo joiner is created by taking multiple photographs from slightly different perspectives, all while staying rooted in the same general location. The result is a kind of fragmented, collage-like image that bends space and time in playful, unexpected ways. It’s a fun, quirky technique made popular by artist David Hockney, who would often shoot dozens (sometimes hundreds) of photographs of a single scene—each from a slightly different angle—and piece them together into something that felt more like how we actually see the world: layered, nonlinear, always in motion.

This concept stuck with me ever since I introduced it as a final project for my beginner darkroom photography class (afterall, why should students have all the fun?) So I started playing around with my own version—letting go of the idea that a photo has to be a single, clean capture. I wanted to lean into the brokenness, the seams, the way the eye darts around instead of calmly absorbing everything at once.

What I’ve learned from using this method with the Widelux is that—much like Hockney’s shifting angles—the scenes naturally warp and bend across the film negative. The camera’s swing-lens design creates a kind of fisheye effect, causing portions of the same scenery to stretch or curve in unexpected ways.

For example, when you tilt the camera upward and take a shot, the wide angle can pull in buildings, cars, new tree lines—elements that weren’t visible in the original frame. That subtle tilt changes the whole composition, especially when you then try to put multiple frames together in a collage.

It’s an interesting, sometimes unpredictable outcome that only a camera like the Widelux (or others in its quirky family) can really offer. And that unpredictability? Honestly, that’s half the fun.

What I’ve learned through this process (and honestly, keep relearning) is that inspiration shows up in the oddest ways. A shadow on a wall. A tree that refuses to fit into one frame. A mistake that looks better than the shot I was planning.

We can’t always predict when creativity will hit, but we can stay open. Looking closely, looking differently—that’s the magic. That’s the part that keeps photography (and life, honestly) interesting. At least that’s what I think, among other things.

"What do you want for yourself going forward?" It's a question I often pose to my students as the year transitions into its reflective final phase, anticipating their uncertain attempts to answer. In these introspective times, I turn to the realm of creative expression for solace and insight. The panoramic images I’ve captured with the Widelux serve as a canvas for such reflections, urging me to retain a childlike curiosity and explore life through a different lens. I hope that retaining this creative curiosity is a habit my students will also adopt once they are free from the stresses of school life, if they haven't already.

Photography, much like any art form, invites us to pause and contemplate our current position and future direction. As we navigate through mist-shrouded roads or peer out from the warm, dimly-lit interior of a local ice cream shop, we are prompted to appreciate the simple, profound joys that stitch our daily experiences. Through this visual narrative, we may find the clarity or inspiration necessary to articulate our own journeys ahead. Amidst scenes of everyday tranquility and natural beauty, there emerges a call to reassess our goals and uncover answers to the questions we've yet to consider.

At least that's what I think, among other things.

I’ve been making progress with my experiments using a macro filter on my Widelux. As I’ve gotten better at managing the focal distance, the close-ups have become really fascinating! The filter adds a unique and intimate perspective to the panoramic format, transforming the way I see and capture small details within these wide frames.

Over the past few weeks, I explored creating diptychs using my Olympus Pen F film camera, which captures two photos on a single 35mm frame. This camera and aspect ratio is reletively new to me, and it pushed me to think intentionally about how pairs of images interact, creating visual narratives through contrast or flow. With roughly 72 shots per roll, I found myself slowing down, carefully considering each composition and how the images might relate to one another. It also encouraged me think differently on how to approach portraiture, thinking that since I am using a half-frame camera, why not half-portraits? It was exciting to frame scenes differently, anticipating how one image would complement or challenge the next.

Sometimes when I find myself stretched too thin, I'll take out a point and shoot camera and just capture what's around me as the week goes on. There's something relieving about letting go of control and perfection, allowing the spontaneous to take over. As Daido Moriyama would say, "what I feel with my body is more important than the technicalities of photography," and in those moments, I connect more deeply with the world around me, free from overthinking.

From time to time, I crave the simple act of creating—without expectation, without perfection, just for the sake of it. As artists, it's easy to get caught up in the demands of daily life and let our creative energy fade into the background. I've spent years putting off projects, waiting for the "right moment," but I’ve realized that creativity doesn’t always need grand gestures or perfect conditions to flourish. And so, I introduce the void of the internet to a new photo journal I am calling "Among Other Things."  This is my way of showing that art can still take root in the small, everyday moments we often overlook.

Every now and then, hopefully, I'd like to share photos paired with a few thoughts on what inspired me, whether profound or mundane. It’s a reminder that creativity can thrive even when life is busy—sometimes, it’s enough just to show up and create something, among other things.

These first images come from my Widelux panoramic camera, where I’ve been experimenting with a custom macro glass I fitted into an empty filter frame. Without a mirror system viewfinder, it’s been frustrating at times to guess the focal distance, but these shots mark a turning point—one of the first moments I’ve started to get a feel for it.