Vulnerability, gut feelings, and pure visual pleasure

#76: The one in which my friends at Studio interview me

Photo by Mary Johnston, who should absolutely shoot more film.

As a brief pause in programming, and to lighten my load in these busy weeks, today I’m sharing the text and images from an interview with me by my pals at Studio. If you find it all a bit conceited, maybe it is? But I think it’s worth a read because Christina, the interviewer, did great work (even through the constraint of email). It seemed to me that her secret weapon was researching this very newsletter! If you’ve ever been interviewed, you know it can be an enlightening process. The opportunity to answer questions about yourself is challenging and eye-opening.

I’ve shared the entirety of the interview below, but feel free to visit the original link here.

Michael Tucker — Cherishing Nostalgia

Looking through images from the past can elicit strong emotions and make us long for what used to be.

Michael Tucker is a New Orleans based photographer with a deep-rooted desire to preserve moments. He understands that images are embedded with memories, capable of transporting the viewer back in time. “I’ve always treasured memories,” he explains. “For as long as I can remember, I’ve written kind of romantically about things that have already come and gone. There’s always been that inclination to reminisce, but I do believe that getting into photography over 11 years ago triggered a deeper dive into that part of my personality.”

He weaves together words and images in Miscellanea, a thoughtfully-crafted newsletter that features his art — a mix of personal imagery with editorial and lifestyle shots taken for clients. “It’s been fun discovering the overlap in these two mediums and the ideas I'm mulling over, and trying to organize themes for future issues,” he shares.

Previously in an issue of Miscellanea he wrote, “I am an architect of nostalgia. Sacrificing participation in a moment in order to document it is the essential burden of my creative practice.” But Michael doesn’t view this sacrifice as a loss. Instead he sees only the worth of what is acquired. “I’ve always been impressed with the idea that giving up one thing means you’re gaining another,” he explains, “so it’s natural for me to really just engage in creating the nostalgia I’d like to have later. As I wrote, it’s my burden — that's to say, making it personal to me makes it feel good.”

It seems that you have a real love and sentimentality for Louisiana. What aspects of living there do you appreciate the most?

Yes! I was raised in Mandeville, a middle-class suburb north of Lake Pontchartrain, a lake that borders the north side of New Orleans. So I grew up about 30 minutes out of the city. There’s a lot to love here, but the things I personally hold most dear are my family, who are mostly all here in town, and the visual atmosphere that’s really just an amalgamation of Louisiana’s landscapes, climate, and culture.

A lot of special things converge here in a unique way that for me has always signified ‘home’. Plainly put, it’s mostly the way I feel when I’m here. It’s the way the place stimulates my senses and shapes my attitudes — growing up on bayous, swinging down baby Magnolia trees, the celebration of leisures like food and sport. In my experience, it’s true that there’s a joie de vivre here that is hard to find elsewhere in the states. Not to say that it doesn’t exist elsewhere — just not in the abundance that it does here. I love home.

This is just down the street from where I'm living now, and reinforces my own ideas of my belonging in this city. At the beginning of their relationship, my parents frequented this spot and have made it clear the specialness it holds in their minds. I like having these touch points, visual representations of the nostalgia that others hold as well.

When you’re taking photos, what in your mind makes a moment worthy of remembering?

Usually there’s a visual double-take that happens in my mind — a moment of ‘wow, look at that’. For me, that’s all there is to it. Half the time I’ll take the photo, half the time I won’t. It just depends on how I’m feeling in the moment and whether I’ve got a camera on me. But it’s all mainly a gut thing.

This was my workspace in the first and only place I lived alone. It held a special romanticism for me — the morning sun shining through the oversized stained-glass window bonded me ever stronger to that space.

In one of your newsletters, you wrote about connecting with images over time: “A raw photo is an acquaintance; the friendship blossoms the more time you spend with it.” What would you say is key to achieving an image that will age well, so to speak?

I think that depends on who the photo is viewed by, or who it’s for. But whether it’s a personal photo meant for me or something that’s more palatable for a general audience, I think there’s probably a whole set of 'keys'. My favorite doors to unlock are the ones that open with vulnerability, gut feelings, personal treasures, real moments, and pure visual pleasure. That’s what’s on my key ring.

I started shooting film when I was 18, but abandoned it for 6 or 7 years before picking it back up again. This image was made on my first roll back into it and in a location I regularly visited in those early days shooting film and learning photography. It depicts a scene of quiet familiarity in Louisiana — folks fishing on the side of the road. I remember their warmth and easygoingness.

What are some of your favorite photo books to look back through?

William Eggleston's Guide comes to mind — for the dedication to simplicity. Anything from Alex Webb is great, as well. So rich in color and texture, it's like a photobook dessert. Some of the images from Gregory Halpern's ZZYZX are seared into my mind, for sure.