Stephen Shore: Artist Profile

Stephen Shore, a photographer whose quiet, observant vision has profoundly shaped our understanding of the American landscape, holds a unique position in the history of the medium. He's not a purveyor of the spectacular or the conventionally picturesque. Instead, he finds a quiet poetry in the everyday, revealing the extraordinary within the seemingly mundane. His early colour photographs, in particular, are characterized by a remarkable stillness, a precise attention to detail, and a deep appreciation for the vernacular. Gas stations, parking lots, roadside motels, and the interiors of unassuming diners are all treated with the same level of visual consideration typically reserved for more traditionally "beautiful" subjects. Often devoid of human figures, his images nevertheless speak volumes about contemporary life, the spaces we occupy, and the subtle shifts of time. They prompt contemplation, not through dramatic statements, but through a gentle, insistent invitation to look. Shore’s photography is less about the what and more about the how of seeing. He has expressed a fundamental interest “in the world, in how things look,” a deceptively simple statement that gets to the heart of his artistic project. He doesn’t impose meaning onto the world; he seeks to understand and articulate his own way of seeing it. His photographs are less about the objects they depict and more about the very act of perception.

Shore’s influences are diverse, spanning both photography and other artistic disciplines. He has cited Walker Evans as a significant inspiration, acknowledging the impact of Evans’s documentary approach and his ability to find beauty in the ordinary. He has also mentioned being influenced by both good and bad photography as a young man, including commercial photography magazines like Popular Photography. As a teenager, he even contacted Edward Steichen at the Museum of Modern Art, showing him his work. Steichen purchased three of his photographs. “I think I didn’t know any better. I didn’t know that you weren’t supposed to do this,” Shore explained. He described those early photographs as “not really very good,” and acknowledged other, less celebrated influences alongside Evans. “I had a lot of bad influences also. Aside from the good influences, like Walker Evans, I looked at the commercial photography magazines, as well.” These included publications like Popular Photography, demonstrating a wide-ranging curiosity and an openness to different visual languages. While Evans primarily worked in black and white, Shore embraced the potential of colour photography early in his career, recognizing its capacity to capture the subtle nuances of light, texture, and atmosphere. This choice, at a time when black and white was still the dominant mode for “serious” photography, was a bold move that distinguished Shore’s work. He also shares a sensibility with the New Topographics photographers, including Robert Adams, in their shared focus on the contemporary landscape, though Shore’s work is less overtly driven by social or political critique. His perspective is more purely observational, less concerned with explicit judgments about the environment.  

The importance of Shore’s work lies in its quiet subversion of photographic conventions, its subtle recalibration of how we perceive the world. He challenged established ideas about what constituted a suitable subject for photographic representation, elevating the commonplace to the realm of art. His images aren't about the spectacular or the sensational; they are about the act of looking and the process of reflection. They encourage us to decelerate, to attend to the details we so often overlook, and to discover the inherent beauty of the everyday. His photographs, as he describes them, “were not about what was in front of me, but about my experience of it.” This emphasis on subjective experience, coupled with a sharp awareness of formal elements, allows Shore’s images to resonate on multiple levels. They are simultaneously descriptive and evocative, capturing the specificities of a particular time and place while hinting at larger themes of cultural identity, memory, and the very nature of human perception. He also challenges the tendency to categorize photography into rigid “isms,” suggesting that a single photograph can function in multiple ways: as an art object, a document, a formal exploration, and a resonant expression on a deeper, more personal level. “Why can’t a photograph be all four things at once?” he proposes.

Shore’s artistic trajectory has taken him from his initial explorations of the American landscape to a variety of other subjects and approaches. He has worked with portraiture, still life, and even ventured into abstraction, always maintaining his unique sensitivity to detail and his commitment to observation. However, it is his early work, particularly the series “American Surfaces,” that remains most iconic and influential. These photographs, made during a series of cross-country road trips in the 1970s, capture a specific moment in American history, a period of change and transition. They provide a portrait of a nation in flux, a visual record of the ordinary landscapes that shape our collective experience. “American Surfaces” was initially shown as small, Kodak-processed snapshots, before Shore decided to create larger prints. He found the 35mm film too grainy for the enlargements he envisioned and thus transitioned to a 4x5, and then an 8x10 camera. “It was never my intention to go to an 8x10,” he explained. “I mean it really was simply that I wanted to continue American Surfaces but with a larger negative.” He discovered that the larger format led him to “discover other things about photographic seeing that I wanted to explore.” This marked the beginning of a “kind of formal evolution” in his work, an unexpected development driven by a process of inquiry that unfolded as he worked. The view camera, with its ground glass and the necessity of using a tripod, pushed him towards more deliberate decisions about composition and framing. “You can’t sort of stand somewhere, and it is exactly where you want to be,” he observed. This methodical approach, combined with the expense of film and processing, fostered within him “a kind of taste for certainty.” He also reflected on his time at Warhol’s Factory, noting the work ethic and openness of Warhol’s artistic process. “Andy was very open about his process,” Shore recalled. “What I saw every day was someone making aesthetic decisions.” He observed that while his commercial work taught him the value of collaboration, his personal artistic practice is a solitary pursuit. He also spoke of the influence of Warhol’s fascination with everyday culture, a sensibility that resonated with his own artistic leanings. “Andy may have been more…cynical than I am. But he took pleasure in the culture. He was just amazed at how things just are.”  

Shore’s books have been crucial in disseminating his work and solidifying his reputation. “American Surfaces,” published in 1999, is a landmark publication, compiling many of his most recognizable images from the 1970s. The book is more than a mere collection of photographs; it is a meticulously sequenced journey through the American landscape, a visual narrative that unfolds with each page turn. “Uncommon Places” is another important collection of his large-format colour photographs. Shore explained that the 1982 edition of Uncommon Places was incomplete. “I knew that there were a lot more—I mean a lot more [photographs]—that ought to be in it.” The expanded edition includes a greater number of interiors and portraits, more accurately reflecting the range of his photographic interests during that period. “The original gave a false impression of what was going on in the work,” he said. He also discussed the book’s structure, noting that it is not strictly chronological but rather organized around distinct photographic trips. This structure was intended to highlight a stylistic evolution, which he believes is intrinsically linked to personal growth. The inclusion of portraits in the expanded Uncommon Places is particularly noteworthy. Shore explained that these portraits were not intended as in-depth character studies, but rather as “surfaces, as cultural artifacts.” He also pointed out that using a tripod for portraiture created a different dynamic with his subjects, allowing him to focus more intently on their expressions and the specific moment of the photograph. “I can pay more attention to them, because I’m not seeing them through a viewfinder, I’m seeing them with my eyes, and I’m choosing the moment just with my eyes, without a camera in between.” He also spoke about his “Conceptual work,” which explored serial imagery and systematic approaches to photography. He cited the influence of John Coplans’s Serial Imagery and his interactions with conceptual artists, while emphasizing his own background as a photographer and the importance of visual meaning in his work. “I thought I could bring something visual to a concept,” he explained.  

Shore’s exhibitions have also been critical in establishing his place within the art world. His work has been displayed in major museums and galleries internationally, including the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Museum of Modern Art, and the Art Institute of Chicago. A significant retrospective of his work at the Hammer Museum in Los Angeles in 2007 further cemented his position as one of the most significant photographers of his generation. These exhibitions have provided viewers with the opportunity to experience the breadth of Shore’s oeuvre, from his early snapshots to his more recent projects.

Shore’s work occupies a complex and nuanced position within the history of photography. He is part of a lineage of photographers who have explored the American landscape, from the 19th-century pioneers to the documentary photographers of the 20th century. However, he also distinguishes himself from these traditions, forging his own unique path. His use of colour, his focus on the quotidian, and his quiet, observational style have all contributed to a fresh way of perceiving the world.

Nadav Kander: Artist Profile

Nadav Kander (born 1961) is a London-based photographer, artist and director, known for his portraiture and landscapes. Kander’s photographs are often described as quiet, monumental, and imbued with a sense of unease. They are landscapes, portraits, and still lifes, but rarely straightforwardly so. A Kander image is less a record of a thing seen and more an exploration of the psychological space between the viewer and the subject, between the present and an imagined future. He photographs the vast and the minute, the industrial and the natural, the powerful and the vulnerable, finding in each a similar thread of human fragility and the precariousness of our place in the world. Kander’s work is less about the decisive moment and more about the lingering aftermath, the quiet before the storm, or the slow erosion of time. A sense of quietude and introspection permeates all his work, from his vast landscapes to his intimate portraits, connecting these seemingly disparate genres. As Kander himself has stated, “I’m looking to be moved by the image and I hope for the viewer to recognize something of themselves in the image too.”

Kander has cited a diverse range of influences, from the stark landscapes of the American West photographers like Carleton Watkins and Timothy O’Sullivan, to the painterly atmospheres of early pictorialists. He has spoken of the impact of the Bechers’ typologies of industrial structures, not for their detached objectivity, but for the inherent human presence that resonated in their stark depictions of functional architecture. One senses, too, the influence of photographers like Edward Weston, whose close-ups of natural forms revealed an almost abstract beauty, and the quiet intensity of Irving Penn’s portraits. “I’m interested in the space between things,” Kander has said, “not just the thing itself.” This interest in the interstitial, the in-between, is evident in his landscapes, which often feature liminal spaces – shorelines, riverbanks, the edges of cities – places where human activity and the natural world collide and intertwine. This fascination with the “space between things” extends to his portraiture, where he seeks to capture not just a likeness but the unspoken stories and emotions that reside within his subjects.

The importance of Kander’s work lies in its ability to evoke a sense of unease and wonder in equal measure. He photographs the detritus of industrial progress – abandoned factories, decaying machinery, polluted landscapes – not with a sense of moralising condemnation, but with a quiet acknowledgement of the human cost of progress. His images of the Namibian desert, for example, are not simply beautiful landscapes; they are also a reminder of the vastness of time and the insignificance of human endeavour in the face of geological forces. In his series "Dust," which documents the remnants of Soviet-era military installations in Kazakhstan, the crumbling concrete structures become monuments to a failed ideology, their decay a poignant reminder of the transience of power. “I’m drawn to things that are on the edge of disappearing,” Kander has explained, “things that are holding on, but only just.” This sense of impending loss, of a world in flux, is a recurring motif in his work, imbuing even his most serene landscapes with a subtle tension.

Over the course of his career, Kander’s work has evolved, but his core concerns have remained constant. He has continued to explore the relationship between humanity and the environment, the fragility of human existence, and the passage of time. His early work was often characterised by a stark, almost minimalist aesthetic. As his career has progressed, his images have become more layered and complex, incorporating a greater sense of narrative and emotional depth. His series "Yangtze, The Long River," which documented the rapid industrialisation of China, marked a turning point in his career. The series was not simply a record of environmental destruction; it was also a meditation on the human cost of progress and the loss of cultural heritage. “The Yangtze project was a huge undertaking,” Kander has said, “it changed the way I thought about photography.” This project, which saw him travel the length of the Yangtze River over three years, solidified his reputation as a photographer capable of tackling complex and globally relevant themes.

Kander’s portraiture too is compelling, and it forms a significant part of his oeuvre. Spanning 30 years and encompassing a diverse range of subjects, from world leaders to ordinary individuals, his portraits reveal a remarkable sensitivity to the human condition. As evidenced in The Meeting, a recent volume dedicated to his portraiture, Kander’s lens captures the essence of his subjects, revealing their vulnerabilities, their strengths, and their place in the world. He has photographed Barack Obama, Sir David Attenborough, David Lynch, Desmond Tutu, Thom Yorke, and even his own mother, finding the common thread of human experience that connects them all. His portraits are not about capturing a likeness, but about revealing something of the subject’s inner life, their character, their anxieties, their place in the world. He often uses a shallow depth of field, blurring the background and focusing attention; notable too, is his use of coloured lighting, his subjects often bathed in a cinematographic blue/green haze spotted with warm notes of amber or pink or isolated from plain backgrounds by the corona-like halo of a ring flash. These techniques always drawing the viewer into a more intimate encounter with the individual portrayed, emphasizing their presence and suggesting a degree of psychological isolation. It’s not just about the face, though; sometimes a hand gesture, the way a person holds their body, or the space around them becomes just as important as the features themselves.

Kander’s portraits often possess a stillness, an intensity that invites contemplation. He captures moments of introspection, of weariness, of quiet strength. There’s a sense of something unsaid in many of his portraits, a story hinted at but not fully revealed. He avoids the posed, the performative, seeking instead the unguarded moment, the flicker of emotion that betrays the carefully constructed facade. In his portrait of Barack Obama, for example, the then-Senator is shown in a moment of quiet contemplation, his gaze averted from the camera. The image is not about power or status, but about the weight of responsibility and the solitude of leadership. It’s a portrait that humanizes a figure often seen as larger than life, revealing a moment of quiet vulnerability. This vulnerability is not weakness, but a recognition of the burdens carried and the decisions faced. This ability to find the human within the powerful is a hallmark of Kander’s portraiture.

Kander brings the same level of attention and insight to his portraits of ordinary individuals, finding the extraordinary in the everyday. The Meeting includes portraits of Walthamstow market traders, capturing the character and resilience of these individuals within their working environment. These portraits, like those of the famous, possess a quiet dignity, a respect for the individual and their experiences. They remind us of the shared humanity that connects us all, regardless of status or background. In these images, the individual becomes representative of something larger, a microcosm of the human condition. Kander’s own history informs his approach to portraiture. Having grown up in South Africa, his series of portraits of children in colonial school uniform, taken in 1991, are particularly poignant. As he reflects on one of these portraits, Schoolgirl (white photographer), he acknowledges the complex dynamics of the encounter, recognizing in the child’s gaze not mistrust, as he initially perceived, but disgust. This self-awareness, this willingness to confront his own biases and preconceptions, is what gives his portraits their depth and resonance. “A portrait is not about what someone looks like,” Kander has said, “it’s about who they are.” It's about the stories they carry, the experiences that have shaped them, the emotions that flicker across their faces.

Kander’s books are an integral part of his artistic practice, his first, Pentimento, published in 2000, was a retrospective of his early work, showcasing his diverse range of subjects and styles. Yangtze, The Long River, published in 2007, was a landmark publication that brought him international acclaim. Dust, published in 2011, continued his exploration of the relationship between humanity and the environment. Bodies. Still Life, published in 2016, explored the human form in a series of intimate and often unsettling images. The Meeting, his 2019 portrait collection, adds another important chapter to his body of work. “A book is a different experience than seeing a photograph on a wall,” Kander has said. “It’s a more intimate and immersive experience.”

Kander’s work fits into the history of photography in a number of ways. He is part of a tradition of landscape photography that stretches back to the 19th century, but his approach is distinctly contemporary. He is not simply documenting the world around him; he is interpreting it, imbuing it with his own vision. His work also engages with the history of portraiture, but he moves beyond the simple capturing of a likeness to explore the inner lives of his subjects. Kander's work shares some concerns with the New Topographics movement of the 1970s, which focused on the altered landscape, though his work possesses a greater degree of emotional resonance than the often detached work of those photographers. He is also part of a lineage of portrait photographers who seek to capture more than just an outward appearance, delving into the psychological depths of their subjects. "I'm not interested in just documenting reality," Kander has said. "I'm interested in exploring the underlying emotions and anxieties that shape our experience of the world." This exploration of the emotional landscape, both internal and external, is what sets his work apart.

Kander’s approach to landscape photography, his use of portraiture, and his interest in the relationship between humanity and the environment have all resonated with a new generation of artists. His work has also helped to broaden the definition of what photography can be, moving beyond the purely documentary to embrace a more poetic and expressive approach. His success in both the commercial and artistic realms, shooting covers for influential publications while simultaneously pursuing his personal projects, also provides a valuable model for aspiring photographers. As he notes, “I don’t think one gets ‘discovered’—rather, it happens for those individuals who fight to have their work seen.” His own career trajectory, marked by dedication, self-reflection, and a constant striving to refine his craft, serves as an inspiration to those navigating the often-challenging world of photography.

Kander has created a body of work that is both beautiful and thought-provoking, challenging us to consider our place in the world and the impact of our actions. His images are not simply records of the present; they are also glimpses into the future, warnings about the fragility of our planet and the precariousness of human existence. He asks us to consider not only what we see, but also what we don't, the spaces between the things, the emotions that flicker across a face, the stories whispered by a landscape. “I hope that my work can make people think,” Kander has said. “I hope that it can make them question the world around them.” His photographs are not easy or comfortable. They ask us to confront difficult truths about ourselves and our world. Yet, it is in this confrontation that the power of Kander’s work lies. It is a power that will continue to resonate for generations to come, prompting reflection, inspiring dialogue, and reminding us of the shared humanity that binds us all. His ability to bridge the gap between commercial and artistic photography, his dedication to mentoring young photographers, and his unwavering commitment to exploring the complex relationship between humanity and the environment all contribute to a legacy that extends beyond the individual image, shaping the future of the medium itself. He reminds us that photography is not just about capturing a moment, but about engaging with the world, questioning our place within it, and striving to understand the human condition in all its complexity and beauty.

"We are all on this earth for a very short time," Kander has reflected. "Photography is a way of trying to make sense of that." This sense of time, both fleeting and monumental, is a constant presence in his work, reminding us of our own place within the larger narrative of existence.

Hiroshi Sugimoto: Artist Profile

Hiroshi Sugimoto, a photographer of time and its elusive nature, works with a measured patience that borders on the monastic. His images, often characterised by a serene stillness and a profound engagement with history, explore themes of memory, perception, and the very nature of reality. Sugimoto is not simply a photographer; he is a conceptual artist who uses photography as his primary medium. His work is less about capturing a fleeting moment than about revealing the underlying structure of time itself, a structure he suggests exists as much within the artist as in the world outside. “Rather than the camera projecting the outside world onto film,” Sugimoto has said, “I am using it to project outward the world that exists inside me.”

Sugimoto's influences are diverse and far-reaching. He has spoken of his admiration for the Surrealists, particularly Man Ray, whose experimental techniques and exploration of the subconscious resonate with Sugimoto's own interest in the ephemeral. One can also detect echoes of the Minimalist artists, whose focus on essential forms and reduction to the fundamental elements of art finds a parallel in Sugimoto's stripped-down aesthetic. But perhaps the most significant influence on his work is the Zen philosophy that permeates Japanese culture. Sugimoto's images, with their emphasis on emptiness and the transient nature of existence, reflect a Zen sensibility that is both subtle and profound. "I'm interested in time," Sugimoto has said. "Time is invisible. I want to make it visible."

What is important about Sugimoto's work is precisely this attempt to visualise the invisible. His photographs are not simply representations of the world; they are meditations on the nature of perception and the passage of time. His Seascapes series, for example, begun in the 1970s and continuing for decades, depicts the ocean under varying conditions, each image a study in the subtle gradations of light and atmosphere. These photographs, often taken with long exposures, possess a timeless quality, suggesting an almost primordial state of being. They are not just images of the sea; they are images of time itself, a concept Sugimoto connects to the dawn of human consciousness. “Water and air,” Sugimoto once wrote, “two things that you can’t really capture with photography, are my subjects.”

Sugimoto's artistic career has been marked by this philosophical curiosity and a serial, analytical approach. His early work, including the Dioramas series, which he began in 1974, depicts museum dioramas with a hyperreal clarity, already hinted at his interest in the relationship between reality and representation. Through his large-format camera, the museums’ painted backdrops and taxidermied animals become enigmatically life-like. The Theatres series, perhaps his most iconic, comprises long exposure photographs made in classic movie houses. Each exposure, taken during a film’s projection, compresses time into a single image, producing a glowing white screen in the centre of a darkened theatre. More recent series, such as Portraits, made in wax museums, highlight how photography is used to record history and human nature. Architecture isolates the forms of modernist buildings, blurring the lines between time, memory, and history. In Praise of Shadow records a candle burning down, a long-exposure record of flickering light.

Sugimoto's interest in the fundamental rules of natural phenomena is a recurring theme. Conceptual Forms depicts mathematical models, while Lightning Fields translates early research in electricity into dramatic images by applying a 400,000-volt current directly to film. Opticks depicts the colour of light through a prism, drawing from early experiments with the science of light. His work is marked by this exploration of both the scientific and the metaphysical.

Sugimoto's exhibitions, too, are significant, often featuring large-scale prints. One recalls the hushed atmosphere of his installations, the way his photographs command a space. Recent exhibitions include a major retrospective at the Hayward Gallery in London and Hiroshi Sugimoto Honkadori Azumakudari at the Shoto Museum of Art in Tokyo. His work is increasingly celebrated in both the East and West.

Sugimoto's work challenges the notion of photography as purely representational, pushing it into conceptual art. His images are about the ideas they embody, philosophical inquiries into time, perception, and existence. As Arthur Danto observed, "Sugimoto's photographs are not simply beautiful; they are also profound." His influence can be seen in artists exploring the relationship between photography, time, and memory.

Sugimoto's legacy is one of quiet contemplation and insight. He has shown us that photography can explore the deepest questions of human existence. His images, with their beauty and intellectual rigour, will continue to challenge and inspire. "I want to make photographs that transcend time," Sugimoto has said. This desire to capture the essence of time drives his work. His photographs, with their timeless quality and engagement with fundamental questions, stand as a testament to art's power to illuminate the mysteries of the universe. Beyond photography, Sugimoto has explored architecture, designing the Enoura Observatory for his Odawara Art Foundation, a space that itself engages with time and natural phenomena. His 68-foot sculpture Point of Infinity on Yerba Buena Island in San Francisco further demonstrates his engagement with space and time on a grand scale. Sugimoto's work, encompassing photography, architecture, and sculpture, reveals a consistent preoccupation with the fundamental nature of reality, the ephemeral nature of time, and the ways in which we perceive and experience the world around us. His legacy lies not only in the beauty of his individual images, but in the profound questions they pose about existence itself. He has expanded the possibilities of photography, transforming it into a medium for philosophical inquiry and artistic exploration, leaving a lasting mark on the landscape of contemporary art.

Alec Soth: Artist Profile

Alec Soth, a photographer of quietude and a chronicler of the American grain, doesn't shout; he whispers. His large-format portraits and landscapes, often focused on the country's overlooked margins, possess a stillness that's less about the absence of noise and more about the presence of something deeply felt. He's not interested in the spectacular, but in the subtle poetry of the everyday, the hushed moments that reveal, almost inadvertently, the human condition. Think of him as a contemporary Walker Evans, but one who trades Evans's stark social commentary for a kind of melancholic tenderness. He photographs the vernacular, not as a detached observer, but as someone attuned to the quiet hum of existence. Soth, who has cited Diane Arbus as an influence, travels the backroads of America, collecting images like a wandering poet gathering verses. His journey along the Mississippi, documented in the self-published Sleeping by the Mississippi (2004), brought him to wider attention, with one of its images, "Charles," even gracing the poster for the 2004 Whitney Biennial.

Soth's work has drawn comparisons to Walker Evans and Stephen Shore, and he has shot for publications like The New York Times Magazine, Fortune, and Newsweek. But his approach is far from purely editorial. He's spoken of the nervousness he feels when photographing people, suggesting that his own awkwardness becomes part of the exchange, a kind of shared vulnerability. This vulnerability translates into an intimacy in his portraits, a sense of connection between photographer and subject. His process is deliberate, almost methodical. He’s described travelling with notes taped to his steering wheel, lists of image ideas – beards, birdwatchers, after the rain, figures from behind, and so on – a kind of visual haiku in progress. He asks permission, waits for his subjects to become comfortable, often working with an 8x10 camera. He seeks a “narrative arc and true storytelling,” a sense that each image flows into the next.

His work has continued to evolve since Sleeping by the Mississippi. Niagara (2006), for example, explored themes of love and desire, including a series of portraits of newlyweds arranged through a Niagara Falls wedding chapel. Last Days of W, a more politically charged project, reflected a nation exhausted by the Bush presidency. Between 2006 and 2010, Soth, under the pseudonym Lester B. Morrison, worked on Broken Manual, a kind of underground guide for those seeking escape. This project saw him exploring the retreats of monks, survivalists, hermits, and runaways, a journey into the fringes of society. Concurrently, he produced From Here to There: Alec Soth's America, a broader survey of his work. His practice is marked by these distinct projects, each a chapter in an ongoing exploration of the American landscape and its inhabitants.

Sleeping by the Mississippi, with its elegant design and thoughtful sequencing, serves as a prime example. His exhibitions, too, are immersive experiences, large-scale prints inviting contemplation. One remembers the hushed reverence of his gallery installations, the way the images command a space. His 2016 exhibition, Hypnagogia, explored the liminal state between waking and sleeping, a further exploration of interior landscapes. Even a seemingly straightforward assignment, such as a laughter yoga workshop in India for The New York Times Magazine, led to a year-long break from commercial work and a renewed focus on personal projects. A subsequent art residency saw him collaborating with the then 97-year-old choreographer Anna Halprin.

Soth’s work sits squarely within the tradition of American documentary photography, but it transcends the genre. His images are not simply documents; they are imbued with poetry and a sense of human connection. They resonate with the work of photographers like Robert Frank, whose subjective approach to documenting America also sought to unearth something deeper about the nation's character. As Philip Brookman has noted, Soth’s photographs are “both intimate and epic, personal and universal.” They capture the quiet grandeur of the everyday, the beauty in the mundane.

Soth has encouraged a new generation of photographers to slow down, to embrace the deliberate nature of large-format photography, to seek out the quiet corners of the world, and to connect with their subjects on a more profound level. While it’s difficult to pinpoint specific artists directly influenced by him, one can certainly detect a broader trend towards a more contemplative and personal approach to documentary work – a trend in which Soth has played a significant role. His founding of the publishing house Little Brown Mushroom (LBM) further underscores his commitment to fostering a particular kind of photographic storytelling. Through LBM, he publishes his own work and that of other like-minded photographers, creating “narrative photography books that function in a similar way to children’s books.” His collaborations with writers like Brad Zellar also highlight his interest in the interplay between image and text.

Soth's legacy is still being written, but his contribution to photography is already substantial. He has reminded us of the power of the still image to capture the complexities of human experience, to tell stories that resonate across cultures and time. He has shown us that the extraordinary can be found in the ordinary, if we only take the time to look. "I think photography is about paying attention to the world," Soth has said. "It’s about seeing what’s there and trying to understand it." This, perhaps, is the key to his work: a deep and abiding curiosity about the world and a commitment to seeing it, not as it should be, but as it is. His photographs, with their quiet beauty and profound empathy, will continue to challenge and inspire for years to come.