By the time I arrive somewhere to photograph, I have usually spent months, sometimes years, imagining what I might create there. Planning is a familiar and extensive part of my process, and one I enjoy. I assemble references, study locations and lighting conditions, research what has been done before, and consider how I might approach a subject differently. I scout locations, develop compositions, and visualize as much as I can, allowing ideas to take shape long before I travel. This kind of preparation gives my ideas somewhere to begin.
But Shape of Dreams had no place in the original plan.
The idea began in the Moroccan Sahara, where I was photographing my new series Reverie, using cloaked figures and horses to create scenes for the print series and accompanying short film. I became completely enamored with the intrigue and romance of these anonymous figures. They captured my imagination in a way I hadn't anticipated, and I felt there was something more I wanted to explore. Their presence gave the images a human dimension, while their timelessness left the stories open to imagination.
We were already planning to return through Marrakech, where I had set aside a few days to wander the medina, explore the markets, and immerse myself in the atmosphere of this ancient city. As we continued photographing in the desert, I found myself imagining what might happen if I brought these figures into an entirely different setting.
The idea stayed with me, and I began to figure out how to bring it to life.
Marrakech offered an extraordinary counterpart to the openness of the Sahara. There was so much to respond to: the soft colors of its earthen walls, the changing light, and the feeling that each turn might reveal something unexpected. At times, the city felt like a surreal painting or a movie set; at others, a labyrinth, particularly among the stalls of the bazaar.
I was drawn to placing solitary figures within this architecture, borrowing from the city's beauty while creating scenes that seemed to exist outside a particular time or story. The city gave us an extraordinary setting, but I wanted the photographs to feel like worlds of their own. What began as an opportunity to explore quickly became something I wanted to keep pursuing, even before I understood it as a series.
Perhaps the most surprising part was how immediately I knew these images needed to be in color.
As we began photographing, I found myself captivated by the unique softness of Marrakech's palette: the muted pinks, warm earth tones, and subtle variations of light as it dances across the walls. Color became essential to the atmosphere I wanted to create.
What emerged was my first color series in seven years.
In my previous journal entry “The Stories We Find and the Stories We Make,” I wrote about the deliberate choices behind constructing my photographs. That intentionality was certainly present in Shape of Dreams. Each image involved careful decisions about composition, light, and the placement of figures. But what was different about this series was how it began. There was no reference binder, no months of research, and no fully developed concept waiting to be realized. An idea that began in the desert grew into something I couldn't have anticipated.
I've spent much of my career developing a particular visual language and refining the process of creating my work. That familiarity is something I value. But I also know that the more clearly you understand what you're looking for, the easier it can become to overlook something you never thought you were looking for in the first place.
Looking back, what stays with me isn't simply that Shape of Dreams was unplanned, but how much pleasure I found in following an idea without knowing precisely where it would lead.
There's something wonderful about discovering that, even after years of pursuing a particular vision, the unplanned is worth embracing.
And sometimes, the most interesting thing you can do is make room for it.