Photobook: Ian's Galaxy

My latest photobook and journey with a suicide

For reasons that I’ll share at some point soon, last August I started the process of curating six years of a photo project I was loosely calling “Ian’s Galaxy.” Ian was my stepson who took his own life in 2012.

On his October birthdate the year following his death, I began an annual ritual that would take me into nature to spend time with him and would eventually lead me to a North Cascades crag in Washington state where I took the macros that make up this book.

It’s my third one this spring, the other two were Seattle 5.30.30 and Chicago: Nightwalk. I’m in a move to produce some kind of physical artifact of several projects or themes from my catalogs. Most of them will be up through Covid, with a couple of exceptions. This is one of them. These photos are from 2019-2025.

This past February I exhibited many of the photographs locally and produced a similar book to this I called “Larger with Us” that a few of you have. It included an essay I wrote on Ian’s suicide and the journey that led me to these photos.

The essay needs more work — I’ve got a feeling that it will always need more work — but I think that wrapping up this part of the project would do me good. “Ian’s Galaxy” doesn’t include the essay, just the images.

I made it with alternating pages of photos printed on Hannehmuhle Rice Paper — a soft and thin paper stock that carries the richness to the colors but with a nice delicacy — and Moab Juniper Baryta Rag. The cover is made with a combination of Thai Unryu and Japanese mulberry papers. The bookmaking process is hugely time consuming, and I’m just starting at it. I appreciate how it slows my mind down. My ADHD tendencies appreciates the act of being productive with my time, and I’ve been loving a lot of audio books and music while I do the work. I’m learning on the job, for sure.

When I began my annual ritual over a decade ago, I didn’t own a camera. I wanted to give myself time to meditate on Ian and try to understand why he took his own life. When the rite turned into a photo project, the notion of “art as therapy” had never entered into my thinking. I’d always considered “art therapy” as something kids suffering from trauma were thrown into by adults. But art as therapy for adults? I never considered it.

Did the photography help in my grieving process? Did the writing of the essay? The book production? I’ve been thinking about these questions. Too much. It’s complicated to sort out. I hope I can come up with something to share soon.

Thank you for your eyes. They mean a lot to me.

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