It was cold, dark, and on the verge of rain when I captured this image. But the vision for it had been forming for weeks. Grab a cup of coffee and settle in, because this one has a bit of a backstory.
I was tasked with shooting a men’s fashion campaign, and if you know me, you know I’m all about storytelling. Sure, the brief could’ve been as simple as having the model sit in a chair and stare back into the lens. For a fashion shoot, that would’ve been more than enough. But a story—now that lingers a little longer. It connects. It’s relatable. It feels real. And that’s what makes a piece of marketing effective.
Before the shoot, I gave my location scout one request: find me a place where guys do stuff. The kind of clothes we were shooting were made for work—leisurely work, hobbies—things that resonate. The kind of things we watched our dads or grandpas do. Or, in my case, things I never got to see them do but always wished I had. I wanted to capture that feeling of nostalgia, of something you long for but can’t quite put your finger on.
My scout came back with one shot—an old workshop attached to a cabin, tucked away in the foothills near Flagstaff, Arizona. Just an exterior shot. When I asked about the inside, he said it was full of junk. And right then, I knew—I was chasing that feeling of being a kid, working alongside my dad, even though I wasn’t the handy type. That workshop was the perfect setting for it.
I needed help to pull this off, though. I showed my assistant the outside shot and told him I wanted to shoot inside. He looked at me skeptically but humored me anyway. I told him I wanted the subject to be working on some wood project, crafting something by hand. Since we had no idea what was inside, we had to prepare everything ahead of time—bring the tools, the sawdust, even the project itself. My assistant went to work building a cutting board, the perfect choice for what I had in mind.
With everything prepped, we hit the road, crossing the country with nothing but a gut feeling. This was the last stop on a three-day shoot, and we already had some killer images. But this—this was the one I had saved for last.
By the time we arrived, it was cold, dark, and rain was looming. While I was shooting other setups, my team was clearing out the workshop, revealing the scene I had imagined. It was all there—the perfectly worn workbench, the old Folgers can full of random nuts and bolts, everything.
Now it was time to light it. How do you light a workshop? Maybe a practical overhead light? No. I wanted something warmer, something that felt more like a memory than reality. It needed to feel like sunset—the kind of light that’s warm, inviting, and nostalgic, streaming in through the window while the subject works. Every detail had to come together to tell that story—all to sell a shirt. And it all started with one picture of the outside of an old workshop.
Sure, effective marketing can be a direct call to action, but often it’s about tapping into something deeper. Sometimes, it means digging into what’s missing in your own life and creating the story you, as the artist, longed for as a kid.