I don’t know of a photographer who has shot more doors than me. Over the years, they’ve become one of my favorite subjects—simple, familiar, and yet endlessly expressive. I’ve always thought of doors as the perfect photographic metaphor for entering: stepping into the unknown, seeking new horizons, and embracing opportunity. Every door suggests possibility, beckoning us toward uncharted territories.
But something about photographing doors in New Orleans this time around has shifted my perspective. Instead of feeling like a gateway to something new, they feel like symbols of leaving. Of exiting. Of moving on.
I’ve photographed some of these very doors dozens of times before, drawn to their rich patina, their deep colors, the way light falls across their weathered surfaces. But this time, they whisper a different story. A story not of entrances, but of farewells. And I’ve come to realize that exiting—truly, consciously exiting—is a skill just as important as entering.
Exiting faith. Exiting marriage. Exiting friendships Exiting romance. Exiting old career paths. Exiting dreams that no longer fit. Exiting ideas and ideals. Exiting dogma and doctrines. Exiting.
It’s not a morose or sulky kind of exit. If anything, it’s contemplative. Thoughtful. Necessary.Reflective.
We celebrate beginnings. The excitement of stepping into a new chapter. We romanticize the thrill of discovery. And yet, we rarely talk about how hard it is to walk away—to shut the door behind us and say goodbye to something we once held dear. But doesn’t quite fit anymore, like once treasured jeans.
Photographing doors has always felt like a quiet act of reverence. Each one has a story. Some doors swing wide open, inviting you in with warmth and familiarity. Others remain firmly shut, keeping their secrets locked inside. And then some are slightly ajar—offering just a glimpse, just enough mystery to make you wonder about what’s on the other side.
What I’ve come to appreciate is that every entrance holds within it the eventual necessity of an exit. Just as every exit makes room for a new beginning.
Some doors I have photographed over the years are no longer there. Time, decay, and progress have taken them away. Others have been repainted, renovated, and made to look fresh and new. I think about the lives that have passed through them—the hellos, the goodbyes, the welcomes, the farewells. The promises made and broken, the dreams pursued and abandoned. Doors stand witness to it all.
And so, this time, as I frame my shots, I think less about what I’m stepping into and more about what I’m stepping away from. I think about how easy it is to keep entering, to keep moving, to chase the next thing. And I reflect on how much harder it is to acknowledge an ending. To know when it’s time to walk away. To leave a place, a relationship, an identity, a chapter behind.
There is courage in entering, but there is also courage in exiting.
And maybe, just maybe, closing the door behind you isn’t the end of the story. Maybe it’s just the start of a new one, waiting to be written beyond the threshold.
Click.
Jack.
