Expressionism vs. Escapism
There is a fine line, photographically speaking, between expressionism and escapism.
Most of my photography falls into the first category—expressionism. I shoot photographs to express something. Curiosity. Wonder. Loneliness. Nostalgia. Humor. Desire. Melancholy. Gratitude. Sometimes all of them at once. Photography, for me, is usually less about documenting the world and more about translating how the world feels moving through me.
But today was different.
Today was pure escapism.
I simply wanted to get the fuck out of Dodge.
From my front door to the trailhead where I start my bike rides is about twenty minutes. I left the house feeling relatively calm, content, grounded. By the time I arrived, I was anxious, irritated, and borderline angry.
And I had the radio to thank for it.
Venezuela.
Iran.
Cuba.
China.
Trump.
Midterm elections.
Economic collapse.
Cultural collapse.
Social collapse.
Fear.
Outrage.
Noise.
Every station. Every voice. Every headline screaming for attention like carnival barkers fighting over who gets to terrify us first.
Honestly, it no longer feels like reality to me. It feels like we’re all trapped inside some endless reality TV series where outrage is currency and anxiety is the business model.
Seriously.
WTF happened to us?
The older I get, the more I understand why artists disappear into forests, deserts, monasteries, darkrooms, jazz clubs, surf towns, and tiny cabins in the middle of nowhere. At some point, protecting your inner life becomes an act of survival.
So like any photographer-artist looking for temporary relief from the madness, I escaped.
Not forever.
Just long enough to breathe again.
I grabbed the bike.
Hit the trail.
Ignored the headlines.
Ignored the noise.
Ignored the algorithmic panic machine.
And somewhere between the trees, shadows, sweat, movement, and silence, my nervous system slowly began recalibrating itself back toward something human.
Click.
Click.
Click.
That’s the thing photography still does for me after all these years. It interrupts thought. It short-circuits noise. It forces me back into the present tense. You cannot simultaneously doomscroll the collapse of civilization while deeply paying attention to light falling across a patch of grass.
Photography pulls me out of my head and back into my senses.
These photographs were all taken on my iPhone 13 Pro Max using the Firstlight app and its baked-in infrared filters. The colors are faux. Simulated. Artificial. But emotionally speaking, they feel strangely true to me. Shadows deepen. Ordinary suburban trails suddenly feel cinematic, ghostly, dreamlike, and vaguely post-apocalyptic.
Perfect.
Because strange is exactly how the world feels right now.
Maybe that’s why infrared photography appeals to me so much lately. It doesn’t show the world as it literally appears. It shows the world as it emotionally feels.
And today, emotionally speaking, the world felt upside down.
But for one hour on that bike trail, with an iPhone in my hand and nobody talking in my ear, I escaped it all.
At least temporarily.
And honestly?
That was enough.
Click.
Jack.
