Leland Smith’s portfolio was selected as a Work of Merit in the 2025 Rfotofolio Call.

Please tell us about yourself.

I’m based in Connecticut and split my time between here and Cape Cod. My path
back to my photographic practice was a bit of a marathon through the worlds of
advertising and film.

Actually, I started out wanting to be an architect – I’ve always been obsessed with
design and shape – but the math requirements at the time were more ‘engineering’
than ‘art.’, so, hello art department, and then, by a bit of happenstance, I ended up in
film and television.

That ultimately led to a career in advertising during its ‘golden era’ of creative
freshness – a time of bold headlines, stunning simple graphics. For me those years
were a masterclass in ‘learning by association.’ I was surrounded by and worked with
incredible art directors, writers, still photographers and cinematographers.I spent
those years honing my eye for the delicate nuances of lighting, composition,and
design. Eventually, I had the chance to direct some of the commercials that I helped
create, which led to opening my own namesake production company in New York.
Our commercials ranged from tiny, detailed tabletop shots to massive period-piece
recreations for clients like American Express and Hallmark.

After the untimely death of my business partner, I stepped away. Floundering a bit, I
fell into the world of screenwriting. I loved the challenge of ‘writing visually,’ and
actually had a moment of success with the adaptation of a Pulitzer-shortlisted book.
But, as often happens in Hollywood, the project ended stuck in development hell.
With scripts going nowhere and no desire to go back to the world of commercial
production with its heavy equipment and union crews, I was just…nowhere.
Photography was the furthest thing from my mind. And then, everything changed…
I got an iPhone. And the fun started.

And today, I’m sitting here with 50,000 images and a body of work that’s as diverse as
all those commercials I used to direct.

Where did you get your photographic training?

I have no formal photographic training. I am basically self-taught.

Who has had an influence on your creative process?

Because I am attracted to such a broad range of subject matter, my influences are a
bit of a kaleidoscope. While I’m heavily drawn to the tonalist and pictorialist movements
where texture and color become the primary tools for mood,
I’m just as inspired by the clean, stark graphics of contemporary minimalism.

As my visual vocabulary continually evolves, I find solace in the intimate still-lifes of
André Kertész, the minimal precision of Paloma Parrot, and the painterly color palette
of Saul Leiter. My friend Fran Forman is also a vital influence; her work is a masterclass
in cinematic composition and a constant reminder of how to craft thought-provoking
images that feels both modern and timeless.

Beyond the still image, I look to the masters of cinematography: the way Gordon
Willis used shadow in “The Godfather”, Roger Deakins’ atmospheric light in “Blade
Runner”, or the stunning black-and-white framing of Robert Elswit in “Ripley”. At the
same time, I’m equally awed by the raw, kinetic energy of films being shot on iPhones
or the dizzying, abstract perspectives captured by a palm-sized drone.

Ultimately, I don’t see these as separate categories. Each influence – whether classic
or contemporary – contributes to my creative toolbox that is always lying in wait. By
merging traditional painterly moods and movements with a new cutting-edge
approaches, I’m not just borrowing from these masters; I’m synthesizing them.
I am constantly searching for that next visual spark, one that helps me turn these
diverse inputs into a photographic language that is uniquely my own.

Please tell us about an image that has stayed with you over time.

That’s a tough one because the list is always changing, but in light of where my work
is right now, I’d have to say Edward Steichen’s 1904 series of the Flatiron Building.
I’m particularly drawn to the versions with those deep, moody blues and that
incredible, murky palette of greens and browns.Beyond the composition, it’s the atmosphere.
There’s a softness – a soulful, painterly quality, a pictorialist soul – that just pulls you in.
It’s that specific’feel’ that pushes me to explore the atmospheric depth in my own work.
Whether it’s an abandoned hospital ward, a rolling Tuscan landscape or a North Dakota farm,
I’m constantly asking ‘Can tonality of color or texture of any type add anything to this scene that the subject alone cannot?’
And then, and most importantly: ‘Will it create a deeper emotional sense of place and memory?’
Ironically, the lesson is also in the restraint; sometimes you need that extra ‘thing’ and sometimes you don’t.
It’s a delicate line.

For me, the Steichen images are a constant reminder that for a photograph to really
breathe, you have to capture not just the subject, but the ‘air’ around it and it’s that
‘air’ that the literal space is transformed into something more felt than seen.

What image of yours would you say taught you an important lesson?

The lessons: Return, punt, and squint. On a recent trip to North Dakota, I had returned to a location specifically to capture the details of a literal, Wyeth-inspired scene – a weathered farmhouse on a barren plain under a flat, foggy gray sky. Graphically simple and compositionally beautiful, I wanted it for the lead image in a mini-series.
But by the time I got back to the site,the fog had lifted,the gray sky was now clear and blue,and the sun harsh, the ‘soft magic’ was gone. So, goodbye Wyeth, hello hard light.

As I stood there, my creative brain was still stuck on what I had hoped to get, not what
now saw before me. As I was about to leave, I remembered to squint and everything
changed. The hard shadows turned moody; the colors became soft and muted and
vibrant. It was beautiful, with a feel like nothing I had ever shot before.
So,lessons: Always return to a location if you can. Punt when life deals you a 180. And,most importantly:Squint!

Tell us about your project at the Ellis Island Immigration Hospital.

Well, let’s start with a little background. The hospital was shuttered in 1954.
During its 72-year existence, some 275,000 immigrants passed through its doors.
It wasn’t a place of doom and gloom, it was a welcoming space with sunlit rooms and bright painted halls.

The mission was simple: make sick people well and send them on their way to a new life.
The hospital has been beautifully and meticulously documented by many,but for me,
this project wasn’t about documenting a ruin, it was about a threshold.
Today,the decaying walls and shadowed interiors whisper tales of people caught
between two worlds.

When I first stepped inside, I was hit by a profound sense of disorientation. The
enormity of it all. My first thought was: ‘What did a newly arrived immigrant feel as he
or she opened their eyes here on that first morning?I wanted to capture the awe of the hospital through those just arrived ‘just-awakened sleep filled eyes’ – you know, that fleeting slightly unfocused moment where reality is still a soft,hazy blend of muted light and shadow.
My conceptual aim was to portray the hospital as a visual metaphor for this profound disorientation.

As I wondered through each room, ward, and hall, I worked instinctively,I wanted my
first shots to grab the ‘air’ of the space before the logic of the building could take
over. I was looking beyond the decay for that scrap of beauty, of hope, that still
remained.

To stay true to that concept, and for later inspiration,I turned to the painterly moods
of pictorialism and the subtle color gradations of tonalism. I found a solace in the soft
peeling colors and faded light to create final images that are a blend of
monochromatic stillness and against a palette of delicate color shifts.
In the end, these photographs aren’t just records of an abandoned building, they are
portraits of the immigrant experience. They dwell in that hazy space where the past
has faded, but the new world hasn’t quite come into focus yet.
It’s my testament to those who stood on that same threshold, experiencing their own uncertain awakening.

What part of image-making do you find the most rewarding?

For me, it is the editing – the finishing. While the initial capture is a gut reaction to a
scene, it’s in the post-production where I fine tune that ’emotional thing’ – the
atmospheric depth, if you will, that turns an initial photograph into something more.
Because I shoot such a broad range of subject matter, I treat every image as its own
unique world. It’s the reason the style of my images can be so different from one
another; I don’t believe in presets or a ‘one-size-fits-all’ approach. I try to follow the
specific emotion of a shot rather than trying to fit it into a pre-defined ‘look’ box.
Whether an image requires a light touch, a deep immersion, or nothing at all, I’m
always chasing the tone or texture that speaks to me.
The home run for me is when animage pays homage to a particular art movement.
It’s then that the finishing isn’t just a technical execution, but an artistic bridge
and the work stops being about what I saw and starts being about what I felt.

 How do you work through times when nothing seems to work?

I think many of us are navigating in a kind of ‘creative numbness’ right now. Whether
it’s the lingering weight of the last few years or just pure ‘techno-overload, it’s hard to
free yourself from the clutter. It’s so easy to say, here’s the project that I am going to
work on today, but before you jump in, you take a sec to scroll your phone, check IG
account – and when you look up, it’s an hour later. Energy gone.

One trick I use: I go back into my own photo library; At random, I pick a year and a
month and look at the images resting there. Invariably, I find a shot, and because of
where I am today, it becomes a trigger, this be an additional shot for that new series
that I’ve been working on. What if I did this? Or tried that? For me, it works.
And, since our libraries are on our phones now, this ‘digital archaeology’ can happen
anywhere.

For an additional kick, I revisit my “work of others” collection of screenshots; I’m
constantly humbled by the innovative work being done out there. Some days
scrolling through this work can feel overwhelming – creating mountains of self-doubt,
but on other days, seeing the brilliance of others work provides the exact spark I need
to push on and keep creating.

What tools have you found essential in the making of your work?

My tools are simple: an iPhone to capture and an iPad to finish.The iPad is my canvas.
As a painter touches a brush to linen, I touch a finger to glass. It is my organic connection to the work. Whether I’m nuancing the depth of a sky,finessing a glint of light,or dialing in a transparent glow, it’s that tactile connection,the pressure of a finger,the deliberate,subtle swipe that ‘fingerstroke’ is where my art happens. It is something I simply could never achieve with a mouse and keyboard.

Is there something in photography that you would like to try in the future?

Oh, that rabbit hole is so deep! Lately, I’ve been experimenting with a Fuji Instax camera; I’m drawn to the immediate, tactile nature of ‘in-camera’ creation. It’s a complete departure from the deliberate, layered process I usually follow.

In a completely different direction, I want to create a series of rural, pastoral themed
miniatures in the vein of the Barbizon School landscapes. I love these tiny, intricate
scenes that just draw the viewer in by their intimacy and expanse.
Beyond that, I am continually fascinated, and would love to explore, the ethereal
palette of vintage hand-colored prints and the luminous and the high-smooth
contrast of infrared photography. The real constraint here isn’t a lack of ideas;
it’s simply finding the time to bring them all to life.

How does your art effect the way you see the world?

Subconsciously, I think I’m constantly drawn to that ‘little spot of something.’
It isn’t about scale – it could be the sweeping geometry of a skyscraper, the gentle
curves of wheat rows in a meadow, or something as small as a glint of light on glass
or a speck of color on peeling rust. It’s something that really makes me pause.
Overall, my work is about those unexpected stumbles into beauty. If that “something”
touches me enough to make me raise my camera, my only hope is that my final image
will resonate just as deeply with whoever is looking at it.

 What’s on the horizon?

At the moment, I’m focused on two major projects. First,I’m collaborating with a fellow photographer to curate and pitch a museum-level exhibit of our collective Ellis Island work. It’s a long, involved process proposals, correspondence and meetings, but, we’re determined to see our separate perspectives dovetail into a poignant, large-scale exhibition.

On a more personal note, I’m currently sifting through a massive amount of imagery
from my recent North Dakota shoot. My goal is to crystallize my atmospheric vision to move
the visual narrative of ‘abandoned farmscapes’ beyond the ‘seen-before typical.’
The material is so layered and varied that it may not end up as a single series but a more comprehensive chapter-style book.

And, of course, there’s the constant ‘procrastination project’—finally finding the time
to update my website.

Thank you Leland.

To learn more about the work of Leland Smith please click on his name.