JONES: I’m Angela Jones, also known as Image Atlas. I’m 36 years old, and I’m originally from Wollongong, Australia. I’ve been based in Brooklyn, New York since 2014.
BUHRMAN: So the first question I’m going to ask is: how do you define your creative identity, and what early influences shaped the way you make your work today?
JONES: Creative identity—what do you mean when you say that?
BUHRMAN: Like, how would you describe yourself creatively? For example, you could say photographer.
JONES: Okay, yeah. I guess I define myself as a visual artist, and photography is my medium of choice—specifically tintype photography. But recently I’ve been trying to expand that by also working with sound and creating more experiential, immersive depictions of a theme or message by combining visual and audio elements. But yeah, I would say I’m a visual artist, with photography as my main medium. I’ve been practicing the wet plate collodion process for the last 13 years, and I really love the tangibility of the process, which is why I’ve continued working with it. I mix all the chemistry from scratch, and each time I take a portrait, I’m also physically making the image. That allows me to share the steps of the process with someone—the alchemy of photography and the magic of photography—because you’re watching an image appear in real time on a metal plate. That sense of presence that comes with the process is really important to me.
BUHRMAN: So yes, what early influences did you have?
JONES: I was influenced by different female photographers—both ones professors suggested to me and ones I discovered while studying. They would look at the work I was making and say, you might be interested in the work of Francesca Woodman. She was a young female photographer who worked between Italy and New York. She made images where she photographed herself and her body in different spaces, creating photographs that feel almost suspended in time. She often appeared as this ghostly presence moving through the frame. Her work explored identity, womanhood, and personal experience, and I really resonated with that. For me, photography has also become a method of self-exploration—of understanding the world and processing things I’ve experienced. Through photography I’m able to transmute those experiences, whether that’s to process something, release something, document it, or come to terms with my own identity and sense of self. I was also really inspired by the work of Julia Margaret Cameron, a 19th-century photographer who did a lot of wet plate work. I was immediately drawn to the aesthetics of her images, but also to the idea of a strong woman photographing herself and other women during that time. And then there’s the work of Sally Mann, an American photographer who photographs her family and her partner and also works with the wet plate medium. I’ve always been inspired by the grittiness of her work and the raw, poetic quality of her images.
BUHRMAN: I was gonna ask, do you develop your own photos?
JONES: Yeah, exactly. Like I said, I mix the different chemicals myself—I do all of the chemical elements on my own. You can buy the chemicals pre-made, but it’s important to me to have my hands involved in every step of the process.
BUHRMAN: So you have your own darkroom?
JONES: Yeah, yeah. It’s like a little cubicle in my studio. I’m basically making everything from scratch as I go. I also like having that level of control. I don’t have to send my images to a lab—I can make an image from start to finish right in my studio, or even in a portable darkroom wherever I am. I also like the immediacy of it. Even though it’s technically a slow process, it only takes about ten minutes from start to finish to make an image. So it’s actually pretty fast to have the final result right there in front of you.
BUHRMAN: Yeah, I learned how to develop film, but only black and white because my school only has facilities for that. I did like it, but I also like the ease of just dropping film off somewhere.
JONES: Yeah, I mean it definitely takes a lot of patience. Sometimes I ask myself, why do I do this? Because it really pushes you to your limits. There can be chemical mistakes, or I have to filter everything, or troubleshoot temperatures and other issues. So it’s definitely challenging to have all of those extra variables on top of things like lighting the image properly and getting the framing right. There are so many other components you have to think about.
BUHRMAN: Do you print it first and then scan it digitally?
JONES: No, it’s actually a physical plate—a metal or glass plate. I should have brought one to show you. After that I flatbed scan it to create a digital copy. So it’s this physical object first, which is really cool. I’ve also been trying to take videos and photos of the plate itself—like showing it in someone’s hands or documenting it in different ways—so people can understand that it’s an image object. It’s not just a two-dimensional image. It’s actually a physical, almost three-dimensional image on a surface.
BUHRMAN: Oh wow, yeah. I’d love to see that. Alright, so when did you first realize that creativity could become a practice and not just a hobby?
JONES: I think it really came from being fortunate enough to have parents who supported me in pursuing what spoke to me. I loved art in high school, and my teachers exposed me to the idea that you could continue studying art after graduating. They told me, you know, you can actually go to college and study art. Eventually I found a school in Sydney called the College of Fine Arts that I really loved. I went to see the campus and immediately connected with the environment. I went to one of their open days and saw all the possibilities of what you could study—graphic design, photography, sculpture, performance, and more. Being in that space, doing further study, and being surrounded by artists and teachers who had their own creative practices made it feel possible. But since leaving school it has definitely been a journey of forging my own path. Art school doesn’t really prepare you for the reality of being an artist. It takes a huge amount of self-determination, belief, and stubbornness. When I was in college, I was actually told not to do wet plate photography—that it was archaic and that I should do something more contemporary. I remember crying during critiques with my teachers and saying, but I want to do this. So I stayed true to myself and kept doing what I loved. Now I’m still very much in the process of building my career, but I’m getting really exciting commissions with brands and larger artists, and I’m teaching workshops around the world. It still feels like I’m making it happen myself—I’m the main motivator—but it’s definitely a journey that never really stops.
BUHRMAN: I mean, I haven’t really started my real journey yet, but I’m excited. So what parts of your background still shape your work today?
JONES: I think growing up in Australia definitely shaped my work. It’s such a beautiful, expansive natural environment—a country that’s rich in culture and history. Indigenous culture there dates back around 80,000 years, and there’s something incredibly magical about that. You can really feel it in the land. Of course, Australia has also been heavily colonized, and there are a lot of issues connected to that history. But at the same time there’s this incredible natural landscape. I grew up swimming in the ocean, going on bush walks, and spending a lot of time outdoors. That lifestyle was very integrated into everyday life. In New York City there’s more of a stark separation. It’s very much city life all the time. It’s amazing in its own way—it’s full of incredible people, culture, and energy—but it’s very different. I think my work still reflects that background. I’m often trying to create images that feel like an escape or a quiet sanctuary. My work tends to feel watery or planetary, and I think that comes from growing up immersed in that natural environment. Now that I’m making work in New York City, the process becomes a kind of departure from the noise and the pace of the city. The slowness of my process is almost the opposite of the environment I’m living in. When I photograph someone in my studio, we slow down together. We become intentional together. And sometimes that can be confronting for people, because they’re used to photography being very fast—someone taking a hundred photos in half an hour. But with my process, we might only make two images in half an hour.
BUHRMAN: I mean, yeah, quantity doesn’t really matter. What camera do you use?
JONES: I use a 4×5 and an 8×10 camera—handmade wooden cameras from back in the day.
BUHRMAN: Oh wow, that’s super cool. What’s another profession you were interested in or thinking about pursuing before photography?
JONES: I’m actually currently a postpartum doula. When I first moved to New York I worked in childcare for many years, so I’ve always kind of worked with families, babies, and kids. Right now I balance those two careers. As a postpartum doula I help people during the stage after they bring their baby home and are adjusting to parenthood—everything that comes with caring for a baby while also caring for themselves during that transition. That work has actually informed my creative practice in a really beautiful way. The project I’m currently working on, which I’ll be showing at the Ace Hotel next month, is called Womb Portal. It’s about the experience of being a human with a womb, informed both by my own experience and by all the women I’ve supported and met throughout my journey. I also really love cooking. When I finished high school I actually wanted to become a chef. I did some work experience in a kitchen, but they had me shelling prawns for four hours straight and I was like, yeah, I don’t want to do this. I think I’ve always wanted to do tactile things with my hands, though. I still love cooking, but now I do it for myself, my family, and my friends. Professionally, that world can be pretty brutal.
BUHRMAN: Do you have a big family?
JONES: I have two sisters, but my mom is one of eleven, so I have around twenty-five cousins and something like forty nieces and nephews.
BUHRMAN: That’s a big family. I thought I had a big family. Who are your biggest inspirations in life, and why?
JONES: That’s tricky. I feel like it’s always changing depending on the people I meet.
Recently I sat with an artist from Baltimore—someone I’ve spoken with for years—and she came to my studio and told me the story of giving birth to her second child at home, completely by herself. I was just so inspired by her determination, her self-belief, her strength, and her fearlessness. So I think inspiration comes in many forms. There are artists I admire—like the ones I mentioned earlier—and there are always new artists I discover. But sometimes it’s just people I meet where I think, wow, I’m really inspired by the way you choose to live your life. It gives me this fire to keep doing things on my own terms and to materialize my reality.
BUHRMAN: I think one of the best parts of New York is, like you said, the people. There are so many unique people here.
JONES: Yeah, and it takes so much to make it here and to stay here. I feel like I have a different level of respect for people who are able to go through all of that.
BUHRMAN: Yeah, the craziness. I mean, I’m moving because I’m kind of done with New York. Maybe I’ll come back someday.
JONES: Yeah, I mean, speaking from experience—this is my twelfth year in New York—it’s not easy. It will push you in every way that you can be pushed. But at the same time, there’s been so much growth that I’ve experienced as a result of it, and it’s definitely shaped the person I am. New York is a city where people materialize things. No one really sits around waiting for something to happen. And when I go to other places, I notice that difference. I’m like, wow, I have the New York energy now.
BUHRMAN: Yeah, that’s true. I see what you mean. What’s something outside of your field that strongly influences you or your work?
JONES: That’s a tricky question. Music influences me a lot, especially because I use it during sessions and shoots to create an environment and experience. I think we’re all connected to music in some way, whether through an album or a song that resonates with us at a certain moment. I also photograph a lot of musicians, so there’s naturally overlap with that world. Right now, I’m trying to bring music and sound more directly into my work. For my show in April, I’m working with a producer who is layering ambient sound over audio recordings from the women I photographed. In those recordings, they speak freely about womanhood, the body, and the thresholds or challenges they’ve moved through. I’m also inspired by self-care and restorative practices like breathwork, yoga, meditation, and healing work. Those ideas influence the kind of experience I want to create. Ideally, I want my photography sessions to feel almost medicinal — a space where someone can slow down, be present, and share what they want to share. For me, photography has become a way of creating human connection, storytelling, and catharsis. It’s about witnessing someone and helping them witness themselves. It’s not transactional or superficial image-making; it’s an exchange built on vulnerability, openness, and honesty.
BUHRMAN: So it's a very intimate experience,
JONES: Yeah, and when that depth isn’t there, I actually find it challenging. I’m still learning how to navigate that. For example, I recently did a shoot with Chloë Sevigny—you might want to double-check spelling before publishing—she’s a well-known actress and model. She was in the film Kids from the 1990s, so she’s quite iconic. When we worked together, she was very much a professional—an industry professional. But there wasn’t the same ability to go deep in the way I’m usually used to with my process. I found that challenging, because that deeper connection is such a big part of how I normally work. So I’m learning how to honor myself and my process while also working within the parameters of what the industry sometimes requires. When you’re working with larger artists, they often have limited time and energy. You can’t necessarily sit and go deep for hours because they have back-to-back shoots. It’s been an interesting space to navigate as I try to bring more of that kind of work into my practice. I do like the process to be intimate, and I hope I’m able to connect with someone on a deeper level. But it’s delicate territory. Not everyone is willing to open up. A lot of it comes down to building trust and creating a sense of comfort in the studio. I’ve found that when I share parts of my own experiences, it often helps the other person feel comfortable enough to share something of themselves as well.
BUHRMAN: Where does a project usually start for you? Does it begin with an idea, or do you just go into it and see where it leads?
JONES: I think it evolves and reveals itself over time. The project I’m currently working on has been developing for about five years. It began as a way for me to process a personal experience—an abortion that was really confronting and challenging for me. It forced me to face a lot of different parts of myself. That experience also made me want to speak with other people. So I started photographing other women and listening to their stories. But there were moments where I had to stop working on the project because it became too emotionally intense, and then later I would return to it. Through that process I’ve been learning to allow a project to have its own life and unfold in its own time. In school, you’re usually given a deadline—you’re told that you have to complete a project within a year. But outside of that environment, as a working artist, I’ve learned to embrace the idea that some projects simply need time. Sometimes the time is necessary for the work to reach a kind of resolution. And at some point you also have to recognize when it’s time to share the work and move on to something else—because you could stay immersed in a project forever. I’ve also learned how to let go and allow something to reach a stage of completion, even if it doesn’t feel completely finished. I don’t think anything ever feels fully complete. There are also projects I need to return to. For example, just before the pandemic there were terrible fires in Australia, and I began working on a portrait and interview series in response to that. When the pandemic happened, the project kind of got shelved. Sometimes it feels like maybe something is no longer relevant because time has passed. But I think a lot of art explores universal themes and ideas, and those things don’t really have an expiration date. So I try to stay open to life and attentive to what’s happening around me. An idea appears, and then it’s about taking action—organizing shoots, going to locations, planning things out, and putting in the work to make it happen. Because if you don’t take action, it simply won’t happen.
BUHRMAN: What does a typical creative day look like for you when you’re in the middle of a project?
JONES: Usually I grab a coffee on the way to the studio. I try to give myself a moment to be still and grounded before starting—just to get into the right mindset to photograph someone and hold space for their story and their energy. I’ve been getting better at giving myself that downtime before a shoot instead of rushing straight into it. After that, I’ll set up the studio—prepare the lighting, mix the chemistry, and get everything ready. When I’m not shooting, I spend a lot of time reflecting. I have a chair in my studio where I’ll just sit and think about ideas. Sometimes I’ll journal, or I’ll go to a park near my studio and sit under a tree to write. That time helps me process what I’m making and ask myself questions like, what am I trying to say with this work? It’s about giving myself the space to enter that creative mindset. I also spend time going through my archive, maintaining the chemistry, filtering materials, and looking back at past work. Sometimes inspiration comes from other photographers, music, or writing.
BUHRMAN: What kind of environment helps you make your best work? The studio, right?
JONES: In New York it’s definitely my studio. It’s like a sanctuary that I’ve created for myself. I have tea, plants, and things that make it feel like an extension of my home. It feels like a safe container where I can be fully myself. But when I’m in Australia it’s very different. I take advantage of the landscape and photograph outdoors—by the ocean or in nature. So there are really two different environments that shape my work. In New York I’m mostly working internally, inside the studio. It’s where I can find quiet and calm, which is funny because I live in such a busy, chaotic city. But I also think that contrast is part of what shapes the work I make. It’s that tension between those two worlds—the chaos of the city and the quiet space I create inside it. Honestly, if I had stayed in Australia, my work would probably look very different. Sometimes the things we find challenging or abrasive can actually push us to make stronger work. I think that’s part of why there are so many incredible artists in New York—the energy of the city creates that kind of creative tension.
BUHRMAN: What part of your process do you find the most frustrating and the most rewarding?
JONES: Definitely the chemical variability. It’s funny because it’s both frustrating and rewarding at the same time. Sometimes there’s this incredible magic that happens—chemical mistakes that actually end up working perfectly. That unpredictability is part of what originally drew me to the process. The images aren’t perfect. Sometimes the emulsion peels at the edge of the frame, or there are these smoky explosions from chemical reactions. You can tell there’s a human hand involved. It’s obvious that it’s a chemical process photograph. But sometimes the chemical mistakes really don’t work in your favor. There might be something covering someone’s face, or the image becomes too smoky or underdeveloped. Then I have to troubleshoot what went wrong, which can be stressful. At the same time, that’s also what keeps me engaged with the medium. There’s never really a moment where you feel like you’ve completely mastered it. Every environment brings new variables, so you’re constantly testing, refining, and learning. It’s very humbling.
BUHRMAN: Kind of building off that, how do you know when a piece is finished? Or do you ever really know?
JONES: It depends on the medium. I photograph onto metal plates and glass plates. With glass plates, I can manipulate things more during the scanning process because there’s more flexibility. With tintypes, though, once it’s done, it’s done. Recently, I’ve started experimenting with painting on them and adding color elements. The process is usually black, white, and sometimes blue. I manipulate the chemistry to keep the blue tones, which would normally turn fully black and white. That blue area within the frame became part of my signature style. That started during the pandemic, when I had more time to experiment. I began working more directly with the chemistry, almost like making photographic paintings. I would paint with the emulsion and observe how the chemicals reacted. Sometimes they created shapes that looked like planets. I realized how beautiful the chemistry could be on its own, even with a limited palette of black, white, and blue. More recently, I’ve started adding acrylic paint as well. But knowing when something is finished often comes down to deciding that enough is enough. I recently made about twenty-five variations of one image, and it’s easy to become obsessive with tiny adjustments. Part of the process is learning when to step away. There are limits to how much you can alter an image before you start ruining it. Sometimes I’ll wipe away parts of the emulsion and repaint them, but other times the image is finished the moment it’s made. A lot of the work happens during the preparation of the plate and the exposure itself. Once I pour the fixer over the plate, that’s it — the image is finished. There isn’t much room for heavy post-processing, and that’s something I love about the process. When I show a client the image during a shoot, I tell them: what you see is what you get.
BUHRMAN: Have you ever had a project fail or not go the way you wanted it to?
JONES: Yeah, I guess in terms of my own self-directed projects—thankfully with larger commissions I’ve been doing this long enough that I approach it professionally. I bring backup chemistry and extra equipment so things usually run smoothly. But with my personal projects, there have definitely been moments where things didn’t work out. I remember once I had this ambitious idea to take portraits at Coney Island in the middle of summer. The problem is that the chemistry I use is extremely sensitive to heat. If it gets too hot, it just doesn’t work properly. So I brought my entire darkroom setup to Coney Island—my tent, all the equipment—paid way too much for an Uber, and set everything up. I ran a test plate and nothing worked. The chemistry was completely off. I had to pack everything up and bring it all back home. That kind of thing has happened multiple times. I’ve had shoots in Australia where I organized people to meet me at a location, brought my whole darkroom setup, tested the plates, and they came out completely smoky or the exposure just didn’t work. Usually it’s because of temperature or other environmental factors. At that point it’s kind of out of my hands. I can’t force it to work, so I just have to surrender and accept that it’s not going to happen that day. But I think that’s part of the process, and it really tests your commitment to the craft. You have to decide whether you’re going to give up and say that was too hard, I’m never doing that again, or if you’re going to keep going. There have definitely been moments where I thought, fuck this, I give up—it’s too hard. But somehow I always end up coming back to it. So it’s almost like being in a committed relationship with the process.
BUHRMAN: What would you say was your breakthrough moment?
JONES: I think the work I made during the pandemic was a real turning point. That’s when I started creating the blue, planetary images that really feel like Image Atlas work. The name Image Atlas first came from needing a business name when I moved to New York, but I also liked the idea of my work being an atlas of people — mapping the world and my experiences through portraits. Over time, it became more about creating my own universe through this medium. The wet plate process already feels otherworldly because it comes from the 1800s, so I’m interested in making images that feel timeless — like future relics. During the pandemic, I felt like I really found my flow. People began reaching out to collaborate, and in 2023 I received a major commission from a jewelry brand in London, which was incredibly affirming. Since then, the work has kept growing. It was recently recognized by Vogue, and I traveled to Milan to speak about it and exhibit my work. For me, success is when the work resonates with people. It’s less about reaching one final point and more about continuing to grow. The vision keeps evolving, and that’s what keeps me motivated.
BUHRMAN: That’s great. Congratulations on all your success. What’s your favorite piece of work you’ve made, and why does it stand out to you?
JONES: I think some of the pieces I made around 2020 and 2021 are really special to me. That’s when I began painting with the chemistry and discovering what was possible with the process. There are these small four-by-five plates where I painted these little planetary forms around people’s hands and bodies. I really love those images. More recently I made a portrait of a friend and her baby on a glass plate, and I felt really proud of that image as well. But honestly, my favorite image changes all the time. Sometimes I’ll make something and think, this is the best image I’ve ever made. Then later I’ll fall in love with a different one. Often the images I love the most come from mistakes or unknown results. I sometimes work with multiple exposures, so I don’t really know what the final image will look like until it’s finished. And sometimes I’ll see the result and think, wow, that’s better than I could have imagined.
BUHRMAN: Do you consider your work to be beautiful? And what does beauty mean to you?
JONES: Yeah, I think my work is definitely aesthetically pleasing. It’s interesting—my studio mate and I were actually talking about this recently. We both make work that could be described as quite beautiful, and that’s something we intentionally strive for. Of course, beauty is subjective. There are definitely artists who aren’t concerned with beauty at all—their work is more focused purely on a message without an aesthetic component supporting it. But for me, I love beautiful things. I love beautiful food, beautiful smells, beautiful sounds, and beautiful environments. So naturally I try to create work that invites people into a space of beauty. I also try to capture the beauty of the people I photograph. And again, beauty is subjective. Sometimes people come into the studio wanting to wear a lot of makeup, but I often prefer to photograph people in a more raw way—without those layers, just as they are. At the same time, if that’s what someone needs in order to feel comfortable, I respect that. As for what beauty actually means to me—it’s hard to define. I think it’s partly about care and attention. But it’s also something that feels undeniable when you see it. I feel like there’s beauty in everyone I meet and in the world around me. In a way, my work is about helping people see that beauty.
BUHRMAN: Earlier you mentioned time. Do you think about time when you create—like the past or the future?
JONES: Do I think about time?
BUHRMAN: Yeah, like the past, the present, or the future?
JONES: Yeah, definitely. I think time plays a big role in my work. One thing this medium has revealed to me—because I feel like wet plate photography almost chose me—is that it carries a lot of historical weight. Wet plate photography is inherently a colonial medium. It was originally used by colonizers, and even today it’s largely dominated by white men who have access to the materials, chemistry, and equipment needed to practice it. So part of what I’m trying to do is create accessibility around it. I want to share resources, knowledge, and equipment. I try to offer affordable workshops and, when possible, free demonstrations. I don’t want to hold the knowledge close to my chest or charge ridiculous amounts of money for people to learn about it. At the same time, it’s a difficult balance because the process itself is very expensive. A lot of what I do is self-funded. I work my doula job and put that money directly into my art. Even the show I’m about to have next month is completely self-funded—the hotel isn’t providing any support. But honestly, I don’t know what else I would do with my time or money. I’m definitely starting to look more into grants and funding sources so that I’m not constantly stretched thin. When you’re always thinking about survival and finances, it can definitely weigh on your creative process. But time is very present in the work. I’m interested in merging the past, present, and future. I’m trying to create images that feel timeless—images that could exist in different eras. Part of that also involves questioning and reshaping narratives, identities, and archives as they exist today. I’m using this old, archaic photographic process in the modern era, which allows me to educate people about the origins of photography and the importance of materials, craftsmanship, and process. I think it’s important to understand where something comes from. There’s something powerful about bringing the past into the present and allowing different timelines to inspire each other through art, fashion, and other creative fields.
BUHRMAN: Yeah, when I saw your work, I was like, wow—I’ve never seen anything like this before. I was really interested to learn more about it, and I thought, I have to interview her.
JONES: Thank you. For me, that’s what success feels like—when someone says they’ve never seen anything like my work before. It means I’m making something that captures people’s attention and feels new or different. That’s really exciting to me. We’re so saturated with images and content all the time, so finding my flow within a medium that feels unique has been really meaningful. For many years I was just making black-and-white tintypes and trying to master the process. I was taking portraits that were beautiful, but they didn’t necessarily have a lot of depth or soul yet. I didn’t fully know what I was trying to say. So reaching a point where the work feels like it speaks for itself—where I can make an image and it has its own life—is really rewarding.
BUHRMAN: Your work is amazing and beautiful. I’ve honestly never seen anything like it before. Like I said, I had to interview you.
JONES: Thank you. I’m honored.
BUHRMAN: What do you think your work says about the time we’re living in right now?
JONES: I hope the work communicates the level of care and attention that I put into the process. My dedication to this craft and the way I practice it is really about slowing down, connecting, and being present. We live in a time that feels very fast and transactional. There’s often a lack of care—care for one another, for our environment, and even for the materials we use. In my practice, I try to be very mindful of the chemistry and the materials. I preserve and reuse things whenever possible. When I teach workshops, I also try to communicate that mindset—how to respect the materials and care for them rather than simply using and discarding them. When you spend hours focusing on making something with your hands, it forces you into a different state of being. It slows you down. Another part of the work is about helping people connect with each other. In my workshops, people often arrive as strangers but leave as friends because they’ve crossed a threshold together—they’ve photographed each other and shared an experience. So I hope the work spreads a message of care, connection, and intention.
BUHRMAN: What is something you’re still trying to understand or explore through your work?
JONES: I think it’s a very personal journey. I’m still grappling with ideas of success, resolution, and purpose—trying to understand what it is that I’m really doing and why. I feel like I have much more clarity now. I’m more embodied in what I’m saying and doing, and I’m able to move with more confidence and assurance in my work. I have a clearer sense of the themes I’m exploring and how to express them. But it’s also about staying present within the journey—checking in with myself and doing what I need to do in order to sustain the work. That also means learning how to take care of myself. At times I’ve been so dedicated to my work that I neglected my own physical and emotional well-being. I’ve poured so much energy into my art and into the people I work with, because the process itself is very intimate and vulnerable. So I’ve had to learn how to set boundaries—around time, energy, and preparation. I don’t want to spread myself so thin that I burn out. For a long time I had this pattern where I would burn out in New York, go back to Australia to recover, then return to New York and repeat the cycle. Eventually I realized that I wasn’t really practicing what I preach, which is care and restoration. So part of my journey has been learning what it actually means to sustain a creative practice and a life as an artist. It’s not a straightforward path.
BUHRMAN: Where do you see yourself in five years?
JONES: Hopefully I’ll be receiving more financial support that allows me to share my work on a larger scale. I’d love to create larger immersive exhibitions—both here and internationally. I’d also love to receive more support for teaching workshops and sharing my skills with others. Another goal is finding a stronger balance between life and work. I feel like I’m starting to get there, but there’s still room to grow. I also have bigger dreams. I’d love to eventually own a large space or home where artists can live, work, and collaborate together. I imagine it almost like a creative commune within the city.
BUHRMAN: That’s a great idea.
JONES: I feel like I’m already practicing that vision in the ways I can right now. With my exhibitions, I really want them to feel like offerings—spaces where people can come together and experience something meaningful. For example, the show I’m doing next month brings together friends from my community who are also incredible artists. I have a sound bath artist opening the night, a harpist performing, and a DJ playing, along with my photographic work and the audio installation. The idea is to create an environment where people can slow down, release, and experience something together. So in the next five years, my goal is really to find more sustainable ways of practicing and to create more balance in my life. Maybe I’ll also step into parenthood within the next five years. That’s something I’m definitely calling into my life. I think becoming a mother would be the next big and exciting project for me.
BUHRMAN: That’s really nice. How do you want to be remembered?
JONES: I want to be remembered as someone who truly cared and loved deeply—someone who was determined to live freely and help others find that same freedom. Whether that’s through helping someone feel joy during a photo session, or encouraging people to believe that their ideas are possible to realize, I hope I can inspire that kind of confidence in others. Ultimately, I want to be a living example of pursuing what you love and believe in, without letting other people tell you how it has to be done. I hope my commitment to my vision, my craft, and the way I live my life reflects that message.
BUHRMAN: Alright, this is the last question. What’s one piece of advice you would give to young artists or designers?
JONES: I would say listen to your heart and your intuition, and allow yourself to be guided by that. Learn how to trust yourself and believe that what you're doing is important, even if no one else can see it yet. If you find love, purpose, and fulfillment in something, continue to pursue that. Try not to look outside of yourself to compare your success with others. Instead, keep checking in with yourself and go inward. Follow your own path. Also, do the work. Show up every day and be consistent. Things won’t just come to you—you have to work for them. But there is also a real joy in that dedication and effort. I think in this generation people sometimes expect things to come quickly or easily, and sometimes they do. But most of the time you need to be committed and willing to sacrifice certain things. This path isn’t for everyone. There have definitely been moments where I’ve thought, “Oh my god, I just want someone to tell me what to do—go to a nine-to-five and come home and relax.” Being an artist is a 24/7 job. But I wouldn’t trade it for the world. The feeling of play, freedom, and excitement when you’re exploring ideas and creating something—whether by yourself or with others—is something no one can take away from you. And no one can really give it to you either. You have to find it for yourself. One of the hardest moments after leaving art school was realizing, “Oh shit, this is my journey.” I get to decide how I do it. But that realization also helped me become more in tune with myself and with what success means to me. There are many ways to get lost in the world by trying to be what you think you should be, or doing what you think you’re supposed to do. So I’d say trust yourself, stay committed, and try to have fun with it. I say that even though I put a lot of pressure on myself too—but it’s important to remember to keep some lightness in the process.