A conversation with Jeremy Johnson about telling the stories of tradespeople and a changing marine industry
If you’ve been following JCHS closely this year, you know that we launched a new website in March. One of our principal hopes with that project was to represent the breadth of exciting work we do and the many ways we bring people together to engage with our region’s incredible arts and heritage. If we succeeded, it’s not hyperbolic to say that owes a great deal to the photography of Jeremy Johnson.
We had the fortune of working with Jeremy in 2022—first with a commission to create black and white artist portraits for a museum exhibition showcasing some of our incredible local woodworking talent. We knew we needed to build a library of photos of our programming throughout the year and we had such a great experience working with Jeremy on our Wood exhibition that he was our top pick for the job. He totally delivered and we couldn’t be happier with the photos he created for us.
In addition to being tremendously talented, we consider Jeremy a kindred spirit. He’s spent countless hours learning from and photographing tradespeople in our community and specifically in Port Townsend’s boatyard. What has he observed in all that time? You’ll have to keep reading to hear it in his words, but the short answer is that a lot is changing, and marine industries are no exception. Many working waterfronts have capsized under the pressures of gentrification, an aging workforce that’s starting to retire, and a climate that’s altering the very nature of our oceans. Many boatyards have shuttered as a result—rendering Port Townsend’s maybe not the last of its kind (yet), but certainly a standout for how intact it is.
Jeremy was kind enough to share thoughtful responses to some questions from our Development Coordinator Jackie Brennan. The resulting Q&A covers topics like craft, making a career leap, what he considers the biggest threat to the longevity of marine trades, the singular motivational power of chocolate chip cookies, and so much more. We hope you enjoy what he had to say as much as we did.
I think we’ll have a lot of folks reading this on JCHS’s website who already know and admire your work. But for the uninitiated, how would you summarize all the creative endeavors you have going these days?
Well, first of all, thank you for the opportunity to write about my work and of course for the amazing opportunities with JCHS! To answer your question, my North Star is to promote working waterfronts by sharing the stories of people involved with them. Using my craft as a visual communicator, I’ve chosen still photography and, more recently, filmmaking to accomplish that goal.
Your path to being able to focus more and more of your time and energy on telling the stories of marine trades strikes me as pretty unique. Something you once shared that’s really stuck with me is why you prize an analog/physical storytelling experience over digital and how your years as a technologist have shaped that. You’ve probably told your “origin story” (if you will) a lot at this point, but can you walk us through that journey from being a full-time consultant to a full-time storyteller?
Addressing the first point: Why analog? My career as a technologist showed me the short life span of our digital reality. Images seen on social media like Instagram seemed to pass through consciousness with such volume and speed that it feels more like noise than a meaningful experience.
Shooting film and producing a printed magazine was an effort to put something into the world that would last more than a second. The beauty of physical media, like a magazine, is that it can be looked over, forgotten, found again, stained with coffee, and passed down through friends.
For the second question, regarding the journey from full-time consultant to full-time storyteller: I knew it was my life’s purpose since at least 2008 but was too scared and too comfortable to make the transition.
Right before the pandemic, I significantly tightened my budget and started saving for a year-long photography-focused sabbatical, to be enjoyed in 2025. Without getting into the gruesome details, by winter of 2022, I had become completely burned out with work, depressed, and personally and professionally lost. Grasping for anything that looked like a way to dig myself out of that hole, I cashed out my sabbatical funds and decided to give this profession a serious effort. To be honest, I’m still at the point in this journey where I keep waiting for the work to go dry and the ride to be over.
One of the reasons JCHS feels a real kinship with your work is your sense of clarity and urgency around recording history as it’s unfolding in a moment of rapid change. I’m sure you could write an essay or a full-blown book on this subject, but can you give us the basics on how marine industries are changing and why documenting them now is so important?
From what I’ve seen and heard, the main themes in the changing marine industries are the Grey Tsunami—the retirement of an entire generation of maritime-related workers; gentrification or privatization of working waterfronts; actual discussions about gender equality and inclusivity; and the first seeds to electrify the fleet.
The themes that have motivated much of my urgency are related to workforce housing and global warming. The first, as a tenant in Port Townsend, is always on my mind—living in this community is not a given.
I view the housing crisis as the clear and present danger to the longevity of our marine trades. If we don’t figure this out as a community, we’ll be facing the tragic consequence of squeezing out our tradespeople due to a lack of housing—people who’ve spent a better part of their lives committed to their craft and community.
My intention has been to use storytelling to document and promote the marine trades. The camera acts as a witness, and the image can serve as a collective memory to remind us who we are, and who we were. I also believe that the work, the project itself, can act as a reminder that our trades communities are worth preserving for the health of our greater community. I like to believe that my contribution is a little like a finish worker who touches up the bright work each year—it doesn’t look like much in the grand scheme of a boat, but it makes all the difference.
We’ve been fans of yours for a while now and we had the chance to work with you a lot last year. Beyond taking a lot of great photos for us, you captured the tenor and energy of what we do and how we bring people together really effectively–and in still images, no less! Whenever you’re entering a space or event on assignment, do you have a standard approach or process you run through that helps you capture the tone of an experience in the photos you take?
Lots of prayers and sacrifices are made for favorable light beforehand! Once I’m in the environment, I’m checking to see if my prayers have been answered: What is the light quality? What can I do with this quality of light? Then I start to think about backgrounds. Once I have a sense of the background and the light, I start to pick out places to compose the subject(s) with the best light and background possible. This year, I’m working harder to incorporate more foreground elements and playing with the edges of the frame.
Another approach I take is related to story. What is happening in this scene, and what elements can I combine into a single frame that best tells a complete story? Then, of course, floating around in my head after all these years are also all the “rules” of photography like composition and camera operation.
Earlier this year, you shared something on social media about the photos you created for us and noted that some locations were more challenging than others to work in. It made me curious to know about some of the more challenging assignments you’ve had overall. Is there a particular location or situation that comes to mind where you really had to stretch your skills and find another gear to create good images?
Haha, yes! Overhead fluorescents and a hazy midday summer sun are my nemeses! At a workshop last spring, I asked Joe McNally (a prominent photographer who’s photographed multiple cover stories for National Geographic) about his approach to photographing in a large warehouse-like environment with overhead fluorescents. His answer? “Oof. Yeah, that sucks.”
The two most challenging JCHS assignments for me last year were the Research Center open house and the History Hike. With the Research Center, it was overhead fluorescents, confined spaces, and lots of angular geometry in the form of shelves, boxes, frames, tables, and drawers. To address those challenges, I used more off-camera flash to direct the viewer’s eye toward the intended subject and stretched my brain to figure out how to resolve all the rectangles without making them a flat background.
Midday sun works for some subjects and styles but tends not to be very flattering for people. The History Hike on Indian Island with David Brownell was the other challenging assignment. If it wasn’t blazing sun, it was dappled forest light—both of which tend to give cameras a difficult time balancing the highlights and shadows. I hate to say it, but it was on this day I was grateful for high-quality, professional gear. My camera allowed me to better balance the highlights and shadows. Combined with a great lens like the 70-200mm f/2.8 and a polarizing filter, I was able to cut down on the haze and reduce reflections on the water. A telephoto lens with a large aperture can compress the scene by making the subjects appear closer to each other than they were while also making the background blurry and the subjects stand out. The History Hike was a day when I knew my professional-grade gear was paying for itself. I try hard to stay away from the gear debates, but sometimes it really does make a difference.
Who has been your favorite client to work with and why is it JCHS?! Just kidding. 😆 But more seriously, you have worked with some pretty cool clients. Tell us about some of them–what’s been most interesting or rewarding about working with some of these folks?
The best clients for me are always the ones who say, “Do what you do, but for us.” There’s little to no art direction, the assignments are aligned with work I enjoy doing, and the client has a budget that matches the value of the art they receive. JCHS was the first client to approach me because of my work with the marine trades. The portrait of Ernie Baird inspired the commission of several black and white portraits for the 2022 Wood exhibition at the museum.
Another partner I’ve really enjoyed working with is Maritime Washington National Heritage Area (Maritime Washington, for short). Their Program Director, Alex Gradwohl, approached me about producing stories around Washington State to promote the working waterfronts of the National Heritage Area. The first set of stories were done last fall in Westport, with many more being planned for this year.
Based on some of the reflections you’ve shared online, I can tell that you read and think about the role of a creative person even in verité/nonfiction storytelling. Do you have a personal philosophy around that or any influences you’d cite who have shaped your thinking?
Because my work around the trades has been focused on people, I’ve been less interested in the boats and more interested in the soft sciences of sociology and cultural anthropology. Shop Class as Soulcraft by Matthew Crawford was a gateway to understanding the allure of a career in the skilled trades. Following Crawford’s footnotes and references led me down a research path that included T.J. Jackson Lears’s No Place of Grace (a dense book, but the parallels the author draws between the late 19th century Victorian Era and the early 21st century are striking). For anyone working on a documentary project, research is one of the most critical components. The research guides the questions you ask, the conversations you have, and the work you produce. Without the research, you’re more like a tourist.
To name a few friends and mentors that have had some of the greatest impacts on me: Photographer David duChemin was an early influence in teaching that “Gear is good, vision is better.” Betty Udesen, a retired photojournalist, encouraged me to seek out important stories closer to home rather than abroad. Chris Parkes has been the friend that picked me up from a depression, dusted me off, and gave gentle encouragement during the switch to full-time photography.
I get the impression that you always have a lot of irons on the fire and I’m sure there are so many fits and starts to every long-term project before anybody gets to see the outcome. What keeps you inspired when the process is slow, complex, or even frustrating?
I have a special neurosis for long bouts of suffering with little to no reward at the end, especially when there are easier options. I was in the Marines, volunteered with Olympic Mountain Rescue, and ran a few ultra-distance marathons. So, doing things the hard way is kind of my M.O. But this past year, I decided to take it easy on myself and quit my tech job to become a full-time photographer.
Chocolate chip cookies keep me motivated—especially Anca’s cookies at the Food Co-op (let me know before you publish this so I can stock up!).
To be honest and vulnerable, my deep dive into craftsmanship was also an attempt to figure out why I couldn’t stick with one thing for very long. The kind of long-term focus I saw in many of the tradespeople is a trait I’ve envied for most of my life. A recent diagnosis of ADHD gave me a more complete understanding and frankly, a complete recontextualization of my life story from middle school onwards.
What keeps me inspired with maritime-related work is the community. For years, I’ve often used a stroll through the boatyard to cheer myself up. There are so many amazing people I’ve had the privilege of working with, learning from, and calling my friends. It’s never difficult to work on a project that I feel may help my friends and community.
What’s the best compliment you can give to somebody working in multimedia storytelling? And on the flip side, what’s the most meaningful compliment you’ve been given for your work?
We’ve all seen millions, maybe billions of created and curated images. So, it’s the photos that give me pause, that stop me in my mental tracks and force me to confront what the artist is saying with their work. The best compliment I could probably give would be something along the lines of, “I could feel the work. It’s going to stay with me for some time.”
Sometimes a work becomes iconic instantly, and sometimes it takes a while to seep into the public consciousness. My goal is to create those photos that become iconic or emblematic of a person, place, or feeling—the ones we collectively return to again and again as examples. I find it inspirational when others accomplish that.
The most meaningful compliments are the ones that reflect on a positive experience with the process of being photographed or my presence in their space. I try really hard to be the person you don’t mind having in your personal or working space and that people feel comfortable being open and vulnerable around. I don’t have a lot of control over how the actual work is received, so I don’t give that part much of my emotional energy. I also keep in mind that my audience includes those (hopefully!) 100 years in the future.
Back in April, you unveiled a new collaboration with Tyler Rowe and Samuel Wolfe. How did you all get connected? What’s your hope with Fishboat Media and how can folks support it?
Yes! Photography is my first love, but I’ve been drawn to the storytelling power of moving images for some time. Filmmaking is a team effort, and I’ve been on the lookout for a collaborator with too much free time that I could pay in compliments. It’s a rough hiring pool. But, luckily for me, Tyler walked through the door on a warm fall afternoon to geek out about cameras. Rather than do that, I immediately took him down to the Shipwright’s Co-op where he could hear the incessant tink of caulking mallets smacking the irons, smell roasting halibut schooners, and experience the never-ending sand blasting operation that vibrated everyone’s fillings out of place. Once the on-site interview was over, I paid him a compliment and he was hooked!
Even Tyler has his limits though, and he knew that Samuel was a sucker for editing beautiful footage and worked for free. Also, Samuel knows loads more about filmmaking than me and I suspect Tyler wanted a tiebreaking vote to overrule my unreasonable requests.
Shortly after we formed, we had an amazing opportunity to submit a response to Maritime Washington’s RFP to produce several videos. Then, we were selected! (Did it help that our Zoom interview was in the pilot house of a 110-year-old halibut schooner while picking up frozen salmon bait for another fishing season?) (Editor’s note: It probably didn’t hurt.)
Our hope is for Fishboat Media to become a sustainable video production company that specializes in stories related to marine environments. We’re pretty busy for the next few months, but we’re actively looking for work in the fall and winter.
Something we’re fond of saying is that we try to inspire folks with the arts, heritage, and stories of this region that inspires us–as sort of our small way of continuing the karmic cycle. You’re a long-time Pacific Northwest resident and are clearly very rooted in the stories, cultures, and communities of this region. What inspires you about our corner of the world? What about it continues to feed your curiosity and imagination?
Born and raised! When I lived in Port Angeles, my house was just feet from a trail system into Olympic National Park. There was a small section of trail I ran nearly every day, year-round at the foot of the mountains. It became a part of me and I, a part of it.
For most of my life, my soul was drawn to the mountains—always daydreaming of high alpine adventures. And like that section of trail, I spent quite a bit of time exploring the peaks, ridges, snowfields, and cliffs of the Olympic Mountains. I know them. I know how they feel in every season, in every weather, and in every mood. Those mountains have been a source of tragedy and triumph throughout my life. They are mine, and I am theirs.
Only in the past few years have I turned my eyes toward the water—looking forward to learning from the ocean, its intertidal geography, and the people who are as much a part of the sea as I feel I’m part of the mountains. To immerse myself in this new environment feels like the natural story arc to being of this Pacific Northwest landscape.
Keep up with Jeremy’s projects by visiting his website and giving him a follow on Instagram. You can also visit Fishboat Media’s website to keep up with his new collaboration.