Todd Hido’s “The Light from Within”, presented in Arles, takes us into the misty landscapes of a suburban and rural America rarely shown. In these often desolate geographical in-between spaces, melancholy and beauty emerge, tinged with a mystery enhanced by blurring, darkness, and the artist’s characteristic color palette.
On this occasion, Blind has talked to the photographer.
Your work often captures moments of beauty in desolate landscapes. Can you describe the emotional journey you experience when photographing these seemingly abandoned places? What draws you to them?
Todd Hido : I’m often drawn to places that are far out and empty—there’s something about them that makes me feel comfortable. I’m particularly attracted to vast scenes where I can see long distances, especially in atmospheric conditions. These desolate landscapes offer a kind of solitude that really resonates with me.
You frequently shoot in challenging weather conditions and through your car windshield. How do these elements influence your creative process and the final image?
Yes, I love photographing through the window—it means letting go of control over what’s in focus or out of focus. Photography is sometimes about capturing accidents—things you may not have anticipated but the camera somehow catches. This unpredictability mirrors our own memory: some things remain sharp while others blur over time.
Your images exude a deep sense of melancholy, reinforced by blurring effects that create a timeless atmosphere that is both gentle and dark, almost hallucinatory. How would you describe your aesthetic?
I like the notion of them being lightly hallucinatory, but I also always want my pictures to feel like they really happened—like that’s genuinely what the scene looked like. I enhance existing colors or burn and dodge things digitally much like I used to in the darkroom. Changing small details to induce mood, while also preserving the boundaries of what is actually possible. I never add “blurring effects” after the fact, but rely on the natural effects of fog, rain, or snow; again, elements outside of my control.
These small details create the aesthetic. I remember a 1988 workshop with Roy DeCarava in the black and white darkroom. When I’d bring my prints out to the light, he’d almost always say, “Darker, Todd, make it darker.” I still often follow that advice.
But then again—there are lots of instances where I want it to be more straightforward and very sharp. As with most things it is about finding a good balance.
One immediately thinks of David Lynch’s films, whose narrative and aesthetic approach consists of revisiting the sites of an original trauma. What roles does your own memory play in your work?
Memory plays a huge role. I’m constantly finding places that remind me of where I grew up. It’s helpful that I can travel to different locations and still find that same feeling—that sense of revisiting the past. That’s what I seek out when making pictures, especially in books such as “Excerpts From Silver Meadows”, which was all about me examining my childhood from my adult perspective.
One of my greatest assignments was when Time Magazine sent me to North Bend, Washington, where much of Twin Peaks was filmed. It was perfect for me—lurking around making images with that feeling of complete darkness that comes from somewhere very deep within. That was the genius of David Lynch, to be able to show that we all walk around carrying bits of our own past, and that it’s those formative experiences—good and bad—that shape some of the strongest elements of our personalities.
“Another essential element that conveys emotion through photographs is color,” you say. How would you describe your use of color in “The Light from Within”, and more generally?
My use of color in this later work is absolutely a response to a world that seems to be getting more ominous daily. With a lot of my latest work I’ve consciously sought out light, photographing directly into the sun. That brightness and color palette is something I need right now.
Your landscapes often reflect a sense of passing time alongside an immutable feeling: trees that endure, walls that resist, but houses that also remain empty. Where does this paradoxical feeling come from?
Strangely, most of the houses I shoot at night from the exterior are occupied, even the ones that can look a little neglected. There is often a single light on in the homes. But that is what makes them so interesting to me. I do like the passage of time and the tension between constant entropy and the struggle of occupants to stay ahead of that wear and tear. I often photograph in the same neighborhoods and there is a fascination I have for seeing the changes.
The cinematic nature of your images invites viewers to interpret the stories behind them. What role do you think the viewer plays in completing the narrative of your images?
The viewer plays one of the most important parts—I think that’s true with any art form. I’ve said before that “the meaning of the image resides in the viewer”, and even though I have my own narrative interpretation for an image in my mind, I love the malleable nature of how different people can read the same image.
The themes of connection and resilience are present in your work. How do you think art can foster these qualities at a time when many people feel isolated or overwhelmed?
Art can absolutely bring people together. My work reflects what I see happening in the world—and I agree—there are many feelings of being overwhelmed and isolated. In some of my pictures, light literally becomes my subject, and ideally that light can serve as a source of hopefulness for the viewer, and certainly for me as well.
You are both a photographer and a photobook collector. How does this duality enrich your understanding of art and inform your work?
I’ve been picking up photobooks that I could afford since I was 18 years old, starting with used or remaindered books under ten dollars. Over the years, it’s become to me an incredible working reference library—I organize them by genre: portrait, landscape, conceptual, etc. This allows me to discover photographers working in similar areas but in completely different ways. The books get used well and exposed to sun and often left open to a spread for weeks and months—they’re not meant to be these pristine, untouchable objects, but sources of historical reference or inspiration.
I have found it is very good to surround yourself with things that inspire you.
Looking ahead, what themes or ideas do you feel the need to explore in your future work?
I’ve always been deeply interested in vernacular photography and ephemera. More and more I find mixing these found images within my own work to create narrative—or something more indexical—is a true pleasure. I find it can add a layer of richness and context to the images I make. Maybe it has to do with getting older, having more life experience than when I was in my twenties, but I find vernacular photography so engaging exactly because it shows how universal all of our struggles and interests can be. No matter the country or time period, people want to hold up their new babies to the camera, or photograph their prized possessions, their friends, along with their joy and accomplishments. In a time of deep divisiveness, there’s something very comforting in that reminder of our collective humanity.
Discover Todd Hido’s exhibition “The Light from Within” at the Espace Van Gogh during the Rencontres de la photographie d’Arles festival from July 7 to October 5, 2025.
