Kristopher Marius Johnson

Born and raised in Wisconsin and spending the majority of my adolescence on a 360-acre farm, I don’t remember ever not having a camera, from the brick-like Kodak 110s to the instants, disks, disposables, my own Pentax K1000 like the one I used in the high school class where Mr. Blegen taught us how to develop and print our own pictures, to the Nikons I primarily use now, and what’s apparently destined to be an endless series (sighs with resignation) of point-and-shoots that fit in my pocket and are just fun - and yes, I mean in addition to my phone. There are 20-minute drives in my area that I’ve made literally thousands of times that might still take me an hour and a half if the light is especially beautiful, or the fall colors are at their peak, or some raccoons are playing in a field along the road - because I can’t get a mile without having to stop and take another picture. When something plays that big of a role with no special attention, it’s natural to take it up a level, even if it takes decades to get there.

This is the next level. It’s never too late, and I will always argue the value in introducing something new - or engaging with something old in a new way. This is at least my seventh in a succession of lives too frequently driven by credits and debits rather than by purpose and passion. It turns out all can coexist and feed different areas of life and soul. Those I love and trust have said enough times that I should share my photos that I finally listened. I hope you enjoy them.