Josh Hight’s photographic style is rooted in learnings from nature, isolation and the occult, resulting in imagery which offers more questions than answers. Artfully shot and beautifully distorted, the viewer is placed in a position to create their own definition of what they are seeing. The Detroit-born, London-based photographer has shot for brands such as Fendi, Margaret Howell and Sunspel, while the list of talent who have stood before his lens is endless, including the likes of Emma D’Arcy, Alan Moore and Thomas Brodie-Sangster in HERO 27.

Hight’s latest book, One for Sorrow turns his lens inward as he paints a delicate portrait of grief and loss. Having lost both his father and brother decades apart, the grieving process is something the photographer has faced head-on and addresses the binary reputation of recovery as something, “one always feels the need to be on the right side of.” Taking inspiration from his own dreams during periods of heightened emotion alongside the symbiotic relationship which exists between light and dark, the carefully curated work remains distinctly Hight in style while thematically exploring a universal experience. Articulating something which will affect us all, Hight’s collection of images traverses the varying degrees of sorrow and grief, most importantly accentuating the idea emotions are anything but linear. 

Ella Joyce: How do you go about turning personal experiences into art? Does it differ from your usual creative process?
Josh Hight: I push my creative ideas as far as I can, almost to a state of dislike, leaving me with clarity about what I want to develop or abandon. I usually work very quickly and intuitively as it aids my process immensely, but with this series, I worked over the course of two and a half years taking time away from aspects to let go and look objectively.

EJ: Grief and loss are universal experiences yet felt so differently by every individual. How would you describe your personal experience with grieving and recovery from loss?
JH: Ongoing. I lost my brother when I was twelve and he was nineteen. He took his own life and when that happened a part of me was lost forever. When I was caring for my father, close to his death, I began thinking about making work based around the idea and thematic complexities of grief and loss – recovery had not yet entered into the picture. One of the central characters in the book is developed from a reoccurring dream I was having at that point in my life. A figure building structures of emotional walls, moving from site to site, leaving sadness behind, I used that vision as a centre point for this series. Recovery is a funny idea, it seems such a binary word one always feels the need to be on the right side of.

EJ: How did creativity during that time act as an emotional outlet?
JH: Making work which is solely about my own experiences and in my own timeframe is incredibly rewarding and has given me a lot of perspective on how I want to push my work and life forward. Grief is a cycle with no beginning or end, only a cycle which feeds itself into development or disintegration. Consuming myself with a poetic identity of grief has helped me to work through these visions of suffocation and hardships. I guess I’m still grieving.

“One of the central characters in the book is developed from a reoccurring dream I was having at that point in my life.”

“I find great comfort in dark-themed art, film and music now and almost exclusively consume it – a reminder to me that dark and light share the same edges…”

EJ: What experiences or creative influences helped form your photographic style?
JH: As a kid I was in awe of my older brother and his friends. They would let me watch super gnarly horror films with them like Faces of Death – Jeff gave me little nerf balls to put over my eyes if I got scared. I’d listen as they spoke total shit about heavy metal bands and how they would hang crosses upside down in their rooms in acts of rebellion, it was all very 1980s Midwestern teen stuff. When Jeff died, the darkest of dark was no longer film or music, it was our suburban crumbly fuck of a life. I find great comfort in dark-themed art, film and music now and almost exclusively consume it – a reminder to me that dark and light share the same edges – one is always in the other. My personal work is inspired by the occult and esoteric.

“When Jeff died, the darkest of dark was no longer film or music, it was our suburban crumbly fuck of a life.”

EJ: The book is beautifully curated and really tells a story, how did you go about forming that narrative when choosing the final images?
JH: Thank you very much, the book has had several very hard edits. The first version I showed was to Brian Griffin, my friend and photographic idol. He got halfway through, looked up at me and said, “It’s too long.” I love harsh criticism, it boils my blood and helps me confront my truths. I took a long time away from the images and when I went back the standouts presented themselves. In a funny way, caring less sometimes helps clear the path.

EJ: What message do you hope people take away from One for Sorrow?
JH: I hope people can see beauty in the darkness and see my cathartic journey.

On view at 15 Bateman St, W1D 3Aq until November 26th, One for Sorrow is available to purchase here.