We’re excited to introduce you to the always interesting and insightful Rachel Wolf. We hope you’ll enjoy our conversation with Rachel below.

Rachel , looking forward to hearing all of your stories today. It’s always helpful to hear about times when someone’s had to take a risk – how did they think through the decision, why did they take the risk, and what ended up happening. We’d love to hear about a risk you’ve taken.

One significant risk I took was transitioning from traditional photography to becoming a cameraless photographer. Stepping out from behind the camera, which is typically the central focus of photography, I decided to explore the medium from the perspective of light and chemistry so as to focus on the raw, unmediated interaction between materials. This decision opened up a whole new world of creative possibilities.

It all began while I was working on my college thesis, where I was deeply involved in a large documentary project. I was printing six-foot photographs in the darkroom—a technically demanding process that required me to work from midnight to 9am, as the size of the prints required precise control over the enlarger, light exposure, and chemistry, all while working in a confined space. The school darkroom lacked the space to accommodate such large prints, so I improvised by converting a classroom into a makeshift darkroom. I covered the floor in plastic and stacked desks to position the enlarger far enough from the floor to project the image at the desired size. One night, amidst a series of frustrating technical issues, I decided to blow off some steam and I created a photogram of my body by lying on the photo paper. At the time, I didn’t think much of it, but looking back, I see it as the foundation for a new artistic exploration.

A few years after graduation, I was living in New York City and working as a freelance photographer. One of my gigs involved assisting fashion photographers, but I found myself uninspired by conventional methods. I began reflecting on portraiture and how we perceive it, which brought me back to the photogram I had created in college. This inspired me to investigate the human form through the cameraless process. I started creating photograms in my apartment, using myself and my friends as subjects. My friends were often intrigued and excited to participate, bringing their own energy and creativity to the process. Their reactions and movements added a collaborative layer to the work, making each piece a unique dialogue between artist and subject. These experiments excited me because they captured the essence of my subjects in a direct, unmediated way.

I developed these images in my studio apartment by taping them up in my shower and applying the chemistry with mops. This unconventional method added texture and brushstrokes, giving the images an additional dimension. Over the years, this process completely consumed my artistic focus. Today, my cameraless work has evolved to explore both color and black-and-white processes, each offering unique qualities: color processes allow for vibrant, layered compositions that evoke emotion and energy, while black-and-white processes emphasize contrast, texture, and the stark interplay of light and shadow. I focus on the alchemy of light and chemical reactions, as well as the interaction of objects and people on the photographic paper. This journey has been a natural evolution, deepening my connection to my work.

Looking back, I see how my interests and instincts gradually built up to this unique way of creating. A crucial part of this journey was letting go of preconceived notions about what I should do and instead embracing what I was truly drawn to. This shift in mindset has been transformative, allowing me to fully pursue the work that resonates most deeply with me. It took courage to embrace this unconventional path, but it has led me to work that fulfills and excites me. The quiet realizations and moments of clarity along the way allow me to disrupt my preconceived notions of what I want to do and pursue a direction that feels authentic and exhilarating. Through this process, I’ve been able to communicate with people about their ways of seeing, pushing the boundaries of traditional photography. For instance, I once exhibited a series of photograms that led viewers to question the absence of a camera in capturing such intimate details. One attendee shared how the raw immediacy of the images transformed their understanding of what photography could be, shifting their focus from technology to the essence of light and form.

This unconventional approach challenges traditional boundaries and invites viewers to see the world differently, opening up new pathways of seeing and appreciating. It’s incredibly exciting and, to me, absolutely worth the risk.

Rachel , love having you share your insights with us. Before we ask you more questions, maybe you can take a moment to introduce yourself to our readers who might have missed our earlier conversations?

I was born and raised in Alaska, where the stark contrasts of light and darkness shaped my artistic identity. Growing up under the expansive northern sky and witnessing the aurora borealis instilled a lifelong fascination with light—not just as a medium, but as a subject with its own transformative power. Light, for me, is an archetype, a metaphor, and a tangible material that connects us to something greater. This profound connection has become the cornerstone of my practice.

My work transcends traditional photography, pushing the boundaries of what a photograph can be. I focus on cameraless photography, or liminagraphy—a term I use to describe my exploration of the threshold where light and alchemy meet to create tangible matter. Working in my darkroom, I engage directly with photographic materials such as paper and film, using light sources, objects, and chemical agents to craft intricate evolving compositions. Through this process, I’m not just capturing fleeting moments but collaborating with the elements of light and chemistry to bring something entirely new into being.

What sets my work apart is its defiance of the conventional photographic “instant.” Traditional photography often freezes a single moment in time, but my process expands that moment into a layered narrative of transformation. Time, temperature, order, and duration all become collaborators, shaping the final image in ways I cannot entirely control. Each piece is a record of its own creation—a dynamic interplay between light, chemistry, and intention.

Chemical reactions play a vital role in this alchemical process. By layering photographic paper and exposing it to various chemicals, I initiate a dance of chromatic transformations. Colors emerge, shift, and evolve, creating textures and patterns that feel otherworldly yet grounded in the natural phenomena they reflect. These interactions are inherently unpredictable, and I’ve learned to embrace the surprises they bring. Each piece is a testament to the delicate balance of control and surrender, of intention and chance. It’s an ongoing conversation between me and the materials, where “happy accidents” can lead to entirely new artistic directions.

My process is physical and immersive. I’ve transformed my two-car garage into a custom darkroom with a 14’x5’ sink, allowing me to create large-scale works. I use custom rigs, magnetic walls, clamps, and even a guitar pedal to control light exposure while keeping my hands free. Depending on the piece, I might work in complete darkness or red light, orchestrating objects and light in a way that feels like conducting a symphony. It’s a practice that requires patience, intuition, and a willingness to listen to the work as it evolves.

At its heart, my practice is a form of modern alchemy. Beyond capturing fleeting moments of light, I transform its ephemeral qualities into physical artifacts. This act of turning light into matter is a powerful statement about perception and reality. Light is invisible until something interrupts it, and my work seeks to make that interruption visible—to capture the movement of light and its interaction with materials, creating something entirely new and tangible.

I invite viewers to pause and reconsider the nature of photography and perception. In a world where we are constantly bombarded by images, I create pieces that encourage a slower, more contemplative engagement. By embracing the fluidity of light and the transformative power of chemistry, my work embodies the transient beauty of existence while preserving it in a form that feels both timeless and immediate.

Through my art, I challenge expectations, push boundaries, and explore the interplay of impermanence and preservation. I create a dialogue between perception and reality, encouraging viewers to see light—not just as a tool for vision, but as a force of transformation—and to reconnect with the fleeting, often unnoticed beauty in their own lives.

For those encountering my work, I want them to know that it’s rooted in passion, curiosity, and a deep respect for the mysteries of light and introspection. It’s more than the finished pieces; it’s an invitation to explore, to feel, and to connect with the ever-evolving interplay of light, time, and transformation.

Have you ever had to pivot?

There have been a few pivotal moments in my career, but the one constant has always been my desire for dialogue and connection—to share and create meaningful experiences with others. Early on, I worked as a freelance photographer, exploring various avenues of photography. While I hadn’t found a passion for the commercial side, I had fallen in love with cameraless photography. During this period, I made a significant move across the country to Portland, OR, initially considering graduate school. Instead, I shifted my focus and took a job in finance.

To my surprise, I found the work incredibly stimulating. It engaged a completely different part of my brain, and I enjoyed the creative problem-solving, the travel, and the opportunity to help people. However, the demands of the job left little time for photography, and over the years, I began to feel unfulfilled.

It was around this time that I started having a recurring dream—a vivid, almost cinematic vision of a hidden darkroom. Night after night, I would dream of sneaking into a warehouse, climbing through a trap door into a secret space where I immersed myself in photography. Sometimes the dream would evolve to include a school where I was teaching, but the darkroom itself remained constant. It felt so real, and after having this dream for over a year, I couldn’t ignore what my subconscious was telling me: I needed to make photography my focus again.

Making that pivot was daunting. I was leaving a secure career to follow a creative path that felt uncertain. But a dear friend’s words stayed with me: “If it ain’t scary, it ain’t worth doing.” I realized I had been holding myself back with stories about failure, money, and missed opportunities—self-imposed rules that had no basis in reality. One of those stories was the belief that if I didn’t go to graduate school by 30, it would be too late. That dream helped me let go of those fears and take the leap.

I applied to graduate school, not expecting much, but then I was accepted. Taking that step felt like jumping off a cliff, but it turned out to be the best decision I ever made. Now, I’m a professor of photography, spending my days in the darkroom exploring the interplay of light and material.

Looking back, I see how both pivots—into finance and back into photography—were exactly what I needed. My time in finance taught me invaluable lessons about running a business and financial literacy, skills I now pass on to my students. I encourage them to pursue their art but also to learn practical skills like accounting and entrepreneurship. These experiences remind me that the stories we tell ourselves aren’t set in stone; we have the power to rewrite them and manifest the lives we want.

Learning and unlearning are both critical parts of growth – can you share a story of a time when you had to unlearn a lesson?

I’ve always been a thinker and a doer, constantly caught up in the cycle of making work, thinking about where to show it, how to sell it, who might buy it, and if anyone will even notice it. That constant drive to push my work out into the world felt like the only way to be successful. After all, how else would people find me and my work? But over time, I realized that this endless pushing wasn’t always serving me—it was pulling me away from the heart of my creative process.

Being an exhibiting artist requires wearing so many hats: creator, marketer, accountant, agent, social media manager. All of these roles are important, but they can cloud the view, making it easy to lose sight of what truly matters. For a long time, I was consumed with trying to get my work seen, endlessly strategizing about how to fit into the art world’s structures. But in doing so, I forgot to nurture the passion that led me to create in the first place.

The lesson I had to unlearn was that success isn’t about relentless effort or constant visibility—it’s about staying grounded in the work itself. I had to learn to trust that what I create is enough, that it will resonate with the world when the time is right. This doesn’t mean I’ve stopped promoting my work, but my approach has shifted. I’ve let go of the frantic energy and replaced it with a sense of clarity and intention. Instead of chasing every opportunity, I listen to what feels right, aligning my decisions with my passion and the deeper resonance of my work.

At its core, passion is what connects us to others. It’s what makes someone stop and truly engage with a piece of art. In a world oversaturated with images and distractions, how do you get someone to pause for more than a few seconds? The answer lies in the energy you pour into the work, the emotions and sensory depth that emerge when you create from a place of authenticity. Passion attracts passion, and when you’re fully present with your work, it shows.

Ultimately, I’ve learned to silence the mental chatter and return to the heart of why I create. What am I feeling? What do I want to communicate? What do I want to explore? By grounding myself in these questions, I can tap into a deeper presence—one that permeates the work and creates a connection that’s more profound than any strategic plan ever could. The gift isn’t just the work itself; it’s the act of making it with love and intention. That’s enough. And when I focus on that, the rest has a way of falling into place.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://www.rachelwolf.com
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/rachelwolfstudio/
• Other: https://www.illuminatedloveoracle.com
  This is the website for the oracle deck I made

Image Credits

Rachel Wolf