Welcome to this edition of [book spotlight]. Today, we uncover the layers of 'The 13th Spring,' by Aaron Hardin. We'd love to read your comments below about these insights and ideas behind the artist's work.

In this interview with Aaron Hardin, the creator of "The 13th Spring" (WebsiteShop, Amazon) offers an intimate glimpse into the heart of a deeply personal photographic journey. This project, emerging in the wake of unexpected life changes, captures the essence of parenthood against the vivid backdrop of the rural South. The conversation promises insights into the balance of beauty and sorrow, the significance of place, and the spontaneous nature of artistic creation. Readers are invited to discover the story behind the images, where each frame speaks to the complexities of life and the transformative power of observation.

Project Genesis: "The 13th Spring" was born out of personal circumstances surrounding the unexpected pregnancy of your wife. Can you share more about how this event influenced your decision to start this photographic project?

Honestly, I worked for over a year before I realized how much the pregnancy and birth of my first daughter were impacting my photographs. I was in graduate school at the time and had a short list of cultural commentaries that I thought were in my work. What I thought I was making wasn't the same as what I was actually making. One of the greatest gifts of graduate school was realizing that I am an intuitive photographer more so than a cerebral photographer. I work best by following my gut and letting my subconsciousness take the wheel, especially at the beginning of a work. So in some ways, I just kind of fell into the project. Rather, the work was revealing itself and I needed to take the time to look at my photographs and do what they were telling me to do. After about 18 months, I had a better understanding of the deep impact of my daughter's birth on how I perceived and reimagined my community. I realized that she would experience this place in a different, more pure way than me. This reality caused a shift within me, opening a tenderness in my photographs that I had not experienced prior to her birth. Being a parent is a constant struggle between fear and joy, dread and elation. 

Documenting Life’s Fragility: Your work is described as a lyrical document of life's fragility. How did you approach capturing both the joy and tragedy of new life in your photography?

I think photographs are just as much about the photographer and her or his beliefs as it is just about the content of the images. Since I was a child, I could never be too excited about a thing, because I always could see how the situation could quickly fall apart. It isn't the greatest way to live, but it is how my brain works. So when I make photographs, I'm constantly torn between joy and tragedy, having experienced the inevitability of both. It may sound cliche, but I don't think you can feel the depth of tragedy without the loss of something truly wonderful. In the same, I doubt a happiness that is fully detached from suffering. Isn't this our universal experience as people? As an artist, isn't this the most honest documentation of life? These are the things I'm drawn to with a camera. I don't mean to do it, it's just the things that speak to me.

Miracle and Mourning: The birth of your daughter is portrayed as both a miracle and a source of mourning for future pain. How do you balance these contrasting emotions within your visual narrative?

Finding balance in an image is challenging. I'm drawn to questions more than answers. When I see something that pulls me in, it is often because there is a delicate narrative conflict in the situation. I hate photographs that tell me what to think or believe. I want to question what I'm seeing. As a photographer, I don't see any point in making photographs that don't ask something of the viewer. A single photograph can be ambiguous, but a series allows for a more nuanced conflict between the sublime and the terrible. Photographs are fragmentary, so the edit and sequence of the book or gallery installation is key to building an underlying theme or emotion. In "The 13th Spring" the hope was to allow the viewer to slowly feel the growing anxiety of potential calamity, while still experiencing affection towards the subjects presented. Hopefully it is a slow build for the reader.

Influence of Southern Rural Life: Growing up in rural southern communities, how does this background shape the stories you choose to tell through your photographs, particularly in "The 13th Spring"?

I used to be embarrassed when I would show the work to people in New York or on the west coast, because I was often pegged as a southern photographer. I've often wondered how my work would change if I moved out of the south. The reality is I just tend to tell the types of stories I was told. I grew up in a part of America that is heavily impacted by Christian narratives filtered through the ghosts of Flannery O'Connor and William Faulkner. Hope and suffering are just part of the soil here. In the south, we are haunted by the cries of oppressed and enslaved peoples, poor share croppers, and slick-tongues preachers. It is the power of belief that allowed our ancestors to persevere through poverty, toil, and death. We've created stories to justify our sufferings, both earthy and spiritual. While I don't adhere to any of these traditions personally, I still hunt for meaning just past the veil of reality.

Photography as a Medium of Exploration: How has your work, especially "The 13th Spring," allowed you to explore and understand the complexities of human experience and emotion?

"The 13th Spring" was truly a meditative practice. The work forced me to reflect on my own presuppositions about my community and life. I wasted almost a decade complaining about being stuck in my town. My own jealousy of others' successes was a cage, and I directed much of my frustration and self-pity onto my community. In "The 13th Spring", the viewer can literally watch me grow in affection for my town and neighbors. The newness of life taught me a valuable lesson about perception. Your attitude about your position and place in the world can either illuminate or distort that perception. I grew to love my city. Rather, I learned to appreciate what was in front of me and see a magic that I'd overlooked for years. It is scary to think of how belief can slant one's understanding of a place or people. I hope that others are encouraged to value their lives and homes by seeing those fleeting moments of splendor.

The Role of Environment and Setting: In capturing the essence of "The 13th Spring," how did the environment and setting of West Tennessee contribute to the overall mood and themes of your work?

There isn't much to look at here in West Tennessee. It is mostly flat farmland with no defining features. We are far from the Appalachian Mountains and blocked off by the rolling muddy waters of the Mississippi River. Most of the people here are decedents of enslaved people or poor tenant farmers. The summers are miserably humid and hot while the winters are bitterly cold. Spring and fall are short but glorious. Life is measured by distinct seasons of life, growth, death, and rebirth. Year-round, there are brief moments of the most incredible light. The landscape is barely photographable until the sun dips low in the sky, revealing the glory hidden in the kudzu choked trees. It is almost like a portal to another place for those brief moments. I'm not sure if I am a romantic or an escapist, but when the light is just right, I forget where I am for a moment. It's all about the light. I've made countless photos in that light and it feels like magic every time. 

Impact on Viewers: What do you hope viewers take away from "The 13th Spring"? Is there a particular message or feeling you wish to convey through these intimate glimpses into life’s fragility?

I hope that "The 13th Spring" reminds people that they are not alone. I can't control how people feel about the work or what story they project onto the photos. But I do hope that they feel connected to me as the artist, reminding them that they are a part of a larger human story. I hope that they feel tenderness. I hope that they see their own anxieties in the work. Making the work was an effort in vulnerability, so I hope those efforts are received and shared. It is terrifying to make something and sending out into the world with no control over how it will be received, especially work so personal. Thankfully, I've had enough conversations with others to know that at least a few people have connected with the work. In the end, I feel honored that someone would live with my book or print, seeing it often and letting my story be a small part of their story. I think art reminds us of life's short but shared beauty.

Future Directions: Having created a deeply personal and impactful body of work with "The 13th Spring," are there new themes or projects you are currently exploring or plan to explore in the future?

Since "The 13th Spring", I've made several bodies of work, both inward and outward looking. I made a small body of work dealing with death in our family, as well as a work about the confusion and tension of my young family during the lockdown. Sometimes I'm drawn to broader social issues, like public education. Throughout these different works, I return to the same question - how do we open the doors of art to a broader audience of recipients? I live in a city that has very little access to the arts currently. I could have a show in New York, but what does it matter if my neighbor would never have a chance to experience it? So I'm torn as a practitioner to whether my energy should be put into my art or into creating systems of change for the community. I don't think the current framework of multimillion dollar metropolitan galleries and expensive art books is the way, despite loving both things. I come from working class people, so that is where my heart is. Moving forward, I want to find ways to make work not just about my place but for it. It isn't a model for a successful art career, but I don't believe art is just a commodity for retail sale. I'm still foolish enough to believe that art is for the people and can be a small weapon to combat the crushing feeling of life's

To discover more about this intriguing body of work and how you can acquire your own copy, you can find and purchase the book here. (WebsiteShop, Amazon)

Aaron Hardin (Website, Instagram), born in 1985, is a distinguished visual communicator and educator, shaping the next generation at Union University in Jackson, TN, as an Associate Professor. With an MFA from the Hartford Art School International Limited Residency Program secured in 2016, Hardin's work has not only been recognized with the prestigious Magnum Photo Fine Art Award but has also transcended borders, exhibiting across the US and internationally in Cuba, Germany, the UK, and Russia. His compelling narratives have captured the attention of esteemed publications like The New Yorker and The New York Times. "The 13th Spring," a project inspired by personal transformation and the nuances of rural southern life, showcases Hardin's intuitive photography style, marking a significant contribution to contemporary visual storytelling.