The romance of a New York beach is not lost, even during a mundane winter. The sun scribbles beams on dull blue waves and iridescent specs of sand dust the empty shores. For Felix Walworth of Told Slant, the enchantment of a winter beach lives within fishermen on the docks who sport oversized faded jeans, bright orange gloves and who will spend eight hours waiting. On February days, Felix would wander around the edges of docks with their Kodak Portra 400 film camera. Both Felix and the reclusive fishermen would spend the entirety of the day waiting for the perfect moment.
“I think I like that they’re obsessed. I’m obsessed with photography to the point where I’m going out to the beach in 30 degree weather to take pictures,” explained Felix. Both Felix’s and the fishermen’s obsessions are fueled by the process of anticipation. The stakes of capturing either fish or photo exist in a singular, potent moment that punctures the waiting.
After years of taking notoriously blurry iPhone photos on tour, Felix decided to reclaim the art of photography using their mom’s deserted Nikon camera. Before the beaches and the fishermen and their catches of the day, Felix had spent a year capturing things they knew they didn’t have to wait for. In February of 2020, they began crouching on the curbs of Brooklyn sidewalks shooting hubcaps and crowded flowers.
In March, the city’s motionless tapestries became ubiquitous. Every corner of New York was steeped in stillness. The pandemic ensnared us in a static world where each action was intentional. “It was this reason to venture out into the world and this thing to document. The world looks totally different than I’ve ever seen it,” Felix described. Life was temporarily existing in the margins. Felix photographed what was left in the gaps: an abandoned subway station, pigeons flooding intersections, a squirrel enjoying solitude.
The camera became a portal through which Felix saturated empty hues of the city. A symbiotic relationship: they gave purpose to a forgotten camera and abandoned streets while photography allotted them a creative outlet beyond the realm of music.
In their late teens, Felix started playing music, establishing this identity for themselves. There was always an expectation for them to produce; they’ve cemented a distinct sound, dedicated fans and immense support within DIY communities throughout the years. However, making music in an industry rooted in community still left room to feel incompetent amongst peers. In comparison to photography, there’s no competition. It simply exists as a pleasantry, like drawing on a restaurant napkin.
“[Photography] just feels like this sort of sandbox,” Felix told us. “I’m in this playful space when I’m shooting. There are no expectations. There’s no attachment to ego or anything or even anything about myself.”
Photography isn’t calculated like creating music might be for Felix. While both music and photography require notes of experimentation and surprise, Felix’s pictures don’t try to fit into something bigger. “I’ll develop a roll of film and it will be all garbage,” Felix said. “I’ll be like okay, whatever, but if I sit down and record stuff now and I spend a day doing that and it’s all garbage, I fucking hate myself,” Felix said, laughing. By taking a picture, the result is there, or not, but at the end of the day, it’s complete. There’s less whirlpooling around the thought of “this could have gone differently” and changing something that has already settled in its frame.
As their inhibitions around the process of developing film waned, a summer of declining cases washed away the abyss of the city. Felix started hesitantly approaching strangers with their film camera. They would ask permission to document fleeting, and often tender moments. However, perception can function as a transaction, and with each photo, Felix was obliged to put themselves in a position of being intimately seen. “It feels very complicated for me to take photos as a non-binary person, there’s something very vulnerable about it,” they said.
The relationship between being perceived and being non-binary has always been tepid. Felix explained the inverse relationship between comfort in expressing their own identity and the amiability of strangers. Last year, Felix was sporting a luxurious winter coat that seemed to purr, I am feminine.
“There was something about being able to embody gender in the way that I wanted to that made me so uncomfortable that I ended up buying this pretty ugly parka that I now… think I present more masculine when I’m out taking photographs and I think I actually go undercover a little bit.”
Imposter syndrome is typically sharpened for those who don’t fit the cis white male paradigm of rock ‘n’roll. Often, there’s a need to compensate. But taking pictures paves way for more lenience. “With photography, I know I’m an imposter, everything I do is an imposter so it’s fine, but with music, it’s something that’s so much more fused with my identity at this point, and it’s something that I’m supposed to be good at, it’s just a lot more fraught.”
It’s a bit refreshing though, not being forced to stand out in an industry that sees you as other. They’re not searching for the right tools as they’d think more about as a musician trying to establish their voice. In its peak freedom, Felix’s tools are ones they stumble upon by chance. Or rather, it’s a tool that gives them a chance, like a friend’s dad’s 35mm camera or their mom’s old Nikon. These lost devices were just ways to dig in. “It was such a pleasing object,” Felix said, describing their friend’s camera.
Portrait of Sarah Beth Tomberlin, Medium Format Film
In November 2020, Felix released one of our favorite albums of the year Point the Flashlight and Walk. A flashlight is a simple, affordable device. And while important, the tool itself poses little creative purpose. “The flashlight on the record is about trusting yourself to trudge forward with your insight and your understanding of the world that you have with your community and your relationships that you have and the love of yourself that you have,” Felix told us.
A flashlight walks, directs and reimagines a space with greater, venerated animation. Felix’s photography is like using a flashlight in the daylight. Take the everyday and personalize it, give it a number and a home, even when it’s not needed. The flashlight, which holds no urgency hostage, is what Felix owns as an artist toggling between two arts.
As we were about to wrap up our session, Felix asked,“Do you have time for a long-winded response?” We laughed, and nodded. Of course. “I’m just gonna hit my juul first,” then began.
During one of the most intense bouts of anxiety they’ve ever experienced the camera became therapeutic. “ I was trying to get from safety to safety. Everything was like this dangerous space and having the camera turned it into this thing where I was sort of shaping the space,” Felix explained. “I’m in control. This street isn’t an expanse I have to move through, it’s a thing that I can mold in some way.”
“A camera feels like a flashlight in that way,” Felix ended.
This interview has been edited for clarity.