197 ☼ How I Know When My Work Actually Matters
+ $250 Moment gift card for film and more
Dear friends,
Yesterday I pulled out a cutting board I made years ago. It’s sawed into the shape of the state of Maine. It’s rough around the edges, clearly handmade, and still one of my favorite things I’ve ever made. Somehow, it grounds me more than anything I’ve posted online this month.
This week I’ve been thinking about that kind of weight. Not physical, but emotional and creative. The kind that makes something matter.
I’m sharing how I tell when my work has weight, why I still choose the heavy stuff, and how that’s keeping me grounded, even when the internet screams for something lighter and faster.
In This Issue:
Making heavy, meaningful work, and why it matters
Why social media is the invisible cigarette of our time
What AI art misses and why friction is the feature
Why your handmade mug matters more than your reels
Giveaway: Share your story, win a $250 Moment gift card to buy film, lenses, etc.
Some of my favorite photos from my archives, re-discovered with Excire
The Weight of Meaningful Work
This line from Anu Atluru hit me hard:
“We create more than ever, but it weighs nothing.”
Most of what we’re nudged to make these days is designed to be light: a reel, a meme, a snippet. Fast to consume, faster to forget.
But deep down, we crave weight. We save books, zines, and prints. We treasure the lopsided mug we made over the slick tutorial video on how to make one.
You can’t slice bread on an Instagram reel. But you can use a cutting board you made, with your own hands.
Friction Is the Point
It’s easy to think that friction is bad. That if we’re struggling to make something, it must not be working.
But friction is where the meaning lives.
Friction slows you down. It forces choices. It makes you confront what you really want to say with your work. It asks for time and energy, and because of that, it offers something back.
That’s why I don’t feel drawn to AI art creation. A “masterpiece” made with a prompt might look impressive, but it skips the sweat. The effort. The parts that change you. If you didn’t invest the hours, it won’t reflect who you are.
Some people might say, “But what if I could just click and make something as good as Van Gogh?”
Well, I can tell you now: you wouldn’t be happy. You already can do this. There are hundreds of tools to help. And yet, you aren’t doing it, because deep down, you know. You know it’s empty. You know it lacks weight.
The work is the meaning.
Movement Isn’t Meaning
We are all being pulled into a machine designed to feel urgent and important but rarely leads to anything lasting. Tech companies have hired some of the most brilliant minds on earth to keep us addicted to frictionless movement: scroll, post, like, repeat.
It’s like running in a hamster wheel. You’re moving, sure—but are you going anywhere?
This cycle can leave us feeling hollow. You did the thing, you posted the thing, the likes came in—and then they didn’t. And it’s gone.
And it’s gone.
You can post every day for a year and still not feel like you’ve made something that matters.
A hundred light things won’t turn into one heavy thing.
It doesn’t accumulate. It just scrolls.
There’s no sense of having made something you’ll remember in five years. Or even in five days.
What sticks is what you can hold. A book. A print. A zine. Even a homemade cutting board in the shape of Maine.
Making Something Real
Last year, I made a small batch of prints for a photo project that barely anyone saw (yet). But sequencing them, holding them, sitting with them, it stayed with me for months. It wasn’t a big project. But it felt dense. It felt like something I could return to.
Heavy work doesn’t have to be large or loud. It just has to last.
That’s the feeling I chase. That’s what reminds me I’m a photographer, not a “content creator”.
Even a wonky cutting board you made can feel better than a reel with 250,000 views. It may not win awards. But it holds coffee. It holds meaning. It holds a part of you.
Sometimes we feel like imposters not because we aren’t working, but because the work hasn’t anchored us yet. Making something with weight changes that. You feel it. And that feeling stays.
A Quick Creative Challenge (+ Giveaway)
What’s the slow, stubborn idea that won’t leave you alone, even if you’re not sure it would resonate online?
I’d love to hear about it. The ones that don’t chase the algorithm are often the ones that matter most.
🟡 GIVEAWAY: I’ll send a $250 gift card to Moment (for film, lenses, or gear) to one reader whose idea or story moves me most.
Leave a comment on this post so we can all learn from each other, in public, one thoughtful reply at a time.
Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this issue, I’d love for you to share it with a friend.
Let’s keep shooting, learning, and sharing together—one messy, human step at a time.
Warmly,
Wesley
PS This issue was in part inspired by Anu Atluru’s fantastic essay "Making Something Heavy", which can be read here.
P.P.S Current Exhibition — Earlier this week my solo exhibition opened at the FotoFestival Naarden, and it will run through July 6th. More info here.
📷 What I Used This Week
People often ask what I’m using and here’s this week’s setup:
Camera: Canon EOS R5 and the Canon RF 24-70 mm f/2.8 L IS USM. Pentax 67ii with the 105mm 2.4 lens, Fuji X100F.
This issue is supported by MPB.com — my go-to for buying, selling, or trading used photo and video gear. Everything comes with a 6-month warranty, and their support helps keep Process going.
Lab: My film is processed by Carmencita Film Lab. I trust them fully for both their work and their humanity. Use code "PROCESS" for a free upgrade on your next order.
Next Week
What happens when a boutique licensing partner asks for 50 images by tomorrow? I’ll walk you through my real workflow, from deep archive searches to fast delivery, and how I license photos without losing my mind. Includes a behind-the-scenes video.
Plus, a look back at the opening of my exhibition as part of FotoFestival Naarden, which you can still catch through July 7th. More info here. A sneak preview below.
From the Archive (via Excire)
This week I did a little experiment: I searched my archive using the word “heavy”—then slowly dragged the Excire slider from literal results to poetic ones.
What surfaced was shots from moody street walks and sullen portrait shoots. Hard shadows. Faces with weight in them. Many pictures I had forgotten about otherwise.
Here are a few I found. Quiet, slow, and a little dark—just how I like it.
Thanks to Excire for supporting Process and for making a tool that’s quietly become part of my daily workflow. If you’re curious to try it, check it out here. Process readers get 15% off with the code PROCESS at checkout.
Support Process & Elevate Your Photography
If these Sunday issues give you something—energy, motivation, a new way of seeing—you can support Process by picking up a book or joining the Process Photo Club.
Process Workbook Volume One & Two: Creative prompts and assignments designed to get you out of your head and into action with your camera.
€8.99 each (free for Process Photo Club members)
NOTICE Journal, Volume One: A fresh perspective on beauty and rebirth, shot in Amsterdam.
€40 (or €20 for Process Photo Club members)
📚 Order here and you help keep Process accessible to all.
🗃️ Browse the Process Archives.
📜 Read the Process Manifesto.
🚧 Currently Working On1
Currently Working On / Project Updates (r = release date)
Process Redesign — Waiting on sketches from Maxwell (r: Jul)
NJV1 Exhibition — Currently Show at FotoFestival Naarden
Process Workbook, Vol. 3 — Writing assignments (r: Jun)
Creatives In/AMS — Prepping Archives (r: Sept)
NOTICE Journal, Volume Two — Developing concept
25 in 2025 — Outreach to communities (r: Nov 7)
This is one of my favourite reads on here so far. Thank-you for the reminders ❤︎
As for a slow stubborn idea- mine is waiting for my father to pass away. Sounds dark I know. We were never close, he spend my whole life in prison. I’m wanting to write poetry from the letters you wrote me from inside, and translate them into something that a real ‘dad’ might of said. Advice and comfort. He doesn’t have long to live, something is eating away at his brain. I’ve had this idea for years now, never started it, when I hear he isn’t well I thought I would wait a little longer. I think being in the grieving would be a really interesting experience while doing this project. And who knows through it I might feel closer to him in a way I haven’t experienced.
This is an incredibly powerful post. The words “We create more than ever, but it weighs nothing.” will linger in my mind well after I close this browser.