Our Photos Most Likely Won’t Outlast Us — And That’s Okay

On a particular episode of Brooks Jensen’s podcast (HT2545 – On Long‑term Survival), Brooks reflected on a question many photographers quietly carry with them: what are the chances that our photo prints will survive long after we’re gone?

He spoke about the physical survival of artworks—using acid‑free paper, archival inks, and careful printing methods to give photographs the best possible chance of lasting decades, even centuries. He also emphasized distribution. The more widely an artwork is shared, the greater its geographic footprint—and the less likely it is that a single incident, like a fire or flood, could erase it entirely.

From a technical standpoint, this all makes sense. As photographers, we actually have a fair amount of control over how our photos are printed. What we don’t have much control over is where they end up.

The Privilege of Being Collected

After trying—and failing—to sell photo prints through my own print shop, I came to a humbling realization: it’s a privilege when someone chooses to purchase and display your work.

In fact, I hardly print my own photographs. Most of them live as digital files, quietly sitting on hard drives or cloud storage. That realization led me to a more uncomfortable question: for all the hours I’ve put into improving my craft, will any of my photographs survive after I’m gone?

Brooks himself admitted he isn’t optimistic about his odds. And that’s coming from someone who has sold far more prints than I ever have. He even mentioned that print sales hadn’t fully covered his expenses over the years. If someone with his reach and body of work doubts the long‑term survival of his photographs, the outlook for most photographers—including myself—can feel almost nonexistent.

So What’s the Point of Making Photos?

If permanence is unlikely, why keep going?

I can’t answer that question for anyone else. But for me, the answer is clear: I’ll keep making photographs regardless.

The act of creating—of seeing, framing, refining, and expressing—has to be enough. The process itself has value, even if the work doesn’t endure forever. Maybe especially because it doesn’t.

Photography, for me, isn’t about building a guaranteed legacy. It’s about paying attention, engaging with the world, and doing meaningful work while I’m here.

And if a few photographs do manage to outlast me—whether as prints on a wall or images stumbled upon years from now—that’s simply a bonus.

Want to See the Work I’m Making Now?

If you’re curious about the photographs that prompted these reflections, you can explore my recent work and ongoing projects on my website. I regularly share new images, writing, and print updates there.