WHEN THE WORK BECOMES EVERYTHING
ILLUMINATA Venice, Italy | Captured during The Curated Landscape Workshop, a study in focus and immersion.
There are seasons when the work consumes you.
You don’t plan for it — it just happens.
One task folds into another, and before you know it, the days have blurred into nights, and the work has become your entire world.
When creation demands everything, balance isn’t part of the equation. You go all in, not because you choose to, but because that’s what the work asks of you. There’s a certain truth to that surrender — uncomfortable, exhausting, but honest.
In recent months, I found myself there. It started simply enough — working through new images from Tokyo, editing, developing, preparing to share. But as I began updating the site to add the new work, I realized how much the old structure was holding things back. What was meant to be a quick refresh quietly turned into a complete rebuild — a massive, time-consuming project that kept growing with each new decision.
It was one of those moments where opening one door reveals five more. Before I knew it, I was deep into moving my entire personal site from Squarespace 7.0 to 7.1, redesigning layouts, rewriting text, rebuilding product pages, rethinking portfolios. Once I started, there was no turning back. The site had to be rebuilt, refreshed, restructured — not just to look better, but to work better.
An artist’s website today is their gallery. If it’s closed, the world assumes you are too. So I kept going.
Evenings are usually the time my wife, dog, and I unwind — no work, no screens, just time together. But during this stretch, I’d head right back to the computer after dinner, staying up past midnight many nights. The sense of urgency was real — knowing the site was offline, knowing potential collectors or opportunities could be slipping by. It wasn’t ideal, but it was necessary. Sometimes, the work dictates the rhythm.
And somewhere inside that surrender, clarity begins to form. It’s not peaceful or romantic — but it’s real.
When you’re the one doing it all — creating, editing, writing, building — the boundaries disappear. Each task becomes an extension of the other. The same decisions that shape a photograph — what to include, what to let go, where to allow space — begin to guide the layout of a website, the rhythm of a paragraph, the sequence of a portfolio.
Sometimes the only way to move forward is to go all in.
That kind of immersion teaches things you can’t learn any other way. It shows you what you’re capable of when time runs short and the stakes feel high. It sharpens your instincts, strengthens your discipline, and forces you to find flow even under pressure.
Finishing a photograph is like making a meal — focused, creative, and contained.
Building a website is more like opening a restaurant: once the doors open, the work never really ends. There’s always something to tweak, something to refine. It can feel endless, but it also keeps you engaged. It reminds you that the creative life is rarely tidy — and that’s part of its beauty.
Artists often talk about balance, but in practice, balance is fleeting.
There are times of stillness and times of intensity — both necessary, both valid.
What matters is awareness: knowing when to dive deep and when to come up for air.
The past few months have reminded me that deep focus isn’t failure — it’s devotion. To make something meaningful, you sometimes have to let other things wait. Writing slows. Emails wait. The outer world goes quiet so the inner one can speak.
And eventually, you resurface.
Now, as I return to writing here on The Curated Landscape, I feel space again — room to reflect, to reconnect, and to share some of what’s been unfolding.
There’s new work alive on my website — new portfolios, new presentations, and a refreshed way to explore the art itself. If you’d like to take a look, you can visit scottreither.com.
New workshops are also on the horizon for The Curated Landscape — in San Francisco, Tokyo, and Venice — and there will be more reflections like this to come, written not from balance, but from presence.
For every photographer who feels behind, overwhelmed, or uncertain: you’re not alone.
This is the work. It takes what it takes.
And when the work becomes everything, maybe that’s exactly how it’s meant to be — for a while.
Hi, I’m Scott Reither—fine art photographer, educator, and the founder of The Curated Landscape.
I created this space to share reflections and tools for photographers who want to go deeper—into their craft, their process, and how they connect with the world through the lens.
