Brian Doben, photographer of Trope's upcoming release, At Work, takes us "behind the shot" on his some of his most memorable images featured in his new book.
At Work will be available in June and is available for pre-order on trope.com.
Teresa Mason, Mas Tacos (Nashville, Tennessee)
The night before [I took this photo], my wife Nancy and I had a long talk. I was questioning my love for photography, wondering if after more than a decade in the business, it was time to try something new. It wasn’t that my career was struggling—it was my passion that seemed to be fading. Nancy, my wife and my sage, listened patiently and then simply said, "Just go back out and photograph people. No agenda, no assignment, just remember why you ever started."
I was genuinely afraid that I’d lost my way. But the very next day, I met Teresa Mason, owner of Mas Tacos in Nashville. We connected instantly: laughing, sharing stories, and covering everything under the sun. It felt effortless. But as I walked back to my hotel room, doubt crept in. I thought, "Did I get any good photographs?” I was stuck in that familiar mindset that every encounter had to yield images, had to tell a story.
But in my worry, I had missed the real lesson: connection comes first. Treat people as I would want to be treated. Listen as I would want to be heard. Honor them for who they are and what they do. That day, I learned something monumental—to be present, to trust my instincts. The photograph is always there. It reveals itself when I let go of preconceived ideas and allows the truth to emerge.
Not everyone will love the images you create, but what truly matters is when someone looks at your work and says, "I can see you in the photograph.” Until recently, I never thought of it that way. But now, when I look back at my images, I see myself in them. I feel the moments and that has changed everything.
Horiyoshi III, Tattoo Artist (Tokyo, Japan)
I traveled to Japan for my At Work project with one clear goal: meet a traditional tattoo artist. My interest was twofold. First, I wanted to photograph an artist whose craft is steeped in taboo. In Japan, tattoos have long been associated with danger, seen as the mark of bad people. For years, those with tattoos were barred from public pools, viewed with suspicion. The Yakuza, Japan’s notorious organized crime syndicate, wear their tattoos as a declaration—bold, proud, and unmistakable.
Second, I thought it would be incredible to receive a tattoo from a master of the art. My local production contact, however, was terrified at the idea and refused to help. Thankfully, an old assistant of mine who had recently moved back to Japan from New York was willing to try. Having lived in New York, the cultural stigma didn’t faze him. He reached out to Horiyoshi III, a legend in the world of traditional Japanese tattooing. The next day, we were at his studio—a small, intimate space above his home.
Horiyoshi III was gracious and polite, agreeing to let me photograph him. But when I asked about getting a tattoo, he gently refused. "The canvas is not clean," he told me. "I cannot do a tattoo that is not balanced." His decision was final, and I knew better than to challenge it.
As I prepared to photograph him, I noticed he seemed tired. When I asked if he was okay, he revealed that he was on dialysis, part of his struggle with kidney disease. His vulnerability struck me. My father was facing the same battle, kidney failure and dialysis. Our conversation shifted. I shared my father’s experience, and we connected on a deeply human level.
Sensing his fatigue, I suggested we reschedule. I didn’t want to impose. This seemed to surprise him. "You came all this way to meet me, and you would walk away rather than take my time because you see I am not well?”
“Yes,” I told him. "I respect you too much to push. I want to capture your art when you feel your best."
He paused, then nodded, "Come back in two days. I will be stronger, and it would be an honor to do your tattoo."
I was stunned. A master of his stature changing his mind, that was rare. But maybe that’s the nature of true respect. Given honestly, it has a way of coming back to you.
Respect is a language beyond words. In that quiet moment, two strangers found common ground, not just in art or tradition, but in shared vulnerability. And sometimes, it’s the courage to walk away that brings you closer than ever.
Darren Appiagyei, Wood Artist (London, England)
While developing ideas for my At Work project in London, I came across Darren Appiagyei, an artist of African heritage making his mark in the city’s art scene. Something about his work drew me in. I remember the day we met vividly. London was in the grip of a brutal heatwave, and Darren’s studio was on the top floor of a building filled with artists: an incredible creative energy, but also stiflingly hot.
Our initial conversation was typical. Darren explaining his process, the materials he used, and his inspirations. But I wasn’t just interested in the finished product, I wanted to understand the roots of his art, the deeper story behind his work. When Darren suggested we visit the place where he sourced his wood, I knew we were on the right track.
As we headed to the taxi, the conversation shifted. Darren revealed something deeply personal. His mother had recently passed away after a long struggle with severe mental illness. He explained that much of his life had been spent caring for her, never truly being mothered himself. He spoke of how she lived on medication, her illness beyond her control. Yet despite the struggle, he bore no resentment.
But with her passing, Darren found himself feeling lost, unsure of his purpose. He had recently started dating someone for the first time ever and felt a strong connection, but it also terrified him. Love, he admitted, was something he didn’t understand—something he had never truly experienced. I listened, careful not to interrupt. I could feel the vulnerability in his words.
When we arrived at the wood source, I watched Darren wandering among the logs, lost in thought. There was a quiet, emotional intensity in the moment. A man searching not just for the right wood, but for something within himself. For me, it was as if he was cradling the essence of nature itself, surrounded by trees – ancient symbols of life and strength.
I’ve always seen trees as living beings, towering protectors that give us the air we breathe. Standing there, I realized that sometimes the work we choose to do has roots far deeper than we understand. What I witnessed that day wasn’t just an artist choosing his materials. It was a man discovering a connection to his past, his present, and his sense of self.
I’m grateful for the time I spent with Darren. Some stories don’t need grand revelations. Sometimes, the quiet moments speak loudest.
Read more about Brian Doben here.