Jefferson Hayman is one of those artists who lives his work. His pieces demonstrate his unique talent for finding beauty in simplicity.  Combined with traditional photographic techniques and vintage and handmade frames, each piece is one-of-a-kind.  

Often, Jefferson's photographs and their accompanying frames are diminutive in scale - precious treasures in small packages.  

We sat down with Jefferson to talk about his life, his work, and the lovely surprises along the way.  

See the Jefferson Hayman Collection >

When you were young, what did you dream as a life for yourself, and
how does your real life compare? 

When I was young, I imagined a life built around the things that stirred my
sense of wonder—books, objects, old photographs, the quiet poetry of light.
I didn’t have a precise map, but I knew I wanted a life where I could make
things with my hands, honor the past, and give shape to the stories I
carried within me.
In many ways, my real life has become an extension of that early instinct. I
spend my days creating images, building frames, and chasing the small,
resonant moments that feel timeless. It isn’t a grand or dramatic life, but it
is a deeply intentional one—closer to the dream than I ever expected. The
boy who loved the hush of museums and the charm of well-worn objects
would probably recognize my studio today, and that feels like a quiet kind of
fulfillment.

Your work strikes that perfect intersection of traditional and modern. 
How do you accomplish that?

I’ve always felt that tradition and modernity aren’t opposites so much as
two ends of the same thread. My instinct is to look backward—to the
craftsmanship of early photography, to the tactility of silver gelatin prints, to
frames that carry their own history—but I live firmly in the present, and the
world around me inevitably shapes how I see.
The balance happens almost naturally: I borrow the discipline, patience,
and reverence for materials from traditional practices, but I allow my
sensibilities—my impulses toward simplicity, quietude, and emotional shorthand—to be shaped by a contemporary eye. I’m not trying to recreate
the past; I’m simply in dialogue with it.
By pairing handmade prints with frames that have lived other lives, or by
placing timeless subjects in compositions with a modern sparseness, I try
to create work that feels both familiar and new. It’s a bit like breathing in
two eras at once and letting them settle together into something that feels
honest.

How long does your process take from inspiration to completed work
of art?  

My process has never been something I could measure in weeks or hours.
It unfolds more like a tide — sometimes swift and insistent, sometimes
barely perceptible. A photograph may begin with a fleeting moment, a
fragment of light, or a memory that lingers for years before it finds its
physical form.Once I make the image, I live with it for a while. I print slowly, deliberately,
allowing myself time to understand what the photograph wants to be — its
tonal palette, its emotional temperature. The framing, too, becomes part of
that conversation. I’ll search for the right piece, or build one, or wait until an
old frame reveals itself as the proper companion.
So the truth is: the process takes as long as it needs to take. Some works
arrive almost fully formed; others mature quietly in the background of my
mind until they’re ready. My role is to listen closely, to give each piece the
patience and attention it deserves, and to honor the moment when
inspiration finally completes its journey into an object you can hold and live
with.

How does technology factor into your process? Or does it? 

Technology plays a role, but it’s never the driving force. I tend to think of it
as a set of tools that help me get closer to the picture I carry in my mind. I’ll
use whatever digital means I need to sketch, refine, or organize ideas, but
the essence of the work—its mood, its sense of time, its emotional
weight—comes from observation, memory, and intuition.
I’ve always been drawn to a slower, more contemplative rhythm, and I try to
preserve that, regardless of what tools I’m using. Technology can support
the process, but it never replaces the hand, the eye, or the quieter internal
conversations that ultimately shape a piece.

Tell me about your pinch-me moment as an artist.

There have been a few moments in my life when I’ve had to pause and
remind myself that this path—this quiet, deliberate life of making
images—has become my reality. I think of the first time I saw one of my
photographs hanging in a museum, surrounded by works from artists I had
spent my youth studying. Or the simple disbelief of realizing someone
halfway around the world chose to live with one of my pieces, making it part
of their personal landscape.
But the true pinch-me moments are smaller and more intimate. It’s when
someone tells me that an image reminded them of a memory they thought
they’d forgotten, or when a collector runs a hand along one of my frames
as if recognizing something familiar. Those instances confirm that the work
has traveled beyond my studio and taken on a life of its own. For an artist
who has always been drawn to quiet gestures, those quiet affirmations are
the ones that stay with me.

You're clearly a collector at heart like I am.  Tell me about your
favorite collection.  

I’ve collected things for as long as I can remember—small objects that feel
like they’ve lived a life before they ever reached my hands. Over the years
I’ve accumulated all sorts of quiet companions: old books, vintage salt &
pepper shakers, tintypes, wooden foundry moulds. But the collection that
means the most to me is my group of antique frames; I currently have
somewhere between 400 – 500 in my studio.
They’re humble things, really—worn corners, softened edges, the faint
trace of someone else’s eye and home. Each frame carries its own history,
almost like a whisper. I never look for perfection; I look for resonance. A
frame can sit in my studio for months, sometimes years, before I know
which photograph belongs inside it. The right pairing feels less like a choice
and more like a reunion.
That collection reminds me daily that beauty often hides in the overlooked,
and that the stories objects carry can be just as powerful as the ones we
make.

We always like to end an interview with a recommendation - tell us
about a show you're watching, a movie you've seen, an exhibit, a
book, a restaurant, anything you'd like to share with our Elsie Green
readers.  

The exhibition that I’m dying to see is the Man Ray show at The Met, tilted
When Objects Dream. Man Ray and his circle are true inspirations. The
show I’m currently watching is Pluribus. I’m obsessed. I admire any writing
or plot that hasn’t been done before – this show is wonderfully original.