I often describe artworks as the pebble in one’s shoe—something small and persistent that announces itself with every step, demanding attention until it is identified and addressed. To extend the metaphor, it becomes an itch that must be scratched. My work begins with a kernel of emotion or idea I want to communicate, or as a response to the environment in which I find myself. This initial impulse is then processed through layers of technique, reference—both conscious and unconscious—reflection, and time, emerging as an image or object that moves beyond a purely personal statement. I strive to create work that is conceptually layered and can be read on multiple levels.
The idea determines the medium. While photography remains central to my practice, I often move into video, sculpture, or installation when the concept demands it. When working photographically, I respond quickly and instinctively to the scenes before me, allowing intuition to guide the initial act of image-making. This immediacy is later refined through a more deliberate, self-reflexive, and articulate process during editing and post-production.
I see myself, at heart, as a tinkerer—or, on more ambitious days, as a researcher and technician of visual language. I want my work to prompt discussion and inquiry. Broadly, my practice operates in two interrelated modes: the studio artist and the documentarian. At times, I create images that invite a rediscovery of the ordinary through playfulness and wonder; at other times, I work in a documentary mode, photographing the world as I encounter it. As a documentarian, I do not claim neutrality. I approach my subjects with intention, guided by ideas and emotions I wish to convey, and I acknowledge the presence of an agenda.
As a studio artist, I return to tinkering—using personal kernels of “truth” to explore incongruence, dysfunction, and uncertainty. These two personas are inseparable, bound by a shared impulse to use art-making to explore and understand what surrounds me and what moves me.
As unreliable and mythologized as memory can be, I have a vivid recollection from my first day of orientation during my foundation year in London. One faculty member said to us, “I am here to render myself superfluous,” paused, and then continued, “I am here to teach you how to learn without me.” That statement has stayed with me ever since and has become the bedrock of my teaching philosophy. I later learned that this approach is often described as teaching metacognitive skills.
Students’ interests, the skills required for success, and their individual needs will continue to evolve long after they leave the classroom. There is no way for us to teach them everything they will need to know in their lives. If we focus solely on transmitting a fixed set of skills, we set them up to fail in the long term—and, by extension, we fail as educators. By contrast, if we teach students how to learn autonomously, they gain the ability to continually retool their knowledge and skills, allowing them to adapt and thrive in an ever-changing environment.
A second core value shaping my teaching philosophy comes from John Baldessari’s statement to his students: “Art comes out of failure. You have to try things out. You can’t sit around, terrified of being incorrect, saying, ‘I won’t do anything until I do a masterpiece.’” I understand this as a call to cultivate a growth mindset. If students are not making mistakes, taking risks, and occasionally failing, they are not pushing beyond their comfort zones—and they are not truly learning. Failure should not be feared; it can be a powerful pedagogical tool. Reflecting on what worked and what did not enables students to develop resilience, insight, and confidence.
To inspire and nurture students’ potential, the classroom must be a space where risk-taking is encouraged, and boundaries can be tested. The role of faculty is to guide experimentation and to help students understand the outcomes of their choices. Listening carefully to students’ concerns and understanding their perspectives is essential to fostering an environment in which experimentation feels supported rather than punitive.
I have been fortunate to work with teachers, colleagues, and supervisors who took the time to understand my background and how it informs my work. These experiences have taught me the importance of openness and empathy. Creating a welcoming environment for students and colleagues alike is essential. Collegiality and cooperation among faculty model the behaviors we hope to instill in our students. Demonstrating that every voice deserves to be heard reinforces the idea that openness is not simply rhetorical, but a core institutional value.
I integrate these principles into both my teaching and my artistic practice. I make a point of acknowledging my position of privilege as an educated white male and use this awareness to engage students in conversations about bias and power structures that might otherwise appear natural or invisible. I draw attention to social constructs that often go unquestioned—such as shifting definitions of sexual norms or the ways language shapes our understanding of morality and value. Through these discussions, I encourage students to examine their own positions within society more critically. A certain degree of discomfort with the status quo is necessary for growth and change. I urge students to test expectations and boundaries so they can better understand the limits—and possibilities—of their own capabilities.
As a faculty member at South Carolina State University, an HBCU in rural South Carolina, my awareness of racial dynamics has deepened through sustained dialogue with my students, exposing me to perspectives and experiences that differ significantly from my own.
Ultimately, I measure my success by the degree to which my students become independent and passionate learners. My goal extends beyond teaching specific concepts or techniques; it is about fostering a lasting love of learning. I consider myself successful when students leave my classroom equipped to be autonomous, lifelong learners—able not only to do and know, but to continually learn, question, and adapt.
Coming soon!
Giordano Angeletti - Artist, Educator, and Curator
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