FEW ARTISTS working in contemporary photography today move so fluidly between image-making, material experimentation, and critical design as Rohan Hutchinson. Based in Naarm/Melbourne, Hutchinson is a photographic artist whose practice extends well beyond the act of taking photographs. For over a decade, he has navigated the shifting intersections of landscape, climate, and visual abstraction — producing work that is as conceptually rigorous as it is materially refined.
From the remote Arctic archipelago of Svalbard to the glacial expanse of Alaska’s Denali, Hutchinson’s projects are grounded in place, yet never confined by the conventions of documentary photography. His 2017 series Polar Convergence pushed the boundaries of photographic protest by re-sensitising large-format prints and exposing them to the harsh Australian sun — allowing the very climate they reference to degrade the image surface. It marked a turning point in Hutchinson’s practice: a deepened commitment to process, to conceptual clarity, and to the transformation of form.
This same ethos carries through to At That Particular Moment (2025), a recent body of work created in collaboration with Arca-Swiss and photographed in Denali National Park. There, tethered cameras in mid-flight and glacier-based fieldwork coalesced into a portrait of a fragile, shifting environment. The resulting publication — a sculptural object of acrylic sheets, large-format prints, and custom design — underscores Hutchinson’s belief that form and content are inseparable.
I didn’t want to simply document a changing landscape. The goal was to make a protest — to confront our complicity, especially here in Australia
Publishing is central to his practice. As the founder of acb press, an independent imprint established in 2020, Hutchinson has created a platform for collaborative, research-led photobook making. His publications — whether Coptic-bound, obi-wrapped, or float-mounted within exhibitions — are meticulous in both structure and intent. For Hutchinson, the photobook is not a supplement to the artwork; it is the work.
With exhibitions and presentations across Australia, Japan, and China, and teaching roles at institutions such as NGV, CCP, and the Melbourne Art Book Fair, Hutchinson continues to influence how photobooks are made, read, and experienced within and beyond the gallery space.
In the following interview, he reflects on fieldwork in extreme environments, the quiet power of design decisions, and the possibilities of publishing as a space for thoughtful, critical engagement.
My work doesn’t just document the landscape — it questions how we understand, affect, and exist within it.
— Rohan Hutchinson
One of your early projects, Polar Convergence, was developed during an expedition to the Arctic. What led you to that landscape, and how did the experience shape your practice?
In the lead-up to the project, I had been wanting to create a body of work on climate change for a few years, which was sparked by footage and literature in the media. What I had clear in my mind, though, from day one, was that I didn’t want to just photograph a landscape that was being affected. The project aimed to make a protest statement, connecting our actions within Australia to their global impact. After reading about the global seed vault and the impacts of the changing climate in Svalbard, that set the location.
The experience of travelling to the Arctic and being amongst the elements, needless to say, was unforgettable, but what had a larger impact on me was the process of the work as a whole. To explain, the work was conceptual, and given the narrative in which I was attempting to present, put me in a very unique position as an artist, I didn’t care what the end artworks would look like. As the concept involved destroying the landscape by re-sensitising it and then exposing it to the harsh Australian sun, which would erase it, the end visual aesthetic was somewhat irrelevant. This project shaped my practice in two ways: first, a realisation that if you have a dream, make it happen; anything is possible, and second, have confidence in your work.
There’s a silence in some landscapes that refuses to be translated into a single image. You need time, repetition, material. That’s why the book form suits my work
Your most recent project, At That Particular Moment, was photographed in Denali National Park, Alaska. Supported by Arca Swiss, the work involved aerial and glacier-based fieldwork. How did you approach making this series in such remote conditions?
This all evolved from a breakfast meeting in Tokyo. I received a message from the Arca Swiss USA representative, who had assisted with gear for my Arctic trip, asking if I was interested in meeting the director of Arca Swiss, Jean-Pierre, while I was there. The next day, we met for breakfast and had a wonderful discussion about my work as an artist, my travels to Alaska when I was 21, and the future of Arca Swiss. Over time Jean-Pierre and I kept in contact, via phone and email. I noted that I had an idea of going to Alaska to work on a sequel to Polar Convergence. This was conceptualised on the essay that Dan Rule wrote for the publication titled At That Particular Moment. In essence, the Denali work was centralised in documenting a location currently in transition.
Many conversations went back and forth between myself, Jean-Pierre, and others associated with Arca-Swiss, all to work out how it would be possible to capture what I envisioned. These discussions took place over two years and included further talks with aerial photographers, pilots, and climbers.
Regarding the on-location aspect, I had planned as much as I could for the trip. I had locations scouted and arranged to have the window next to the pilot removed, which enabled a clear view for photography. I used climbing slings to tether the camera during the flight, tested camera gear that I wasn’t familiar with, and allowed time up my sleeve in case the weather didn’t permit flying. The skies parted, and as I’ve been told, I was very lucky with the conditions.
The book version of At That Particular Moment is a highly crafted object—featuring large-format prints, acrylic sheets, and a custom slipcase. What informed your design decisions for this limited-edition publication?
In recent years, I completed a Master’s in Communication Design, and most recently, I started a PhD in Design. A significant amount of work involved in both of these research-based projects has been examining the role of publications as a mode of artistic dissemination and their position in a gallery. As I knew the end artworks for the Alaska project would likely take a year, if not longer, to be finalised, and possibly another year or two before they were exhibited, I wanted to create something from the work in the interim — a work that would still complement the project as it evolved yet stand as a separate entity.
The design happened quite quickly; I worked out early on what type of book this would be. For those interested in creating a photobook, this is the first thing to do — otherwise, you will go around in circles. The decision regarding contributing aesthetics was informed by a selection of books I had collected over the years, including some experiments I had completed prior, notably in the lead-up to the artist book Elemental 1:1. That publication employed the same acrylic sheeting used in this new publication. As this new work was to be positioned both as a book and as an artwork, this enabled the single-sheet display, which successfully achieved both presentation formats.
Publishing isn’t just distribution. The book becomes the space where the project lives — a gallery in your hands
In Encounters (2024), you documented the High Plains of Victoria over two winters following the 2019 bushfires. The project shifted from environmental documentation to a more introspective work. What influenced this change, and how is it reflected in the book and images?
Shortly after starting the fieldwork, I realised that my understanding of the landscape was inaccurate. To explain: over the years I had spent time hiking and skiing in the area, but I had always tried to read the landscape through a Eurocentric seasonal calendar. After visiting the locations regularly for this fieldwork, my assumptions shifted. I was positioned in a land that was unfamiliar and not governed by a colonial framework. The work then became self-reflective, with each moment an encounter with a new, uncontainable landscape — one I previously assumed knowledge of.
The book design was based on a 1954 Japanese publication by Kogei, a study of folk culture. In this publication, each image is presented on the left-hand side of the page, with the right side vacant. My reading of this was that each image was a singular artefact, to be read without any conversations or conflicts with other attributions on the page spread. Then, as a complete book, it became the large story of the culture. In essence, this is what encounters are: each image presented as a personal encounter with a landscape I thought I understood — and then, as a complete publication, my journey of that self-discovery.
I worked with Japanese designer Goshi Uhira in formulating the concepts of the work into the publication. We chose to use Swiss/Coptic binding, which presented the binding threads on the inside of the book, illustrating — in an abstracted manner — my journey through the landscape over the two years of fieldwork. The cover used a slightly translucent obi, representing the notions of snow and my steps on the landscape, while also tying in my interest in Japanese photobooks where the obi has historical presence.
You’ve shared your photobook-making process through workshops and talks at events like Melbourne Art Book Fair, CCP, NGV, and the Shenzhen Art Book Fair in June 2025. What are the key ideas or skills you aim to share with others?
A focal point I try to discuss when presenting is centred on consideration of the design; it’s also the one aspect that keeps my interest — and sometimes obsession — with publishing current throughout the years. Book design and publishing have numerous stages within the process, and with each, there are decisions to be made. Some are based on strategies, while others are based on empirical responses to the work. One thing I attempt to convey is questioning the decisions you make in the design process — not to say you have to have an answer for every decision, but to contemplate them. When working with content that is also to be exhibited, try not to replicate the exhibition in the book or vice versa. They are two very different spaces in which content operates and can be read.
You founded acb press in 2020 as a platform for publishing, design, and photobook research. What motivated you to start the imprint, and how has it evolved since?
When I founded acb-press, it was constructed as an open-ended platform that formed during my Master’s studies. At the time, I was becoming very interested in stepping away from my own photographic content and working with other creatives’ work — particularly with the collaboration process and the sharing of knowledge. This set a foundation for a platform that was as much about publishing as it was learning. Over the years, acb-press’s ideology has remained centred on its foundation. I have, I am happy to say, let go of trying to separate my own personal work as an artist and that as a designer, curator, and educator — and now simultaneously operate across all practices as both Rohan Hutchinson and acb-press.
Some landscapes refuse to be reduced to a single image. That’s why the book form suits the work — it allows space for silence, time, uncertainty
Many of your publications are carefully crafted in small runs, often with distinctive materials or sculptural elements. What role does physical design play in the experience of your books?
Everything. The books that have had the most significant impact on my career have been publications that made me consider them as objects — and how they can be read. Many of these are small zines, large inexpensive broadsheets, or works that play with the idea of space in a material form. One thing I try to consider every time I design or publish a book is: do not overdesign. I think this is a vital lesson in publishing and in the design discipline in a broader construct.
When starting a new project, the largest decision to be made — which often takes the longest — is regarding the physical design. You have to first decide what type of book you will be making before starting anything. Try and consider the narrative, and question what would echo this. Sometimes the quietest and most humble publications speak the loudest.
acb press has published titles including Mountain Views from My Archive, On Trial (with Cristian Ordóñez), Verticales, and At That Particular Moment. How do you select which projects to publish, and how do you decide on the format and editioning?
The projects I have worked on with others have always come out of mutual admiration for each other’s work — sometimes years of communication prior. Each project is very different, though in terms of process, they are collaborations. They begin with conversations regarding the work, and varied ideas and approaches we could take when creating a publication. The book’s creation then organically forms over time. The majority of books I publish don’t have a timeline to their release, which is a nice luxury to have.
In terms of the edition number, all of my books are co-funded by the artist and me, so budget is something we both have to be very mindful of. When discussing the design of a book, we also talk about its commercial viability — whether we design a publication to be solely distributed to collectors of the artist, where edition numbers are kept to a minimum, or whether it’s also intended for bookstore distribution, with a larger print run. Over the years, I have been fortunate to have ongoing support from a range of bookstores and galleries in Australia, Japan, and France, so out of admiration and respect, no matter what type of book is created, I always try to have a few copies available for those stores if they wish to order.
The idea was never to produce a beautiful object. It was to test what a photobook could be — as sculpture, as installation, as a space for reflection. Sometimes the most powerful gestures are the ones that whisper
You’ve exhibited and published your work internationally, including in Australia, Japan, and China. How do different audiences and cultural contexts influence the way you present your work?
This is something I have been thinking about recently. Although cultural differences certainly do influence the reading of work, I do find that if you consider all elements of a presentation, the cultural barriers can be broken down.
To explain this process is an example: when presenting at the Unfold Design Fair in Shenzhen in June, I had to put a lot of thought into the labelling of my books that I was presenting — whether I wanted the reader to decode the narrative or intent of the publication based on an empirical response to the work, or whether I wanted to add guidance in the form of text descriptions.
The Shenzhen fair was my first in-person presentation in China. As I was unsure of the response to my work, I decided to add a very brief description in simplified Chinese script. The reasoning was to present clear information in a casual manner on the work and to create a relaxed setting for further dialogue. Part of this process also involved deciding the size and colour of the labels, the choice of the typeface, and the typesetting involved.
When presenting my solo show in Japan, for instance, I spent a great deal of time in the exhibition design process. Similar to the one in Shenzhen, I had to consider if cultural differences would affect the reading of my work — and if so, how could I minimise this? The work to be presented was from Encounters, and artwork placement was a large factor within the gallery. As described earlier, the works are personal, individual encounters — and as a whole series, a journey of my discovery. In exhibition format, I had to bring this concept into the space — a space that was also quite typically urban Japanese and small-scale.
In exhibition form, I also felt I had to include a number of varied works for narration. I simply couldn’t limit the presentation to 4 or 5 prints. This led to a decision to suspend some prints using white cotton from the roof in front of a glass wall that generally wouldn’t be used to exhibit, which opened up the exhibition floor plan. Works that were presented on the wall were float-mounted — each work positioned 2cm from the wall using small holes and hand-painted white nails, which in turn created a floating nature to the work. The positions of both suspended works and the wall-mounted created a sense of freedom within the space, highlighting the singular nature and connectivity of each work.
Both examples enabled an analysis of how the works may be read in varied settings. In reflection, although the reading of artworks is subjective, I do believe that design can help guide the reader or viewer to the author’s intention — no matter where it’s presented.
In 2025, you’re involved in two major events: Turner & Australia at Gippsland Art Gallery, and the Shenzhen Art Book Fair. Could you share what you’ll be presenting, and how these projects relate to your current direction?
Within the Turner & Australia exhibition, I am presenting a large work that was acquired by the gallery from my Encounters book project. In Shenzhen, I presented publications and a 40-minute presentation on my practice. The primary narrative of this talk focused on my Master’s research project and how it led to my PhD candidacy.
In relation to my current direction, my work is split into two parts, which connect and re-connect at various stages throughout each project: the photographic content — as seen within the Gippsland Art Gallery as a singular work — and the exhibition and publication design element. These are, in most cases, when the works are exhibited about a larger body of my work. Each part will always exist, and each can also transform as my practice does and as opportunities present themselves.
Are there any upcoming photographic or publishing projects you’re currently developing that you’re able to share?
Yes, sure. Part of my PhD is creating prototypes with research findings. I am currently breaking down exhibition precedents into various streams of inquiry — or the various elements that contribute to the presentations — then reapplying them under different circumstances. For example, the use of colour in exhibition design and its effect when applied to publication design, or the use of scale on web or publication presentations in juxtaposition to traditional exhibition settings. These prototypes will take place over a range of spaces and timeframes over the next year. For those interested, please keep an eye on my website or socials.
In addition to this, I will be continuing the formation of my work in Alaska as artworks, and for the first time I’ll be working with video animation for this. Next week I am sending a new book to print — At That Particular Moment XL Edition — this is a reformatted version of the artist book I just created, prototyped to explore the idea of scale and appropriate content.
Following this, I will be exhibiting and publishing Deconstructing the Japanese Photobook, a research project that explores design attributions used in historic and contemporary Japanese photobooks. Succeeding that, I am in discussions with a Hokkaido-based artist on a new publication.
In terms of large exhibitions, I have been included in the Gippsland Art Gallery’s 60th birthday exhibition, which begins in Spring.
Finally, what do you hope viewers or readers take away from your work — whether encountered in book form, as an exhibition, or through video?
I hope I present viewers or readers with an experience — just a few minutes to step away from the day-to-day distractions and reflect on something else — and hopefully inspire them to create something themselves. Personal experience shapes who we are, and art enables a self-reflection on this — something AI can’t replicate. The more people making work and finding ways to bring it to the community, the better for everyone.
Rohan Hutchinson’s practice operates where environment meets form — where the photograph is not just a record, but a vessel. Across Arctic desolation, Alaskan skies, and the high plains of Victoria, his work excavates the quiet weight of place, time, and human consequence. Whether constructing books as sculptural encounters or suspending prints mid-air, Hutchinson expands the language of photography through design, philosophy, and process. What endures is not only what we see, but how we are asked to look — slowly, deliberately, and with care.
All images courtesy of Rohan Hutchinson.
For more information, visit: rohanhutchinson.com | acb-press.com
