Flux is an ongoing series of photographic diaries.
Each volume is available as a free PDF download and flip-through video—open for anyone to experience.
For those who want the physical objects, the books are available to purchase individually.
Members of Living With the Ricoh GR get access to all Flux books at production cost as part of the practice.
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A photographic diary by Dante Sisofo
Members of Living With the Ricoh GR get access to all Flux books at production cost as part of the practice.
The Photographic Diary System — Archive One
Flux Archive I brings together Flux Vol. I–IV into a single unified body of work, preserving the exact sequence of each volume as originally created.
Spanning over 400 pages, the archive presents a collection of 218 photographs, each displayed as a full plate—one image per page—allowing the work to unfold as a continuous, uninterrupted visual diary
This archive documents a defined period of time: November 2022 – September 2023.
This is not a “best of,” but a faithful record. Every photograph remains in its original chronological order, tracing the development of a daily photographic practice—from its beginnings, through expansion across cities and continents, to a return inward toward identity, memory, and faith.
Together, the four volumes form a complete cycle:
Beginning. Foundation. Expansion. Return.
At the heart of Flux is a simple idea: you cannot make the same photograph twice. Light is always shifting—across bodies, streets, and time—reshaping the world from one moment to the next.
Through daily practice, these moments accumulate into a continuous visual record.
The work that follows—including photographs made in Tokyo in 2025—marks the point where this vision fully comes together. This archive captures its formation.
A document of attention.
A document of presence.
A document of life in flux.
Before I stripped everything down to black & white, this is how I saw.
What’s poppin’, people? It’s Dante.
Today I want to share my extremely fast workflow for culling through photos with my street photography.
I shoot with the Ricoh GR in high contrast black and white, small JPEGs.
Each file:
This is a radical workflow.
No processing. No RAW backlog. Everything imports instantly.
I keep it simple:
That’s it.
Everything stays organized without overcomplicating things.
I had about 568 frames from today.
Here’s how I go through them:
No hesitation.
No overthinking.
If something hits, I keep it. If not, I keep moving.
Most photos?
They’re trash.
And that’s fine.
Street photography is messy.
You fail constantly.
That’s part of it.
The more you shoot, the more you refine your instinct.
That’s why I keep everything transparent—my whole archive is public.
Because this process isn’t about perfection.
It’s about repetition.
I don’t want friction.
I don’t want to sit there tweaking sliders.
I don’t want a backlog.
I want to:
Every single day.
One rule I follow:
I always publish the photos on the same day I shoot them.
No exceptions.
That keeps me:
Because once you fall behind…
It becomes a chore.
I do everything on the iPad.
It’s fast. It’s tactile. It’s intuitive.
That’s it.
Honestly, any iPad works.
The point is simplicity.
After favorites, I go back through and drag selects into the monthly folder.
Still fast. Still intuitive.
This is just:
No overthinking.
If I have two similar frames?
I’ll literally send them to ChatGPT and let it choose.
It’s just a photo.
I’m not sitting there debating forever.
Remove friction.
Move on.
From there, I make a final selection.
Usually:
Loose.
Not precious.
Because this isn’t the final judgment.
It’s just:
a record of the day.
A visual diary.
You don’t need to make the perfect photo today.
You just need to stay in motion.
Because sometimes…
You get one frame.
Sometimes none.
But that’s normal.
The real reason I love this workflow?
Surprise.
When I come home and look through the photos…
I see things I didn’t even notice in the moment.
The camera sees differently than I do.
That’s what keeps me curious.
You’re not responsible for making a masterpiece.
You’re responsible for:
The camera does the rest.
Photography, to me, is about curiosity.
Not outcomes.
Not perfection.
Just:
seeing how life looks when it’s photographed.
That’s it.
Shoot. Cull. Publish. Repeat.
See you in the next one.
Peace.
To use a rangefinder in 2026 is the equivalent of using a view camera when the Leica was invented.
The Leica is archaic when it is defended as though its limitations are superior, rather than just historically meaningful. There’s no problem in using it. The problem is the confusion between nostalgia with necessity.
The natural evolution of photography is towards the complete removal of the viewfinder altogether and the embrace of compact cameras and LCD technology
The rangefinder was revolutionary because it removed friction from photography, but in 2026 to treat it as the final form is to miss the point of its revolution. The true evolution of the medium is towards even more immediacy, smaller tools, and the eventual disappearance of the viewfinder itself.
Or even more simply put, the Leica was once the Ricoh of its age.
When you pigeon hold yourself and box yourself into a specific way of working on operating, you limit your ability to express yourself, authentically and creatively. So the forward way to move in this brave new world of technology, art, and photography, is to simply treat your life as the living work of art, an open book, an open diary
The most interesting way to create is from a very pure and autotelic state. So the goal is found within the process itself actually waking up with enthusiasm and making new pictures. The goal isn’t found in the outcome of a book or a show or something sort of tangible physical or even someone that gives you validation for the work that you’re making. You’re making the work because you purely are inspired to make the work.
One thing I find amusing is how photographers and artists generally like to find inspiration from other photographers or other artists. Whether looking at photo books are going to the gallery, to find something that’s inspiring, it’s all kind of baselevel to me. Pure inspiration is found in isolation, where there’s no noise, no chatter, just you, in nature.  the idea is, when alone in a park or in the woods or in nature, you receive pure inspiration by looking at the patterns of nature, observing the sunlight, feeling it on your skin, and listening to the sounds and feeling the grass beneath your feet, your signal is heightened, and you start to hear God speak. 
And so simply look at the etymology of words, specifically inspiration. It derive from the idea to breathe into, where God breathes the spiritedness into you and gives you the breath of life to then go out there and create, which gives you animation in the ability to speak to write to photograph to move. And so motivation, riving from “to move “simply comes from your legs and the movement of your physical body moving in space and time. And so while you’re composing life with the four corners around the compositions, you make, the only thing that you’re simply responsible for as a photographer is actually moving your physical body through the world , feeling deeply, and noticing things. And so when you put four corners around these fragments of life, you’re saying yes to life, and creating a photograph from this purely inspired state, were you detached from the outcome and an embracing the spirit play, becomes the pure form of self expression, a direct reflection of your internal state , while using the external world as your personal canvas.
The way you move, speak, the things you create, and your physical body, are pure works of art. Art isn’t something with a capital A that only curator says is acceptable. Art, at its core and its essence, is merely an arrangement of reality. But the interesting way for it, it’s taking reality, and creating your own version of it, through arranging things in your own personal and subjective way, that gives birth to a new world. 
The other idea is that, the only art worth looking at or creating is from the pure state of vitality, from your physical body, because then, from that state of being, the things that you create,  are effortless, and flow from you, where your physical body simply becomes a vessel for the medium. Just look at the Work of Aaron Berger from New York City, it’s no wonder he’s produced the strongest contemporary Street photography from this location of the world, given the fact that he’s the most jacked Photographer that photographed the city 
Dante
What’s poppin’, people? It’s Dante.
I’m currently walking along Penn’s Landing here in Philadelphia, looking out towards the Benjamin Franklin Bridge right now—the beautiful horizon, the water flowing, the sun is out. Just basking in it. It feels good.
And today I’m thinking about photography… and essentially why I don’t need a project.
I think the idea of working towards something—whether it’s a book, a theme, or a gallery outcome—is extremely limiting.
For myself personally, I’ve never adopted that mindset.
Instead, I believe in surrendering to the medium of photography.
Letting go. Embracing play. Letting the chips fall as they may.
Photographing openly. Spontaneously. Instinctively.
You don’t think—you respond.
And there’s something special about that.
I believe in trusting the passage of time. Trusting the process.
And treating my everyday life as the ultimate project.
This is the project.
I am the theme.
When we make photographs, our internal state reflects externally. And to me, that’s way more powerful than trying to force a concept or impose structure.
Especially now—when we live in a world flooded with images.
You can generate photos with AI. You can shoot razor-sharp images on any modern camera.
So what actually matters?
Your perspective.
I like to move through life without a theme.
Not because I’m lazy. Not because I lack direction.
But because I don’t seek a destination.
I just want to keep moving forward.
Keep following the light.
Keep waking up and photographing.
My ultimate project is to never miss a day of photography.
To stay in that perpetual flow state of living, practicing, doing.
Because the moment I start overthinking…
I stagnate.
Anytime I spend too much time analyzing or planning, I feel it immediately.
My energy drops. My soul starts to fade.
So instead, I move.
I get out.
I create.
I exist in embodied reality.
Even after a decade of shooting, I still don’t feel the need to define a project.
If anything, I feel more committed to staying in that instinctual, authentic state.
When you walk around with a preconceived idea of what you’re trying to make…
You limit yourself.
You close off access to your subconscious.
But when you remove that box?
Now you can explore.
Now all your life experiences flow into the frame.
That irrational pull—the thing that makes you click the shutter—that’s where the real work lives.
I don’t see photography as something separate from life.
It is life.
A visual diary.
A record of being.
I’m photographing today because it’s beautiful outside.
The sun is out. The air is crisp. I’m alive.
I can walk. I can see. I can feel.
That’s enough.
I don’t need a book.
I don’t need a gallery.
I don’t need a theme.
To stay motivated.
To keep shooting.
My only goal is to be out in the world, making photographs.
Not planning.
Not forcing.
Just responding.
Over time, with consistency, things will come together.
You’ll find connections.
You’ll build something naturally.
But the foundation?
Doing the thing for the sake of doing the thing.
That’s the real goal.
That’s where the fulfillment is.
Not in the outcome.
But in the act itself.
Maybe what the world needs right now is more of that.
More honest photography.
More lived experience.
Less structure. Less performance.
More flow.
Right now, I’m just out here at Penn’s Landing, taking it all in.
Philadelphia is home. I thrive here.
This place—it’s like our beach.
And I’m just walking, observing, responding.
That’s it.
See you on the street.
Peace.
Sometimes it’s the first shot, sometimes it’s the last. The real key and secret to working a scene is to simply never leave the scene until the scene leaves you.
What’s poppin’, people? It’s Dante.
Today I want to talk about treating photography as a visual diary and how this has transformed my practice entirely.
So essentially, a diary is simply a daily record of life. It’s what you saw today, what happened today, how you felt today—and recording that through photography.
And I find that by making this kind of imagery that is personal to my everyday life, I find rich meaning in the mundane nature of life.
Here we have a photograph I made of my brother. He came back from his massage thingy and had those suction cup marks on his back.
As he was looking at his back in the mirror, I made a quick snapshot of him while we were waiting for the elevator.
It’s a very simple, elegant frame. Strong composition, strong lighting—but the moment itself wasn’t something I was seeking.
It simply presented itself to me.
The moment wasn’t something I chased. It revealed itself.
I believe in this idea of surrendering to the medium of photography.
Where the external circumstances—whether you see something interesting or make a great photograph—are out of your control.
But what is in your control?
Because of that, I just embrace the present moment.
Photography becomes a way to enter that flow state—that zen zone—where you’re fully immersed.
It’s a very meditative process.
Yeah, I think about the past and the future—but those things aren’t my concern.
My concern is simple:
I’m responsible for:
That’s it.
If you go out trying to make a specific kind of image…
If you’re chasing your “next best frame”…
You’re actually blocking your ability to see authentically.
The more you try to force great images, the further you get from your true way of seeing.
Instead, use photography as a vehicle to be present in your daily life.
I treat each day like it could be my last.
I wake up like I’m born again.
I go to sleep like it could be my final breath.
That mindset changes everything.
And I treat each photo like it could be my last.
This goes beyond being a “photographer” or an “artist.”
All of that is noise.
This is about something deeper:
Recognizing that you are human.
That you will die.
And because of that…
You choose to pay attention.
You choose to care.
You choose to see.
When you treat photography as a visual diary, you’re doing something powerful.
Within the four corners of the frame, you’re capturing:
Subjectively. Personally. Honestly.
Because any moment could be your last.
If you can’t live forever, at least we can make photographs.
So while we’re here—walking through space and time—
Why not let our photos reflect who we are?
Why not let them show:
When you approach photography this way, something shifts.
You start to:
Every day becomes a new opportunity.
Not to make a “great” photo…
But to simply be there.
By treating photography as a visual diary:
There’s no burden.
No expectations.
Just living, seeing, feeling—and responding.
And honestly…
That’s my favorite way to approach photography going forward.
I just wanted to share this openly.
Hopefully, it inspires you to do the same.
Treat photography as a visual diary.
And let that show up in your images.
Because that’s where the real work is.
Thanks for watching.
I’ll see you in the next one.
Peace.
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