Daniel Pullen

Heidi: You started during the tail end of disposable cameras and analog creativity—how did that impact your early career? 
Daniel I started with disposable cameras, then eventually moved on to a point-and-shoot and then an SLR. Shooting with film was challenging for me; it had a steep learning curve. You would wait weeks to get the film back, only to learn from your mistakes. Additionally, I couldn’t afford a lot of film, so I had to be selective about what I wanted to shoot. You really had to think about what you were photographing. Now, with digital, I often find myself not thinking and just firing away—there’s not even an inkling of thought, just mindless shooting. Forcing myself to slow down is difficult; however, I find that I make better photographs when I take my time. I believe that slowing down works for both photography and life.

Homesick was your first zine, documented on film, followed by Mommicked—both have soul-stirring narratives, why no surf photography?
Homesick was a zine my wife and I put together; they were all shot over a few years using a digital camera. The idea was to highlight aspects of Hatteras Island that I would miss the most or things that are dear to me. There are very few surf photos, but the ocean is prevalent in the zine. Surfing is obvious; however, I didn’t want it to revolve around surfing. There is so much more to life here than just surfing. Hatteras Island is incredibly dynamic, and putting surfing prominently in my work would have pigeonholed it. A couple of years later, we released Mommicked. Mommicked is about living through and navigating heavy weather here on Hatteras and how it impacts our community. Once again, even though surfing is the obvious focus, I chose to go in the opposite direction—to showcase what truly happens here before, during, and after storms. I guess I moved away from surf photography and fully embraced documentary photography.

How did working with film inform your digital work, if at all?
When I began photography, I was shooting film. Since I wasn’t developing my own work, I had to get it right in the camera, which became ingrained in me: get it right in camera, get it right in camera. That mindset has certainly carried over into the digital side of photography. Although there is more leeway with post-processing, I still aim to do my best in getting it right in camera, which also means less time sitting in front of a computer.
You’ve been photographing dynamic weather for almost 30 years—how did that documentary work evolve into a successful wedding photography business?
Documenting weddings and family portraits provided income to cover my bills and living expenses. Documenting the weather has always been a passion for me, but it never really generated that much income. Even to this day, it doesn’t generate income, but photographing weddings and family portraits gives me the time to shoot the things I’m passionate about (weather/surf) that don’t generate income but feed my soul. I photograph an average of around 40-50 weddings and about 90-120 family portraits a year. This allows me to pursue my passions while managing wedding and portrait numbers, which is definitely a juggling act.

Tell us about the making of this photo from an abandoned rental home and the trajectory that followed.
We are a really small community here, and pretty much everybody knows everybody. You grow up with half the island. It has its faults, but for the most part, it’s great; I love the small-town vibes.
The houses aren’t abandoned; they are rented out by the week. I think, for this particular storm, the people who were supposed to stay at that house were moved to one that wasn’t flooding. My friend Jake Throne posted a video of water pouring into the downstairs area of the house, which had a pool table in the middle of the room. I texted him to ask which house it was. I knew it was in a general area but wasn’t sure which particular house it was.

The next morning, I went out with my daughter and entered the house I thought Jake was talking about, but it turned out to be a completely different one. When we went in, the pool table was racked; someone had already played and set it back up. My daughter broke the balls, and I snapped a few pictures of her playing pool. I then asked her to step out of the frame so I could take a few empty shots. There wasn’t a danger of getting arrested for trespassing, just the potential for a tongue-lashing for being in a rental house. We yelled before stepping inside to see if there were any renters there, but it was empty.

There is a massive rental home industry here on Hatteras Island and the Outer Banks as a whole. When I was a kid growing up here, there weren’t many houses on the beach. The rental property industry exploded in the 80s and 90s, with very few zoning laws to keep things in check. Thank God for the Park Service and the National Park, or else every square inch of the island would have been developed. Homes weren’t necessarily built on the beach, but over time, they have ended up there due to island migration, erosion, and sea level rise. Now, there are rows of houses in each village that are in danger of being destroyed by the ocean. When it’s calm here, the views from the houses are great, and the proximity to the beach makes for a short walk to the ocean. However, that doesn’t translate well when we have a storm.

I snapped about 10-15 frames, was in the house for about 5 minutes, then left. I shared the image on Instagram, and within 24 hours, an editor from Time Magazine reached out to me. It was initially supposed to run in a climate change issue but ended up as an image in Time’s Top 100 of 2020. It’s surreal to have the image in that collection, especially since it seemed like the world was on fire back then, and the images taken worldwide were incredible. Having a photo in that collection will always be a career highlight for me.

You’re a self-described climate advocate and have been documenting the barrier island, which behaves like a living, breathing piece of land. When did you start to see catastrophic changes, and what are your hopes for this body of work?
I live on a barrier island off the coast of North Carolina. It is a sandbar—a thin strip of sand located 30 miles out in the Atlantic Ocean. It’s a wild place. Barrier islands are supposed to migrate over time from east to west. When you take something as dynamic as a barrier island and place static structures on it, like roads and houses, conflict is bound to arise over time. It’s a slow process, but it currently appears to be happening rapidly; this has been building up over the past 40-50 years. Houses are falling into the ocean, and roads are washing out. That has always happened here, but due to the way homes were built in proximity to the ocean, we are witnessing drastic changes. I think we have lost about six houses this year due to island migration, erosion, and sea level rise, and the road has washed out numerous times. As for houses collapsing, there has definitely been a shift over the past couple of years, and it is only going to get worse. I don’t have a specific plan for what will happen with the photos I am creating about these storms, but for now, my aim is to tell the story of how our community is dealing with these weather events. If my work can somehow inform policy changes related to zoning laws and educate people about how barrier islands function, I suppose that would be the long-term goal. At some point, I would selfishly like to create an updated version of Mommicked.

You grew up in Buxton, NC, home to the famed Old Lighthouse Beach, the spot where East Coast pro surfing was born. Russell Blackwood, a great surfer and photographer, was a friend and mentor and he passed down advice along with his old Nikonos V camera. Years later, Russell’s son, Wolfi, named you as one of his mentors. What does that say about the Cape Hatteras community?
Daniel: I wouldn’t say I’m one of Wolfi’s mentors, but we are good friends. I got to see Wolfi grow up and was there for his first attempt at paddling out at big Lighthouse and getting denied. I’ve witnessed him turn into an amazing surfer, charging the Lighthouse at its absolute rawest. We still surf together—me, Wolfi, and his dad. Wolfi and his wife are expecting a girl in a couple of months, starting a family of their own. It’s super odd to think that our kids will grow up together since I have a 20-year-old, an 18-year-old, and a 1-year-old. Our community is incredibly tight-knit. We are small, and for better or worse, we experience our community’s highs and lows. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Best career advice?
I wish I would have gotten this advice when I first picked up a camera (but I prolly wouldn’t have listened)…over 30 years ago.
Buckle up….
Compose and wait.
Create photos that resonate with the heart.
Do what it takes, do the work.
Be honest with yourself.
Don’t take the easiest safest path.
Technical has to be automatic…like breathing.
Make your work personal.
Look beyond the obvious.
Compose and wait…(needs to be said again and again and again)
Work the scene.
Trust your gut.
In every situation there is opportunity for a great photograph.
Always shoot with a purpose.
Show the truth.
Success does not give you knowledge, failures do.
Start appreciating things around you.
A moment can change your life.
Great photography is always on the brink of failure.
In any given moment…we have two options…to step forward into growth…or step back into comfort…

And worst?
Probably when I was starting to shoot surf photos.
you need to shoot really tight.
You have to shoot surfing a certain way…
Looking back it was so cookie cutter…but I get the advice…it was a way to help you produce surf images that fit into a narrative or into the pages of a magazine or website…
But leaves absolutely no room for growth or creativity