Your work often blurs the line between reality and hyperreal constructed worlds. Can you share what first sparked your fascination with creating these meticulously staged scenes? Was there a moment or influence that set you on this path?

I’ve always been drawn to scenes that feel like they’re teetering between real life and something more cinematic or symbolic—where everyday moments are quietly loaded with meaning. Early on, I realized I wasn’t quite as interested in using photography to document the world as it is. What pulled me in was the feeling that something was about to happen—or had just happened—and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.
Staged photography gave me the ability to build those moments from scratch. There’s something powerful about having that control—how light falls, how someone stands, what’s in or out of frame. It’s all real, but when you compose it carefully, it starts to feel heightened—almost like a dream you sort of remember. I think that’s what hooked me. It was less about capturing truth and more about constructing a version of it that felt emotionally true. That’s when the camera stopped being just a recording device for me, and became a way to direct—to build worlds, not just reflect them.

In your series The Palms and American West, you explore very different facets of American identity. How did your own perspective as an Australian artist shape the way you see and reinterpret these American mythologies?

Coming from Australia, America always felt like a myth to me—something I first experienced through movies, ads, and pop culture long before I ever set foot here. All I knew was at some point I had to be here. When I finally arrived, what struck me was the tension between that mythology and the real places and people living inside it. That’s one of the benefits of being an outsider—you don’t take anything for granted. You notice the contradictions.
I’ve always used my environment as the foundation for my work, which probably explains why I tend to move every few years. The Palms came out of my time living in Florida. It felt surreal—lush, strange, the perfect canvas to create from. I wanted to peel back the layers of daily life there and explore what makes that place feel so charged and cinematic.
With “American West”, I’ve shifted my focus to the cowboy—less the historical figure and more the cultural symbol that’s been shaped by Hollywood, advertising, and this broader idea of American identity. I’m interested in how that myth was built, who it left out, and what happens when you look a little closer. The images lean into the mythology—but not to glorify it. I’m drawn to the space where the ideal starts to fall apart—where something more complicated, more human, starts to show through. Being a n outsider gives me some distance. I’m not weighed down by nostalgia, so I’m free to question it all.

Many of your photographs feel almost like cinematic stills, rich with narrative possibility. How do you build these stories in your mind before they become images? Do you see yourself more as a photographer or as a director of visual stories?
 

Before I even pick up a camera, there’s usually a long period of research and planning. Sometimes more than a year. I spend a lot of time thinking about how I want the series or image to feel. That emotional tone is the anchor—everything else builds from there. I start imagining the characters, the setting, the light. I scout locations extensively, cast real people, cast actors, cast models, sketch, adjust things over and over until it all lines up with that first feeling I was chasing.
I’ve always been drawn to those moments that sit somewhere between real life and a dream—where something feels familiar but also slightly off, like a memory or a scene from a film. Cinematic lighting helps push that even further, but the story always comes first. That’s why I see myself as a director just as much as a photographer. Even though the final image is a still, the process behind it is layered and deliberate—scripted, designed, and rehearsed.

This summer, you’re bringing your work to Sun Valley, a place known for its big skies, iconic American landscapes, and tight-knit community. What excites you most about connecting with viewers here, and does this environment inspire new ideas for you?

What excites me most about showing work in Sun Valley is the chance to connect with people who live inside the kind of landscape I’ve been chasing in my images. There’s a rawness and scale to this part of the country that you can’t fake—it has a quiet power to it. The big skies, the light, the space… it all holds a kind of presence and that’s exactly what I’m drawn to in my work.
I’m curious how the images will land here. Will they feel familiar to people? Or strange? Or maybe both? That tension—between recognition and reinterpretation—is something I’m always exploring. And yes, this environment definitely inspires new ideas. It reminds me why I started American West in the first place: to dig into how identity is shaped by the land around us, and how the stories we tell about those places get passed down and represented or in this case re-represented.

Your images invite viewers to slow down and question what is real versus constructed. In an age of endless digital images, how do you hope people will experience your photographs in person?

Some people get caught up in how the image was made—the staging, the lighting, the construction. And that’s fine, but if that’s all they see, I think they’re missing the point. What I really want is for someone to stop in front of the work for reasons they can’t quite explain. Maybe it hits them emotionally, maybe it just pulls them in through lighting and composition.
There’s something different about standing in front of a large-format print. The scale, the clarity—it’s almost overwhelming. You’re not just looking at a picture; you’re inside the moment. Every detail is intentional. The way the light falls, the space between characters and objects—it all matters. It’s meant to feel like you’ve walked in on something just as it’s happening, or maybe right after.
In a world full of fast, disposable images, I want mine to slow people down. To make them look closer. And ideally, leave with more questions than answers. If they walk away unsure of what exactly they just saw—but moved by it—then I’ve done what I set out to do.

Through his carefully constructed images, Dean West invites us to look closer—to question what we see, what we believe, and how the stories around us are shaped. His photographs linger in the space between reality and imagination, where myth unravels and emotional truth takes hold. Each frame is not just a visual experience, but a meticulously crafted world that asks us to pause, wonder, and reflect.

As you engage with his work, we hope you're drawn into that tension—between beauty and artifice, nostalgia and critique. Because in Dean West’s world, nothing is accidental, and every detail carries meaning.

To view Dean West’s available works at Sun Valley Contemporary, visit the gallery or connect with one of our consultants. We’re proud to share his compelling vision.

Check Out All the Pieces by Dean HERE