Why Am I Sad

A Visual Journey by Dana Stirling

Photographer Dana Stirling’s new book, Why Am I Sad, is a deeply personal collection of analog photographs that examines the complexities of sadness. Shot on a Mamiya RZ 67 camera with Ektar 100 film, the book combines Stirling’s striking visual storytelling with an intimate essay about her experience with depression. Stirling, also the editor-in-chief and co-founder of Float Photo Magazine, brings a unique voice to the conversation about mental health.

Dana Stirling’s photography has always been an extension of her inner world. In moments of isolation, the camera became her lifeline. She describes it as a way to give form to emotions she couldn’t articulate. Through her lens, Stirling transforms her struggles into images that invite viewers to connect with her experience.

Depression affects nearly 280 million people worldwide, and Stirling’s story is one among many. Raised by immigrant parents in a small town, she navigated an identity split between two cultures. Her mother’s clinical depression shaped her childhood, casting shadows she didn’t fully understand until adulthood.

The book chronicles Stirling’s emotional journey through landscape photographs spanning ten U.S. states: California, Arizona, New York, New Mexico, Pennsylvania, North Dakota, New Jersey, West Virginia, Massachusetts, and Ohio. Through the deliberate, slow process of analog photography, she discovered a mindful way to process pain, stay present, and find beauty in imperfection.

Stirling writes, “These images serve as something of a personal odyssey… a reminder that beauty and sadness often walk hand in hand along the winding paths of our voyage through life. This is my sadness. It is possible these words will find resonance within you, and if not, perhaps these images will echo louder than any written sentiment.”

The recurring Happy Face is one of the book’s most striking symbols. It appears on the cover and in many of the images taken across her journey. For Stirling, these ubiquitous icons of happiness carry a sinister undertone.

“These once cheerful symbols… transform into grim reflections of the person behind the lens,” she writes. “With their exaggerated grins and innocent gaze, they radiate happiness in the most brazen and vexing manner imaginable, mocking me and serving as a constant reminder. Yet I find myself capturing them, trapping their false joy in the frame, a stark contrast to the melancholy that envelops me.”

Why Am I Sad offers vivid, colorful photography that radiates beauty while confronting sadness. Stirling’s hope for readers is simple: “I hope people who see the images smile, but I also hope they will come to understand that it is okay not to smile if they don’t want to, and not be okay all the time. Other people struggle just like them, and that is okay too.”

LuLa had a chance to ask Dana Stirling some further questions about her work. 

– Why did you choose the Mamiya RZ67 and Ektar 100 film specifically for this project? How did these technical choices influence the emotional quality of your images?

I’ve been using Ektar 100 since my second year of undergrad—so about 11–12 years now. I fell in love with its tonality, fine grain, and overall feel, and I’ve stuck with it ever since. I liked the consistency it gave my work—how all my images carried the same distinct look—so committing to a single film stock just made sense. Over time, it became an essential part of my process.
I started my journey with an old Bronica, where I learned not just how to shoot film but also how to develop my aesthetic. By 2013, I wanted to move to a slightly larger format, which led me to the Mamiya RZ67—a camera I still use today.
For me, the shift wasn’t so much about the camera itself but the viewfinder experience. Looking down into that glass, framing the world from above—it allowed me to fully immerse myself in the image, disconnecting from the reality outside of it. The act of composing through the ground glass became just as important as taking the photo itself, shaping how I work to this day.

I can’t say for certain that these technical choices changed the photos themselves—but they changed me as an artist. Using these tools early in my development shaped my relationship with photography, helping me not just fall in love with the medium but also define who I want to be as an artist.
I see the camera and film as an extension of myself—a way to translate my vision into something tangible. But at the end of the day, they are tools—what truly matters is how they work together with my perspective, intuition, and emotions. It’s this combination—the synergy between the gear, the process, and my intent—that makes an image succeed.

– Could you walk us through your analog process? Where did you process, scan etc?  

I get my film developed at Color Resource Center (CRC) in New York City, and I’m fortunate to have a Hasselblad Flextight scanner in my home studio, where I handle all my own scanning and color correction. My husband, Yoav Friedlander, who is also a photographer, often helps me fine-tune the process.
I first learned scanning and digital image processing (as well as traditional darkroom techniques) during my undergrad years—skills that have been invaluable, not just throughout school but in shaping my workflow as an artist today. Having control over the scanning and editing process allows me to stay closely connected to my images from start to finish.

– How does the deliberate pace of film photography help you process emotions differently than digital might?

I have always been a slow photographer. Not just in pace, but in process, in feeling. I’ve read about the great photographers of past generations, those who burned through rolls of film with an almost feverish urgency—capturing hundreds of frames in the time it takes to cross a street. That was never me.
My emotions shape my days, and some days, they weigh too heavily to lift a camera. There have been long stretches where I made no work at all, and even when I did, I struggled to finish a single roll of ten frames. My process has always been unrushed, deliberate. Photography doesn’t come easily or endlessly to me, and maybe that’s why film has always felt like home.
An analog camera grants me permission to slow down, to treat each photograph as something that matters—something that deserves its own moment. I take my time. I consider composition, the way elements settle within the frame, the precise angle where everything aligns. To truly see an image, you must look, really look.
With digital photography, I often find myself moving too fast, becoming careless—overlooking details, making mistakes. But film asks for patience. The weight of the camera, the need for a tripod—these things ground me. They make sense. They remind me that slowness is not a flaw but a necessity.

– The happy face motif appears throughout your work. Was this a conscious decision from the beginning, or did it emerge organically as you photographed?

These happy faces began creeping into my world almost without me noticing. At first, there were just a few—small, unassuming, scattered in places I barely registered. But then, they started appearing more often, as if they were seeking me out. It reached a point where I couldn’t ignore them anymore. I began deliberately searching for them, and the more I looked, the more they revealed themselves—like hidden messages waiting to be found, like they had always been there, just out of sight until I was ready to see them.
In the beginning, they felt like a playful discovery, a humorous little symbol of irony and whimsy. A bright contrast to my own state of mind. But as time passed and the project deepened, those grinning faces started to shift in meaning. They no longer felt like simple coincidences or cheerful accidents. Instead, they began to mock me, to tease me. Their wide, frozen smiles felt almost taunting, as if they were in on some cosmic joke I wasn’t privy to. They seemed to say Don’t fool yourself.

– Were there any technical challenges shooting with medium format film across such varied environments, and how did you overcome them?

The challenge, for me, lies in the weight and bulk of it all. Carrying film equipment is always a bit of a task, especially when you’re traveling by plane. I’ve had my share of mishaps—like the time the camera’s battery died unexpectedly, leading to overexposed or underexposed frames, or even worse, film that was loaded backwards. Of course, mistakes like these are part of the process with film and cameras—they’re inevitable. But, honestly, I’ve never found them insurmountable.
Sometimes, I’ll curse under my breath or shed a frustrated tear, but then I just move on to the next roll of film. And that, in a way, is the beauty of it. Film is delicate, yes—but also remarkably resilient. It has this way of forgiving you, giving you another chance to try again. It’s a constant cycle of learning, accepting, and moving forward.

Why Am I Sad is a testament to the power of photography to give voice to what often goes unspoken—a visual journey that reminds us that embracing our emotions, even the difficult ones, can lead to profound self-discovery and unexpected beauty.

Please visit Dana’s website https://www.danastirling.com/books/why-am-i-sad-book

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