Fit For Framing: Brian Nevins Portfolio

Bio by Matt Pruett: Captions by Brian Nevins

Brian Nevins is a paradox. It would be easier to picture the 28-year-old Hampton, NH, native as a study of New England surliness — cab driver-stocky, dark features, crusty voice — rather than the lisping, fair-haired Frankenstein monster that hovers above you. He smokes cigs, will throw back a round of pints with the best of ‘em, and admits to a “potty mouth vernacular,” yet more often than not, he chooses to travel with surfing’s teetotalling Christian Coalition. He’s been ranked as high as 14th on Transworld Business’  2006 Surf Exposure-O-Meter (the highest year-end total of any non-staff lensman), and has several enviable covershots to his credit (including Surfer Magazine, The Surfer’s Path, and this very issue of ESM) — yet he’s never even owned so much as a digital camera or a 600mm lens. And he’s easily the most successful, sought-after surf photographer to ever come from New England — yet often finds himself clashing with some of the industry’s more myopic team managers, athletes, and marketing stooges because of his steadfast refusal to “play ball” and abandon his signature style, a style that is unique in its delivery. One that involves using ambient light almost exclusively, one that emphasizes the peripheral character over the human model. And in a subculture that embraces smoke-blowing and ass-kissing between Stepford automatons and false idols, Brian Nevins is just begging for you to find the nerve to tell him how to present his art. 

“I guess I’ve just never understood the tight action shot thing,” he admits. “I don’t get amped when a guy does another Kerrupt flip on a perfect wave. Like you’ve never seen that before, c’mon. But how often do you get to see some butt-naked jungle woman freaking out next to her medicine man? I’ve always been fascinated by the travel experience itself more than the actual surfing.”

Part of the reason for that attitude is the fact that Brian’s been thoroughly acquainted with the globetrotting life since an early age. His father (New Hampshire State Representative Christopher Nevins) served as a Delta Airlines pilot for 30 years, and had his kid coming and going on runways since he was four years old. But it would be several years before photography, or the surfing bug, would come into view. And it was almost accidental. Growing up in New England, snowboarding had naturally been Brian’s first love. By 1995, however, he had become enchanted with the Atlantic’s liquid slopes and was soon carving lines in New Hampshire’s pristine lineups. Immediately upon graduating from high school, Brian and a friend split for Santa Cruz, CA, which offered the best of both worlds (snow and surf), blowing their minds and their cash before returning back East broke, but inspired. That’s when fate stepped in via corporate ultimatum. “Delta said if I didn’t go to college by the time I was 18, I’d lose my flyer miles privilege,” he recalls. “So I moved back to California, enrolled in minimum classes at a junior college in San Luis Obispo, delivered pizzas, and surfed everyday. I took photography just as a boner class, an easy way to get credits, but accidentally signed up for Advanced Photography. That teacher influenced me to go further, saying, ‘Look, you’re already a surf loser. Why not put two and two together and make ten bucks out of it?’ Eventually, I got accepted into Brooks Institute. But at the time, I just wanted to get a college degree and make my parents happy.”

Later, while looking for a waterhousing, Nevins received his first introduction to how stingy surf photographers could be with information. Luckily, he met up with legendary lensman David Pu’u in Ventura, CA, who after attempting to dissuade Nevins from pursuing the notoriously competitive and financially unstable field, took the eager East Coaster under his wing. Nevins shadowed Pu’u over the next six months, and was hooked almost instantly. “I don’t know where it came from,” he says, “I just woke up one day, and it clicked. And David was really supportive with helping me get started. I took a trip with him to the North Shore and somehow got a shot published in Surfer, a wave at Rockpile which they labeled Pipe. It was the first photo in a major magazine that had my name on it, and I received a copy of it while on my way to jail... just alcohol-related stuff from when I was younger. I remember telling people there, ‘See, I’m not a total fuckup’ [laughs].”

But the real revelation came when Pu’u turned down a trip to the Mentawais with UK-based pub The Surfer’s Path and suggested Brian go instead. After cold calling the editor, Alex Dick-Read, for three weeks straight, Nevins found himself on his first official magazine assignment, spending a week sleeping in the mud with Alex and a tribe of indigenous Siberut indians. “It was pretty nerve-racking,” says Brian. “During that first surf session at E-Bay, my waterhousing flooded, ruining a camera and two lenses. I was down to one body, a 70-200mm lens, and a 15mm lens for the rest of the trip. It was like a big ‘oops’ right in front of the editor. But that’s when I learned that you don’t need fancy gear or the big lens to get the shot. You could take a great shot with a disposable even. You need to be able to do the best with what you got. Lucky for me, my stuff worked for The Path. Alex was amped. I got my first cover (Issue #33, Oct./ Nov. 2002) and lots of photos published inside. It set the bar pretty high for everything I would do later.” 

Nevins soon backed up his Path work with more impressive photos in the mags as the gigs piled up, including a high-profile trip to Sumatra which earned him, among other things, Surfer’s October 2006 cover. The image itself was a Nevins hallmark — a pulled-back, black-and-white film shot of a perfect righthander unloading in front of a nameless, faceless witness in the foreground — very much like his Path cover, and as far away from the adopted industry standard as you could get. “Of course it’s everyone’s dream to get the cover of Surfer,” he says. “I had been working with them for awhile and figured that eventually one of my images would strike. But honestly, it confused me. Everyone had been yelling at me for so long to do more tight action and shoot digital… then they ran that on the cover. But hey, [laughs], I’ll take it.”

Today, after ten years living on the west coast, Nevins is back in his beloved New Hampshire homestate, acknowledging the cosmic joke of California enjoying one of their best winters in memory. He admits, however, that being back East forces him to stay on his toes more to capture the moments he feels the world needs to see. His most recent big catch was a portrait of an  icicle-brimmed winter warrior in the Great Lakes, which was selected as a finalist in the Close-Up category at the Red Bull Illume Image Quest 2006, the first-ever international photography competition that celebrates the world of action and adventure sports. Nevins cites the experience as a career highlight, while reaffirming that it’s his choice of perspective (and to some degree, his subjects) that breathes life into the work. “Being uncool, I don’t know how the cool club works,” he says. “And there’s no rhyme or reason to the evil empire. But a perfect right peeling off into the sunset, or snow on the beach — these are the things that make me go, ‘Wow, this is why I’m doing this.’ I love people’s reactions when they see something different rather than the same, tight, day-by-day surfer snapshot. I think that’s why I love portraiture so much, to be able to reveal all the different personalities we encounter through traveling. All the guys I shoot with regularly — Sam Hammer, Frank Walsh, Mike Gleason, Billy Hume, Noah Snyder, Carl Wallin, Matt Beacham, Will Tant, Cheyne Cottrell, Ben McBrien  — I’ve been consistent with for a reason. We took years to mold each other into realizing what’s gonna make a good shot. They know it’s not their logos that are going to get them published — companies have guys like Dane Reynolds for that — it’s going to be a real moment where they were ballsy enough to do something extraordinary.’

“The guys I shoot,” he insists, “are the real deal. I genuinely appreciate their company. I enjoy Beacham telling me I’m gonna be saved one day, and I enjoy Sam throwing a bottle of whiskey down my throat the next. I enjoy going out to the bars in a strange country with Billy. It has nothing to do with surfing and everything to do with character. One trip you’re with the Jersey Drinking Brigade and the next you’re with the God Squad. I mean, shit, do you know how often I’ve been told the East Coast doesn’t sell? And do you know how personally I take that? Because not only am I from here, but my surfers are from here. To be told they aren’t as good as their California counterparts, just because of their demographic, is bullshit. Somebody has to stick up for them. And I feel like I’ve gotten good enough to where if magazines or companies don’t want East Coasters, they’re not gonna get my images. I’m glad to play that role. I’d rather be passionately pissed than someone who doesn’t care. I actually told Sam and Beacham and the rest of those guys that when they quit, that’s when I’m done. There’s just something really magical about this generation. They work hard, and they’re good people. I don’t think surf photography would be as fun without them.”

Ironically, it’s integrity like that which keeps Nevins in such good graces with the so-called “evil empire,” as he’s constantly getting calls to shoot some of the most challenging assignments — Sri Lanka tsunami aid, Scotland slab hunts, Hurricane Katrina relief missions, Norway with Jersey’s finest, Habitat For Humanity, Iceland, Senegal... All without a digital camera. All without state-of-the-art flash gear. All without a 600mm. All without a trust fund, or so much as a retainer. However, before you strain your neck trying to spot Brian on his moral high ground, he’s quick to point out that his style is merely the result of years of forced improvisation. “I have nothing against digital,” he admits. “I just don’t have $9000 for a camera. On top of that, I’m really worried about creative control. When I give you a piece of film, that’s what the shot looks like. I don’t want to leave my work in the hands of people who may not understand my conception of surfing, so I don’t expect them to translate my work for me. But at some point, if I were ever able to buy one or a 600, I probably would have. I’m just another broke photographer, and glad to be that. I get to do something that makes a difference, translating the experience of life and traveling to others.”

“I’ve been living like a dirtbag my whole life anyway,” he finishes, “so the whole fame-fortune-first thing never appealed to me. In fact, if I made 15 or 20 grand a year for the rest of my life, I’d be totally content.”