Kelvin Small III shared their story and experiences with us recently and you can find our conversation below.
Good morning Kelvin, we’re so happy to have you here with us and we’d love to explore your story and how you think about life and legacy and so much more. So let’s start with a question we often ask: Have you ever been glad you didn’t act fast?
Absolutely, especially in a world obsessed with instant gratification. Some of the most meaningful decisions and creations in my life have come from moving slowly and intentionally. That’s something I really leaned into while working on BLISS VOL II. My process with that project wasn’t about chasing momentum, it was about letting each image and idea unfold over time. I allowed myself to sit with the themes, live through them, and revisit the work with fresh eyes across seasons, even years. BLISS VOL II became more layered and emotionally honest because I didn’t rush it. There’s a depth that only emerges when you give something time to breathe. I’ve learned that for me, patience isn’t hesitation, it’s commitment. And in the end, I’m always grateful I gave it that space.
Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
My name is Kelvin Small III, and I’m a fine art surrealist photographer based in Jupiter Beach, Florida. My practice is rooted in black-and-white photography, using the absence of color to draw out emotional intensity, symbolic form, and psychological depth. Through a blend of portraiture, still life, and landscape, I create visual narratives that explore memory, identity, and the tension between the physical and spiritual self. What sets my work apart is the way I approach photography as a slow, intentional process, one that values time, silence, and reflection. Each image is treated as a vessel for emotional resonance, often drawing from personal experiences, mythic structures, and dreamlike symbolism. My work invites viewers into immersive, constructed worlds that feel both intimate and otherworldly. As an artist, I’m committed to building bodies of work that unfold across years, allowing for deep transformation both in the work and in myself. It’s this long-form approach that gives my practice its depth and clarity, and it’s what continues to guide the evolution of my visual language.
Great, so let’s dive into your journey a bit more. Who were you before the world told you who you had to be?
I was a quiet, observant Black kid growing up in West Palm Beach, in a neighborhood where survival often overshadowed self-discovery. I never quite fit in. While most people around me were trying to blend in or stay hardened by circumstance, I was drawn to things that felt softer, stranger, more imaginative. I was into art, emotion, stillness, things that didn’t always have a place in the environment I came from. Growing up in the hood, being into different things made me feel like an outcast. I wasn’t interested in proving myself through noise or conformity. Instead, I found comfort in creating my own world, one shaped by light, shadow, memory, and myth. Even when I didn’t have the words, I had the vision. I was already learning how to see what others missed, how to give feeling a form. Before the world tried to tell me who I had to be, I was already in quiet rebellion, not loud or confrontational, just deeply committed to becoming myself. That outsider perspective didn’t isolate me, it helped me understand nuance, contradiction, and the beauty in complexity. It shaped my eye, my work, and my sense of purpose as an artist.
What did suffering teach you that success never could?
Suffering taught me lessons that success alone never could, it taught me patience, resilience, and the depth of empathy. When things are easy or going well, it’s tempting to stay on the surface, to chase achievement without really looking inward. But suffering forces you to confront your limits, your fears, and your vulnerabilities. It strips away illusions and reveals what’s truly essential. Through hardship, I learned how to hold space for complexity and contradiction, both in myself and in others. I learned that growth often happens in silence, in the cracks, in moments when nothing seems to be moving forward. That kind of learning can’t be rushed or rewarded with applause, it’s private, slow, and deeply transformative. Suffering shaped my art and my vision by teaching me to honor imperfection and to find beauty in struggle, which success, with all its shine, can sometimes overshadow.
Next, maybe we can discuss some of your foundational philosophies and views? What’s a belief or project you’re committed to, no matter how long it takes?
I’m deeply committed to my ongoing project, Bliss, which I view as a long-term journey rather than a quick endeavor. This work is not just a collection of photographs, but a profound exploration of memory, identity, and emotional landscapes that I plan to develop over the next five years. It’s a process that requires patience and intentionality, as each volume needs time to unfold and reveal its full depth.
For me, the creative process is as important as the final product. I believe that meaningful art cannot be rushed, and it demands persistence, reflection, and a willingness to embrace uncertainty. Over time, the work gains layers of meaning and resonance that only come through sustained attention and commitment. No matter how long it takes, I am dedicated to bringing Bliss to life fully and authentically. This project is deeply personal, and giving it the space to evolve allows it to connect more honestly with both myself and the audience. My goal is to create something timeless, a visual narrative that continues to speak and transform well beyond its initial presentation.
Okay, so let’s keep going with one more question that means a lot to us: What pain do you resist facing directly?
One pain I’ve long resisted facing directly is the trauma I experienced growing up in Downtown Los Angeles. That environment was complex and often harsh, filled with challenges that left emotional scars I carried quietly for years. It’s a pain rooted in survival, loss, and the feeling of being unseen, and for a long time, it was easier to push it aside than to confront it head-on.
Through my work on BLISS, I’m beginning to face that pain with honesty and care. The project offers me a way to process those difficult memories and emotions by transforming them into visual narratives that hold space for healing and reflection. Creating BLISS is not just an artistic endeavor, it’s a personal journey toward understanding and reclaiming my story.
While the pain hasn’t disappeared, working through it in this way gives it shape and meaning. It allows me to move forward without forgetting, to hold the complexity of my experience, and to invite others into a conversation about trauma, resilience, and transformation.
Contact Info:
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/kelvinsmall_iii/
