Blum Photography

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Blum Photography

Photographer | Author | Traveler

Works seen in Esquire, GQ, Men's Health, Maxim, FHM, USA Today, Huffington

on Instagram and Twitter

Fashion, commercial, and travel photographer based in Dallas, Texas. Works seen in Esquire, GQ, Men's Health, Maxim, FHM, USA Today, Huffington Post, Playboy, TMZ, etc. Services include:
Fashion photography
Commercial photography
Corporate headshots
Video
Model portfolios

10/12/2026

"Wish You Were Here"

Today I was exploring the impermanence of life, with each stamp representing a moment in time...something worth preserving even though it was never meant to last.

10/08/2026

The French have mastered the art of making absolutely nothing look like a worthwhile afternoon. I'm studying diligently.

10/01/2026

Art practice over lunch.

09/21/2026

Sometimes you just get colors, shapes, a mood... because the world is moving too fast.
A building becomes a streak. A window becomes a simple rectangle of light. A stranger disappears before you ever see their face.

I don't mind.

Photography isn't always about capturing the thing exactly as it was. For me lately, it's about what the thing felt like.
The blur, the movement, the strange geometry of a place you only saw for half a second. All those moments when reality doesn't give you enough time to compose it.
No perfect light, no clean lines, no fu***ng tripod. Just there it is...

and then...

it's gone.
So you make something from the scraps.
A color.
A shadow.
A little bit of motion.
Proof that you were there, even if the world refused to sit still long enough to be captured.

09/11/2026

If you were alive 25 years ago, you remember.
You remember the fear. The confusion. The disbelief.

And then something strange happened.

For a little while, we stopped keeping score.
Black. White. Republican. Democrat. Rich. Poor. None of it seemed particularly important anymore.

We were just Americans.

We were scared. We were angry. We were hurting. But we were also looking after one another.
We picked strangers up. We checked on neighbors. We gave blood. We stood in lines. We put our hands on the shoulders of people we'd never met and reminded them, without saying a word, that they weren't alone.

We mourned the people we lost, we mourned with the people who lost them, and for a brief, heartbreaking moment, the things that normally divide us seemed very small.

Twenty-five years later, we remember.

But maybe remembering shouldn't end with remembering.

Maybe it should remind us of something we already know how to do.

Be decent.

Smile at a stranger. Help somebody carrying too much. Pick someone up when they're down. Put the argument aside long enough to remember there's a human being standing across from you.

We don't have to agree with one another to give a s**t about one another. That's not complicated.

Maybe that's the part worth remembering most.

Today, we remember those we lost.

And tomorrow, we get another chance to be better to the people who are still here.

One love. 🖤

08/21/2026

Proof of Life

07/10/2026

Since moving abroad, I've been asked "why" more times than I can count. I've written a variety of responses, but these latest words are the ones that make the most sense to me now. I hope you enjoy them and hopefully see a little of yourself in them.

The Itch
I had to get out.
To experience something bigger. Something louder, dirtier, and more alive than the life I’d built around comfort and control.
To remember what it feels like to want again.
It didn’t happen overnight.
It crept in quietly. In the cracks between meetings that meant nothing. In the smile I pasted on for photos I didn’t want to be in. In the long, forgettable weekends that were supposed to recharge me but only reminded me that Monday was coming.
It wasn’t anger. It was numbness. A slow suffocation disguised as success. The itch started there.

The Lie of More
The lie was elegant: work hard, check the boxes, upgrade when you can. Fulfillment will follow.
I had the job. I had the health insurance. I had the high-end espresso machine.
I crafted clever, curated lines for social media; bite-sized witticisms and filtered photos meant to say, “I’m doing fine. Look at me.”
But under all that polish was a quiet desperation. I wasn’t full. I was trapped. Like I’d spent years building a life someone else convinced me I should want.
More money. More reach. More approval.
None of it ever felt like me.

The Jump (and the Truth)
Spain didn’t save me. It wasn’t magic.
It was different. And that was enough.
It stripped away the noise. It slowed everything down. The mornings started later. The coffee was sipped, not swallowed. The language didn’t come easy, and that was good. It forced me to listen. Forced me to be present. Forced me to earn connection.
Meals weren’t fuel. They were hours. They were moments. They were conversations and w**e and no rush to get to the next thing. Because maybe, this was the thing.
I still don’t have it all figured out. But in the silence, in the mess, in the foreignness of it all... I started to feel alive again.

06/25/2026

Funny how someone you've never met can change the trajectory of your life.

You taught us that food was never really about food. It was about people. About sitting at tables with strangers long enough for them to become friends. About chasing stories instead of checking off lists. About getting lost...on purpose.

You made curiosity look like courage, and because of you, I look down alleys instead of avenues. I linger in tiny cafés. I ask questions. I photograph ordinary moments that most people walk past. I've learned that the best stories never happen where the guidebook tells you to go.

You reminded us that the world isn't something to conquer, but something to taste, to listen to, and to respect.

We still miss you, and it's not because no one talks about travel anymore, but because no one talked about humanity quite the way you did. You had a way of making us feel that a bowl of noodles in a backstreet shop mattered just as much as any five-star meal, because the people behind it always mattered more than the plate.

That's a lesson worth carrying.

So wherever this finds you...

Thanks.

For the curiosity.
For the permission to wander.
For reminding us that the world is infinitely more interesting than our assumptions about it.

Happy 70th, Tony.

03/19/2026

"Texas T"

from the Monsters Under the Bed series.

Address

824 Exposition Avenue
Dallas, TX
75226

Website

http://www.BlumPhotography.com/

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