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Q&A: Matt Takaichi’s Sardonic Tech Work Photography 

In 2014, East Bay artist Matt Takaichi was taking photos mostly on the street, but he soon started using this process-based approach for a project that would become “Developers,” his recently published first photography book of work from 2015-2020. To make the book, he went to over 50 Bay Area tech conferences, often by sneaking in, and took well over 10,000 photos that captured tech work in sad and funny ways. 

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Photo by Matt Takaichi from his book, Developers, which captures Bay Area tech conferences from 2015-2020 and was released in late 2021.
Photo by Matt Takaichi from his book, Developers, which captures Bay Area tech conferences from 2015-2020 and was released in late 2021.

By Zack Haber

In an interview from 2014, East Bay artist Matt Takaichi shied away from claiming he had a special eye for taking photos and instead said his ability to capture compelling images stems from “the extent” he takes to “position” himself for them. At that point, Takaichi was taking photos mostly on the street, but he soon started using this process-based approach for a project that would become “Developers,” his recently published first photography book of work from 2015-2020. To make the book, he went to over 50 Bay Area tech conferences, often by sneaking in, and took well over 10,000 photos that captured tech work in sad and funny ways.

While working on the project, Takaichi became obsessed and had trouble fathoming how it could end. But shelter-in-place hit in March of 2020, and the COVID-19 pandemic shuttered these in-person events, making it impossible for him to continue photographing them. He then began a year-long editing process and collaborated with Oakland-based book designer Kate Robinson to organize and self-publish “Developers,” selecting about 120 of these photos, most of which appear in black and white. Readers can purchase the book using this link. Takaichi discusses his book in the following interview, which I’ve edited for brevity and clarity.

Zack Haber: Why did you make a book about tech conferences? The book starts out showing protests. Was there anything political you wanted to explore?

Matt Takaichi: I’d been doing street photography for a while before I had the idea for this book. I was on the streets taking photos of people out and about. As I tried to put those photos together and figure out some way they made sense, I started to feel I needed to do a project that was a little more grounded and had some criticism or point to it.

I had the idea to do this project when I was thinking about how my Mom was a meeting planner for a tech company. Her job was to organize tech conferences. When I was living at home with her, there was one event where she hired me to photograph people as they were receiving awards. I remember thinking at the time ‘this is really stupid, this isn’t the type of photography I want to do.’ I was being kind of bratty. Then I thought about that later and I was like, oh, that could have been really interesting if I had approached it a little bit differently.

Photo by Matt Takaichi from his book, Developers, which captures Bay Area tech conferences from 2015-2020 and was released in late 2021.

Photo by Matt Takaichi from his book, Developers, which captures Bay Area tech conferences from 2015-2020 and was released in late 2021.

Around this time too, while living in the Bay Area, I was thinking about the economy here and how much of it is centered around tech. It seemed like a pretty straight shot if I did something around photographing tech, but I was also thinking about how I could bring street photography into that. But I couldn’t just walk into Google and start taking photos of people.

Then I thought about going into tech conferences. I had a sense of them while growing up and walked past them a lot in San Francisco. That’s really the only place tech congregates in a somewhat visible public way. It seemed like the only option where you could do a documentary style street photo type of a tech project and be around people to get their natural reactions. I thought ‘Here’s the biggest target and here’s the only way I can conceive of doing it.’ When I started I don’t think I had a real idea of what I was doing. It was just that concept and wanting to do it in a way that could be critical and funny.

Photo by Matt Takaichi from his book, Developers, which captures Bay Area tech conferences from 2015-2020 and was released in late 2021.

Photo by Matt Takaichi from his book, Developers, which captures Bay Area tech conferences from 2015-2020 and was released in late 2021.

I think especially at the time, 2015, there was a lot of antagonism toward tech. People were blocking Google buses. The anti-techie thing was really proliferating. I wanted to do some photos about how people perceived tech and the power centered around it and the wealth. But then when I was making the photos, I started realizing there was a lot of resentment among the workers, too. People didn’t want to be there. There was a lot of fatigue. As I did more of the project, things started to get really interesting in Bay Area organizing circles. I got really into this group called the Tech Workers Coalition. I thought a lot of their ideas for organizing were really interesting. For them, tech labor organizing should encompass everyone in the industry, not just engineers. There’s people servicing the tech industry, like cooks, and people in all sorts of lower paid positions. To me they all qualify as tech workers. At these events that service work was everywhere. And those workers made it into my book.

Unionizing in tech work was also entering into the popular consciousness more in the Bay Area. It was something I hadn’t really seen before. Now there’s the Alphabet Workers Union at Google, for example. At the same time, being someone who was employed in the industry before, I noticed those types of organizing hadn’t really penetrated the workforce as much as I’d like them to. It wasn’t common and still isn’t.

Photo by Matt Takaichi from his book, Developers, which captures Bay Area tech conferences from 2015-2020 and was released in late 2021.

Photo by Matt Takaichi from his book, Developers, which captures Bay Area tech conferences from 2015-2020 and was released in late 2021.

A lot of political photographs I had were labor protests by service workers that took place right outside the tech conventions. I have one that’s the Marriott strikers and they made flyers that were specific to people attending a tech conference. You see from the images there’s not a whole lot of interest from tech workers to engage with that. That’s what I’ve seen in the tech industry. You have workers who are pretty unhappy and are working long hours. At the same time there’s not really an infrastructure around collective bargaining to make the workplace better. But from my images you can see that there might be a latent desire to do that, if it could surface in a way that was a bit more legible to them. Who knows? There could be something there.

Can you talk a little bit about sneaking into these conferences, and what that felt like?

Takaichi: When I started doing this, I’d had the idea for a while but wasn’t sure how I’d execute it. Then one day I was walking around downtown San Francisco and saw the Moscone Center was having a tech conference. On a whim I was just like, let’s go for it. I walked into the building, went up the escalator, entered with a group of people and the security guard didn’t really register me.

That was the first event I snuck into. The security guard came up to me once and was like, ‘oh, hey, where’s your badge?’ Then I mumbled something incoherent and acted like I knew what I was doing, and he was like ‘oh OK, you’re good.’

Based on that first experience, I realized it wasn’t hard and I could just keep doing that going forward. Soon I stopped impulsively going to tech conferences. Instead, I learned about how they were scheduled and that, for about half of them, I could register and enter in for free. Most of the photos from the book though are from ones I snuck into. Sometimes, I could have paid to go to those events but it would have been like $400, which was way too expensive for me.

Subconsciously I always felt like I shouldn’t be there. I worried a little bit that people would find out I was working on this project. But before long though, I realized it was pretty low stakes. The worst thing that could happen is that I’d have been asked to leave. It wouldn’t have been a big deal.

Of course, I preferred not to get caught. But that never really happened. A lot of people just thought I was an event photographer. That was something I kind of had to learn how to navigate at first. Sometimes someone I wasn’t interacting with at first would be like ‘oh cool, take my photo.’

Eventually I just started telling people exactly what my project was when they asked, that I was working on a documentary series of images you might not normally see at a tech conference that showed how it wasn’t always fun. Almost all of them thought it was a good idea and they were often really cordial with me. One time I saw one of these people at a bar months later and he started going on this long rant about different ways he thought I could make a lot of money from my photos, which I thought was really funny.

I counted about 15 photos in “Developers” where people appear to stare directly at you or into the camera. Most, but not all, of these people look perturbed, annoyed, and perhaps suspicious of what you’re doing. I love these photos. They make me feel both unsettled and fascinated. There’s a taboo being broken here. As a child I remember being told not to stare at strangers. Why break that taboo? What did it feel like taking these photos?

To me these questions get at a lot of larger questions around street photography and what it’s like taking photos of people on the street who may not always know I’m doing that. I really struggled with how I felt about that for a while. I’ve been really into a lot of classic Magnum photographers, people like Josef Koudelka. What I really like about their photos is you’re just getting this slice of reality from 50 or 60 years ago. Everything feels really genuine, like it wasn’t posed.

It’s really hard to do that if someone knows you’re about to take their photo. I think to some extent it’s not cool to take those photos. At the same time, street photography has become part of the art canon. People like Henri Cartier-Bresson are seen as great artists of the 20th century. It’s kind of validated doing this type of photography.

All this is to say I never really figured out a way to navigate doing it. But what I will say about this project, and why I don’t feel as weird about doing it as I did about other street photography, is that there’s something about entering into the space of a tech conference that makes people assume you belong there. It’s different from taking photos on the street. Once you’re in a tech conference, there’s an assumption that everyone there is in a segment of workers basically, where maybe you’re all coming from a university background. And there’s security making sure everyone who goes in fits a profile. Due to that I think people drop their guard down pretty significantly.

Also in tech conferences, tons of people are running around with cameras. Some of them are working to boost their companies. There’s this tacit agreement that people there are being presenters speaking on behalf of a company. They’re there to advertise. On the one hand it’s a private space, but people are really putting themselves out there.

Honestly, in photos I have where someone has a weird facial expression, I wasn’t too sure they were even looking at me. These places were so dense with people. I use a pretty wide-angle lens and have a pretty discrete setup. When people looked a little frustrated sometimes, I would quickly snap my photo, especially because people’s facial expressions change so quickly.

I felt a little bit free from having to be super conscious of how I was being perceived all the time. A huge part of street photography is knowing how you appear to other people, because that’s going to inform how they react to you, which will change how they appear. You can smile at someone in the street and sometimes you’ll get this nice reception from them for a photo. But with this project I felt like I could really just be a fly on the wall. People weren’t paying much attention to me.

Your photos show an absurdity that’s often comical but also has a deep sadness. There’s lots of photos of people clearly stressed and/or exhausted while others show a strange carnivalesque showmanship and excitement. It makes me wonder: What was it like being in that space? What did you learn about these people and what tech work does to them?

When I saw people at the booths kind of doing their whole song and dance, it showed how when you’re employed in these jobs, you have to try to convince people that the company you work for is great. You have to keep inside whatever you feel about working there and just put your best face forward. I think there’s just something inherently conflictual about doing that. Needing to give this really positive facing image of your company really wears you down. You feel like you’re doing something that isn’t reflective of how you really feel and what it’s actually like to work there. Your coworkers are doing the same thing but when you look around it seems like they’re happy.

I don’t think people are happy working 80-hour weeks, which is pretty common in the tech industry. I think a lot of people feel bad about it. I wanted to have a lot of shots of the frontward facing image of what tech looks like and then ones where you kind of take a step back after people are done presenting and the fatigue shows up. People are just sitting on the ground looking exhausted. They’re calling their family and wishing they were there instead.

I think there’s a point in a lot of people’s adult life where you kind of just realize ‘I’m going to have to work and do these things I don’t like to do.’ Especially in this context of where the US is at right now, there’s not a whole lot of ways for most people to have any say as to what their company produces and how they’re managed.

Being in these tech conferences, it really was just like a show of force. You feel like you’re coming into something that’s powerful and disciplining to workers. It’s a little overwhelming realizing what people are up against now.

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Art

BOOK REVIEW: Never Tell a Black Girl How to Black Girl: Essays

Growing up in North Carolina, she Black Girled her hair her entire life. Her grandma made her sit for box braids when she was small, telling Brown that she was “tenderheaded.” Later, Brown had relaxed hair until she “went broke” and couldn’t afford the process anymore. That was when she got acquainted with her natural hair – although she returned to box braids at least once, and loved them all over again.

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Author: Amena Brown, Copyright: c.2026, Publisher: Tiny Rep Books, SRP: $30.00, Page Count: 320 pages

Some things can really make you cross.

People telling you your business, for instance. People asking questions they have no reason to know the answers to. Folks who criticize your hair or clothes or life. These things would set anyone off; they’d be the last straw for anybody. As in the new book, “Never Tell a Black Girl How to Black Girl” by Amena Brown, some folks just cross the line.

In a way, it’s a matter of grammar.

Depending on how you say it, “Black Girl is a noun and a verb,” says Brown. A Black Girl can be a Black Girl… and she can Black Girl. Brown herself has done it “in six countries.”

Growing up in North Carolina, she Black Girled her hair her entire life. Her grandma made her sit for box braids when she was small, telling Brown that she was “tenderheaded.” Later, Brown had relaxed hair until she “went broke” and couldn’t afford the process anymore. That was when she got acquainted with her natural hair – although she returned to box braids at least once, and loved them all over again.

As the child of a strict Pentecostal mother, Brown was a “late bloomer.” She didn’t drink alcohol until she was in her twenties. She was chaste while dating and a better church girl than a party girl. After she left the church, she began experimenting with wine first, then cocktails. She learned to cook, reasoning that the path to finding love started in a kitchen, one that happened to be her grandmother’s. And yes, love did eventually come in the form of a red-headed White man who was her friend before he became her boyfriend — and before he became her mother-sanctioned, grandma-approved husband.

Overall, says Brown, there is no single right method for doing this.

“There are so many ways to Black Girl, which means the way you Black Girl is beautiful, and the way I Black Girl is beautiful too.”

Looking for a collection of addictive, can’t-read-just-one essays that’ll make you laugh but that also feel like author Amena Brown is peeking at your life? Want a book that speaks to every corner of your existence?

Yeah, then you want “Never Tell a Black Girl How to Black Girl.”

You know how it is when you spot something so profound, so right, that you just have to call your friends and read it out loud to them? That’s what you’ll find here: truth told with humor that’s also oozing with warmth. Add honesty that’s smart and bold and practically begging for a “Heck, YES!” and you’ve got your new favorite book.

The essays here are short enough to read in a few minutes, but compelling enough to make you want more, so give yourself room.

This is a book for twenty- and thirty-somethings, but also for their mothers and grandmas who can handle respectful irreverence and surefooted playfulness. Can men enjoy “Never Tell a Black Girl How to Black Girl”? Sure, but it’s more for women, cross your heart.

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Eric Murphy’s ‘City of Stars’ Honors Culture and Community

Murphy’s artistic journey is grounded in a lifelong passion for storytelling through visuals. Beginning as a child sketching celebrities, he later expanded into collage, blending illustration with found imagery and photography.

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Artist Eric Murphy celebrates his birthday at the AAMLO, African American Museum and Library of Oakland with his exhibit City of Stars: From the Archives in downtown Oakland. Photo courtesy of Judah
Artist Eric Murphy celebrates his birthday at the AAMLO, African American Museum and Library of Oakland with his exhibit City of Stars: From the Archives in downtown Oakland. Photo courtesy of Judah

Eric Murphy’s latest exhibition, “Oakland City of Stars: From the Archives,” on view through Aug. 31, offers more than a visual tribute to Oakland; it presents history and a global connection rooted in the city’s cultural legacy.

Curated by Veda Silva at the African American Museum and Library at Oakland (AAMLO), the mixed-media solo show builds on Murphy’s evolving “Oakland All-Stars” series, highlighting figures rooted in community history.

Murphy’s artistic journey is grounded in a lifelong passion for storytelling through visuals. Beginning as a child sketching celebrities, he later expanded into collage, blending illustration with found imagery and photography.

His formal training at Laney College sharpened his photography skills, while his early career as a fashion photographer exposed him to broader creative networks. At the same time, his decade-long work with Pro Arts Gallery in Oakland expanded his artistic journey.

These experiences converge in “City of Stars,” where Murphy combines photography, digital collage, and graphic design into distinctive portraits. Each subject is embedded within a stylized map of Oakland, marked by district lines, and layered with visual references tied to their personal and cultural narratives.

Presented in a ‘playing card’ format, the works replace traditional suits with the City of Oakland logo, while multilingual elements and hand-painted details deepen the storytelling. The result is a series that feels both archival and contemporary, an artistic documentation of Oakland’s influence across generations.

The exhibit’s opening reception was also Murphy’s birthday celebration. “I’m celebrating my birthday, Oakland history, cultural ties, and art.”

About 50 guests attended the exhibit, including Joyce Gordon of Joyce Gordon Gallery, entertainer Zina Escovedo, and activists Alan Banks and Inez Banks. “We loaned one of our pieces to the exhibit,” said Alan Banks proudly.

Murphy credits much of his inspiration to his deep interest in Oakland history and its global intersections. Murphy also created a line of Oakland International language shirts. The concept originated in 2012 during a cultural exchange exhibition he managed between Oakland and its sister city, Fukuoka, Japan, celebrating their 50th anniversary.

Working with artists such as Emmy Award-winner James Gayles and photographer Hiroko To, Murphy began exploring language as a bridge between cultures. After studying Japanese at Laney College, he became fascinated with how “Oakland” could be expressed across languages.

That curiosity evolved into a design series beginning in 2019 with “Oakland” translated into Japanese as “Okurando.” From there, Murphy collaborated with community members and translators to create versions in multiple languages. By incorporating archival materials, cultural symbols, and historical references, Murphy transformed each shirt into a narrative artifact rather than a simple translation.

“Each design allowed me to show how rich our history is and how connected Oakland is to the world,” said Murphy.

This same philosophy drives the “Oakland All-Stars” series. Inspired by a moment of pride watching actor Shemar Moore acknowledge his Oakland roots on national television, Murphy began researching other successful people connected to the city. The series now includes former U.S. Vice President Kamala Harris, actress Zendaya, and the late comedian Paul Mooney, among others linked to Oakland.

“I am proud to feature Oakland in my artwork,” said Murphy. “Oakland is a special place, and art is a great way of showing the world what we are about.”

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New Minneapolis Mural Imagines Black and Indigenous Futures Among the Stars

MINNESOTA SPOKESMAN-RECORDER — Visual artist Leslie Barlow’s new mural, “Belonging to the Entire Universe,” was unveiled at the McKnight Foundation’s Minneapolis headquarters. The 66-by-33-foot installation, named after a quote from astronaut Mae Jemison, weaves together constellations, textiles from Barlow’s travels to Tanzania, and native plants.

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New Minneapolis Mural Imagines Black and Indigenous Futures Among the Stars

Belonging to the Entire Universe: Leslie Barlow’s New Mural Reimagines Community and Cosmos

Callisto Martinez reports on visual artist Leslie Barlow’s new mural, “Belonging to the Entire Universe,” a 66-by-33-foot installation unveiled at the McKnight Foundation’s Minneapolis headquarters. Named for a quote from astronaut Mae Jemison, the piece weaves constellations, textiles from Barlow’s travels to Tanzania, and native plants into what she calls an “artistic roadmap” for sustained community care, painted in part during the height of Operation Metro Surge.

Growing up, visual artist Leslie Barlow wanted to be an astronaut. Now, her mural Belonging to the Entire Universe, titled in reference to a quote from astronaut Mae Jemison, the first Black woman to travel into space, brings Barlow’s vision of a future universe to downtown Minneapolis.

Unveiled on June 12, the 66-by-33-foot installation faces the U.S. Bank Stadium and is displayed on the Minneapolis headquarters of the McKnight Foundation, a Minnesota-based foundation dedicated to advancing climate solutions, combatting housing instability and confronting other issues impacting Minnesotans.

“What I would love people to take away from it is this reminder of our relationship to the land, to each other, to our ancestors’ lineage, and then, of course, as the title says, to the entire universe,” said Barlow, a 2025 McKnight Visual Artist Fellow.

Barlow has long admired Jemison, enough to dress up as her for Halloween a few years ago, but the piece was not titled after Jemison until it was already finished. Barlow’s initial inspiration for the piece came directly from McKnight’s mission to “advance a more just, creative, and abundant future where people and [the] planet thrive.”

“Belonging to the Entire Universe” is displayed on the south-facing exterior of the McKnight Foundation headquarters, 921 Washington Ave. S., Minneapolis. Credit: McKnight Foundation

“With the words ‘just,’ ‘creative,’ and ‘abundant,’ I was thinking of something that showed a large amount of space, something that was really colorful and vibrant, definitely something that had plant life and spoke to the environment and the planet, so that’s where the cosmic imagery came in,” Barlow said. “I wanted it to feel like it flowed between different images to encompass people and [the] planet.”

Barlow’s piece began with digital sketches that she presented to a committee of McKnight staff and board members, who gave feedback on the design and unanimously selected her from a pool of applicants.

Barlow began rendering her drafts into a 7-foot-wide and 3.5-foot-tall oil painting in February, when Operation Metro Surge was in full force.

“It was actually very difficult for me to start painting because of the way that we were pulled toward mutual aid and on-the-ground efforts,” Barlow said. “It was a very dark time where so many of us were grieving and a lot of people were scared, rightly so, and still are. But at that time, I was also wanting to create an image that felt really hopeful and felt like another world was possible.”

Barlow describes the painting as an “artistic roadmap” that considers “if these aren’t just moments that our communities come together, but we are continually caring for each other and supporting each other, what society could look like.”

Constellations, textiles, native plants and the cosmic reconstruction of the Mississippi River function as “visual moments that could allude to multiple narratives, deeper meanings,” according to Barlow.

Much of the mural’s plant life was photographed outside the McKnight headquarters. The floral details grew out of McKnight’s photo library, inspired by the foundation’s work with local farmers of color.

Similarly, the textiles embedded within the mural “allude to a quilting of ideas, or histories, or stories” together, Barlow explained. Their designs primarily draw from Barlow’s personal collection, which she has grown since she began working with textiles in 2016.

“The textile that’s the biggest, which looks almost like DNA, which I really love, is both organic and geometric in shape,” Barlow said. “Those pieces, I actually purchased from Tanzania on my very first trip to the African continent. … That trip was very meaningful for me as a Black person, and so I wanted that one to be central in the space.”

While grounded in the local landscape, the symbols also draw from Afrofuturism and Indigenous futurisms. Barlow sees Afrofuturism and Black and Indigenous solidarity as parts of herself that she brought to the piece, given their significance in her work outside visual art. In 2023, she founded ConFluence, a two-day sci-fi convention in Northeast Minneapolis that centers Black people, Indigenous people and people of color.

Though the symbolism is personal for Barlow, she encourages viewers to form their own interpretations and connections to their own lives. The central image of three women from different generations standing together, each wearing a matching turquoise motif in a different way, was also created with this hope in mind.

“I wanted people to be able to see themselves in these people,” Barlow explained. “They are painted as individuals, but they are also kind of symbols.”

For Tonya Allen, president of the McKnight Foundation, each viewer’s personal connection with Belonging to the Entire Universe also encourages connection with others.

“This mural is both a reflection and a call,” Allen said. “Rooted in the history, cultures, and landscapes that shape Minnesota, Leslie’s work honors what has shaped us while inviting us to imagine what’s possible. It reminds us that a more just and hopeful future is something we must create together.”

Belonging to the Entire Universe is the inaugural installation in McKnight’s public art series, which will feature a different piece every three years. It is displayed at the McKnight Foundation’s Minneapolis headquarters, located at 921 Washington Ave. S.

For more information, visit https://www.mcknight.org/news-ideas/mcknight-unveils-new-public-mural-by-leslie-barlow-launching-rotating-public-art-series/.

Callisto Martinez is a recent Macalester graduate and contributing writer for the Minnesota Spokesman-Recorder. They welcome reader responses at martinezcallisto@gmail.com.

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Callisto Martinez

Callisto Martinez is a recent Macalester graduate and contributing writer for the Minnesota Spokesman-Recorder. More by Callisto Martinez

Based on reporting by Minnesota Spokesman-Recorder.



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