Portraits of culture: A field test in empathy
A slow, intentional design experiment built on presence, portraiture, and 50 questions handed to strangers across the world.
A Tool for Slowing Down
As a product designer, I’m obsessed with building tools and frameworks that help me explore and learn.
I made a thing.
I just got the first version of it — a pack of fifty questions intended to spark connection.
It’s a prototype. A simple tool I’m testing out in the world. The idea is this: I walk up to someone, introduce myself, have them randomly pick from the deck, ask them the question, take a portrait, and even record their answer on video.
It’s an excuse to approach a stranger I might’ve otherwise passed by. A reason to strike up a conversation and pay attention. The deck of prompts gives just enough structure to feel intentional, with just enough freedom to be surprised.
Portraits of Culture is about slowing down. About using design and photography to create space for something human to show up. This is a personal project. But should this experiment go well, it might inspire use for other designers and photographers out there.
This is how I iterate: not by optimizing — but by paying attention.
Why this matters
You’d expect the design of something to be the most important to me, but as I’ve progressed in my career I’d argue it’s curiosity and empathy. The connection to the user. To the business. The drive to dig a little deeper — to understand the context and circumstances that shape behavior. That’s where insight lives.
This project is a parallel exercise.
A slice of focused interaction with a different kind of output.
Instead of building a better product, the outcome here is a better connection. A shared moment. A clearer sense of what’s similar — and what isn’t. Prompted by a small deck of cards and a deliberate intent to see people more clearly.
Thirteen years ago, I founded The Photographic Journal, a platform for long-form interviews and photo essays exploring storytelling, process, and perspective. One idea surfaced again and again:
“Photography is a way to pay attention.”
That still holds.
Portraits of Culture is the latest exploration of that idea — messier, more mobile, and grounded in real-time exchange. This June, I’m taking the project with me to Australia. Nothing planned. Nothing scheduled. No fixed locations. Just a camera, a set of questions, and the intent to connect with people I might otherwise walk past.
I’m not doing this to create content. I’m doing this to stay sharp. To stay open. To get better at noticing what people reveal when you ask the right kind of question — and give them the space to answer.
The deck is a tool.
The lesson is in what comes back.
50 questions
At the center of Portraits of Culture is a deck of 50 questions. Each one is designed to surface something real — a reflection, memory, insight, or even discomfort. When I give someone a card, they keep it. That interaction can’t be repeated.
The questions are grouped across five themes:
- Curiosity & identity — How do you define yourself?
- Context & place — What makes here feel like home?
- Emotion & meaning — What stays with you?
- Contrast & change — What’s shifted in how you see the world?
- Personal snapshots — What’s happening in the small, specific now?
These aren’t icebreakers. They’re invitations. Each card gives me a reason to approach someone. Ask one question. Take their portrait. Film their answer. Connection.
I built something from scratch — words, layout, structure — to see how far one question can go. It’s a design tool — portable, focused, and finite. Each card is carefully printed and tangible — something someone can hold and take. And once I hand it over, that question is no longer mine to ask again.
“What’s something you hope never disappears?”
“When do you feel most like yourself?”
“What’s in your pocket right now?”
They’re small questions.
But they hold a lot.
What this is (and isn’t)
This isn’t research. There’s no screener, no survey, no KPI.
This isn’t content strategy. There’s no narrative arc. At least not intentionally.
This isn’t UX. There’s no prototype to test — unless you count the interaction itself.
This is a field exercise in presence. A way to practice curiosity without a roadmap. I approach someone, we pull a card, ask the question, and see what unfolds. I take a portrait. I record their answer. That’s it.
Then I hand them the card. I don’t get it back. That question is spent. That moment doesn’t happen again.
It’s not about repeatability. It’s not optimized. There’s no structure to improve. The system works because it stays human.
This is what design looks like when it gives up control and leans into attention. When it trades outcomes for connection.
This is the kind of design work that doesn’t scale.
And maybe that’s the point.
Why this feeds my practice
I design better when I’m more curious. More open. More intentional.
Portraits of Culture isn’t just a photo project — it’s reps in everything that makes me a better product designer. It sharpens my ability to read a room, to listen with intent, to hold space for a response I didn’t see coming. There’s no interface here, but it’s still interaction design. Every question is a user input. Every answer is a kind of signal. The difference is, I’m not optimizing for efficiency — I’m optimizing for humanity.
This project is a way to stay present in the moment. To ask better questions. To let someone else set the pace. And to pay attention to what sits just beneath the surface — the thing under the thing.
Empathy can feel like a checkbox. But it isn’t a UX phase — it’s a skill. Something you build over time, through practice.
This tool is a portable feedback loop for perspective.
What I hope to learn
I don’t know exactly what I’ll get out of this.
That’s part of the draw.
I want to see how questions land differently across cultures. How language, geography, and personal history shift the way someone hears a prompt — and how they choose to answer it. I want to understand what gets lost in translation, and what cuts through anyway.
But here’s the thing: I’m the constant in all of it. I’m the one holding the camera, asking the questions, interpreting the answers. My perspective becomes the control. Which means this project isn’t just about documenting others — it’s primed for personal growth. The more people I meet, the more I understand about how I see, what I miss, what I assume, and what I still need to learn.
This project will sharpen how I ask. It will test how I hold silence. It will teach me to notice the things people say without speaking — the flicker before the answer, the shift in posture, the moment when something honest cuts through.
I want to know what people carry with them. What they’ve let go of. What’s still unresolved? And I want to understand how a single, well-placed question can shift the energy in a conversation — or reveal something unexpected.
I expect to be surprised.
And that’s usually where the learning lives.
Wrapping up
Portraits of Culture is a starting point.
It’s not a polished project. It’s a designed interaction. Each card, each question, each conversation is part of a system for seeing more clearly — what’s different, what’s familiar, and what lives in the in-between.
I don’t know what this will become.
Maybe a photo series on TPJ?
A zine? A new storytelling format?
Maybe it’s just something personal I carry forward.
The value’s already there: in the practice.
In the reps. In the act of asking.
The best conversations don’t start with an interface.
They start with a question — and a little bit of nerve.
Agustin Sanchez is Design Director at 8th Light, where he leads multidisciplinary teams to create intuitive, scalable digital experiences. With a focus on product innovation and experiential design, he guides work that bridges design, engineering, and strategy. Agustin partners closely with clients and internal teams to clarify complex challenges and ensure every solution is both crafted and purposeful.
