Norman Reedus went to Russia. And what happens when a man who looks like a devilishly disheveled outlaw goes to Russia? Well, a number of things. For one, he makes a film with a director dubbed the “Francis Ford Coppola of Russia” (full disclosure, Reedus nicknamed that one). And two, said director has the privilege of the ultimate Russki red carpet treatment, a spread that brings Reedus to the fourth floor basement of a maximum security prison. 

It was within that subterranean lock up that Reedus got creative. In between takes, the Walking Dead star spotted two prisoners working in a nearby kitchen. Every once in a while, a guard would descend and hit them with a stick or yell at them, something he had done several times before Reedus found his way opposite the fluorescently lit canteen. During a brief respite, Reedus, that indomitable daredevil, whistled to a clique of Russian convicts, and dear reader, we have proof.

“When I whistled and they came around the corner,” Reedus told V, “I snapped the picture real quick.” At that moment a kitten ran out from under the door, maneuvering its mangy little body around a litter of discarded cigarettes. The strikingly fortuitous snapshot showed felon and feline side by side. Over the phone, Reedus laughs.  “I was in the right place at the right time.”

That charming image can be found in Reedus’s latest project, in which the multi-hyphenate artist takes to the glitzy galleries of New York City. From now until May 18, the Gallery at Soho Grand will host an exclusive photography exhibition showcasing the doomiest and gloomiest of Reedus’s photographic finds. Titled “IN TRANSIT,” the collection of visuals operates as a sort of chronicle of lifeーthe life of the unconventional and the urban, each governed by an ephemeral beauty in continuous metamorphosis.

Using the same creative energy he brings to acting, Reedus explores the intricacies of human emotion through visual art, finding grace in the unexpected and mystery in the quotidian. His distinctively dark aesthetic transforms candid moments into portraits of character and grit, demonstrating how even the overlooked and abandoned possess an inescapably raw energy.

Reedus fondly reminisces on his early forays into the visual arts. “I used to walk around with a Lomo camera around my neck that was tied together with shoelaces, and I used to just take photos like that all the time. But as a composition for this show…the title is ‘IN TRANSIT,’ and it’s kind of me going, you know, through the years, sort of like a yearbook in a way.” Within the nit and grit of downtown Manhattan, Reedus reveals a glut of glittering gems. All he had to do was look for them. 

Then again, so did a slew of photographers before him. Helen Levitt cut her teeth chronicling the dynamic streetlife of the Lower East Side and East Harlem in the ‘40s, and Diane Arbus, albeit controversial, mastered the art of capturing the strange and uncanny. Nan Goldin brought an unmatched degree of intimacy to her photographs, narrating the drug and AIDS epidemic with an unflinching lens, and before television brought visions of gang violence and sordid crime into our living rooms, Weegee’s gruesome compositions divulged the sleazy underbelly of ‘40s New York. 

So what earns the annals of Norman Reedus a spot in the credits of New York’s visual biography?

Reedus’s photographic pedigree stretches back to the precious years of junior high. Enrolled in several photography classes, he would spend afternoons in a dark room reeking of pickle juice and evenings photographing cemeteries to the gothic tunes of English rock band, Joy Division. “You’re just sort of that guy,” he recalls. “I was that guy.”  

Then, acting got in the way. Following his 1999 debut role as Murphy Macmanus in The Boondock Saints, Reedus went on to star as Daryl Dixon in the zombie-apocalypse franchise, The Walking Dead. In 2023, Reedus earned himself a Daryl Dixon post apocalyptic spinoff, The Walking Dead: Daryl Dixon, and he is slated to play in the latest chapter of the John Wick universe, an action thriller titled Ballerina.

Eventually, Reedus found himself gravitating back towards photography. “Because I’m traveling so much, it’s kind of my way to walk away from all of it and just have my own day. I’m kind of a quiet photographer,” he tells V. “I kind of creep around and just like, see things through my own eyes and want to remember it so I take its picture.” For one series of photographs featured in his upcoming exhibition, Reedus found himself walking home in a flurry of snow. He reflects on his choice to photograph his surroundings at that moment. “They take me back to that time…whatever I was listening to, whatever was in my mind, whatever thatーhowever that night unfolded.” 

While the images of metropolitan photographers past stand as extensions of New York, “IN TRANSIT” stands as an extension of Reedus himself. To him, photography is an awfully personal act. Each photo is “a look into the photographer as much as the time that he’s taking these photos,” he tells V, “What’s happening around them and their view of what’s happening around them.” 

In the same way it rejects a distinct narrative, Reedus’s art also spurns overanalysis. “I feel weird overexplaining them,” he says. “Then you’ll have a skewed view of what those images are.” And what they are, are glimpses into how an artist that enthralled millions absorbs and processes his surroundings. They are an act of personal record-keeping made public, and they invite anyone to interact with them as they, personally, deem fit.

But the act can be tricky, and as with any form of art, there is room for interpretation. Endless room, in fact. “It’s like if you look in the mirror, you’re looking at a reverse image of yourself,” he explains. “So what you think people see you as is kind of the opposite of what you see yourself as.”

Norman falls under that rare species of celebrity that doesn’t take themselves too seriously. He loves motorcycles, so he makes a show about riding a motorcycle (Ride with Norman Reedus). Half of his Instagram feed consists of shaky selfies, indecipherable close-ups, and grainy snapshots of overly filtered debauchery. He wrote, directed, and edited three short films, and then someone wrote a book about it called “The Three Films of Norman Reedus,” to which he told V, “they broke down all these reasons why this was that, and this was that. I didn’t think of any of those reasons.” 

When asked about the more technical aspects of his photography, he calls on an honest anecdote to explain: “When I was trying to learn bass, I asked a bass player, a friend of mine, who’s in this band,” he tells V. “I was like, ‘Well, what bass should I get?’ He goes, get the one that feels the best in your hand, because you’ll fuck with it more.” He possesses a particular disdain for probing analyses and ceaseless scrutiniesー“It takes you out of it.” He’s at the heart of the scene, and yet, he’s over it ー “Now, when I do an art show the gallery wants you to promote it, other people ask you to promote it. And there’s social media and all this stuff, and the next thing you know, there’s 1,500 people banging outside, wanting selfies. And you’re kind of like, this is kind of like, better before.”

And yet the impulse behind his photography isn’t obnoxiously complex. “I think if you make art to show it, I think you could tell. I think if you make art to sell it, I think you could tell. I think if you make art for yourself, you can tell when people make art for themselves, and I kind of prefer that last one.”

IN TRANSIT, the photography exhibition by Norman Reedus, is now on view at the Gallery at Soho Grand in New York City until May 18, 2025.