Red Land Cotton — From Field to Fabric

To celebrate the 10th anniversary of Red Land Cotton, I was invited to photograph something rare — not just the product, but the entire journey behind it.

Field. Gin. Mill. Cut and sew. Family.

I drove to Moulton, Alabama the day before the shoot. We walked the cotton field at sunset, toured the mill, and stepped carefully through the cut and sew floor. The conversation wasn’t just about lighting or lenses — it was about intention. About how to visually tell a story that began in soil and ended in sheets.

At 4:30am the next morning, we carried a fully dressed bed into the middle of a cotton field.

Under a dark Alabama sky — helped by coffee and a shared sense of purpose — the team positioned the bed between rows of white cotton ready for harvest. As the sun rose, the field slowly revealed itself. The texture. The air. The quiet.

It was one of those moments where everything feels aligned.

I shot the morning on my Mamiya RB67 Pro SD loaded with Kodak Portra 160, Portra 400, and Ektar 100. Film forces patience. The RB67 is deliberate and heavy. You focus through the glass. You slow down. You commit to each frame. It felt right for a project rooted in legacy and craft.

Alongside it, the Nikon Z9 handled the movement and the shifting light. Film for intention. Digital for agility.

From the field, we moved to the cotton gin — where raw fiber separates and begins its transformation. Finally, onto the cut and sew floor, where the material takes its final shape.

What struck me most was the continuity.

The same family.

The same land.

The same belief in making something the right way.

Later that evening, we returned to the field for harvest at sunset. Machines moved through rows that had looked still and untouched at dawn. In a single day, I watched the entire lifecycle unfold.

I’ve always wanted to photograph a cotton field at harvest. But this was more than that. It was the privilege of documenting a vertically integrated American company — from soil to finished product.

There’s something powerful about seeing the origin of what we use every day.

It makes the final product mean more.