TJ Roszko is a New York–born contemporary artist whose work sits at the dynamic intersection of movement, mental health, and self-discovery. Raised on Long Island with a deep connection to the ocean and sports, Roszko later moved west to study Art and Design at the University of Southern California. After receiving a diagnosis of severe OCD, he turned to daily sketching as a grounding mechanism to navigate intense anxiety and depression. What began as a therapeutic lifeline gradually evolved into an abstract practice—a tactile, highly physical exploration of identity, sexuality, and control. Today, splitting his time between New York and Laguna Beach, Roszko uses intuitive layers of texture and color to ask what it means to truly be human.
Behind the lens is Arthur Gareev, a New York–based fashion and event photographer whose career underwent a massive evolution after relocating to NYC. Moving from controlled studio setups into the fast-paced, high-pressure adrenaline of Fashion Weeks, red carpets, and the Met Gala, Gareev mastered the art of capturing high-stakes moments where there are no second takes. Yet, his true strength lies in balance. Between chaotic live productions, he shifts into slower, deeply intentional editorial work where every shadow, light, and mood is deliberately crafted.
In this exclusive feature, Roszko and Gareev dive into the harmony between discipline and chaos, the role of travel in personal growth, and how embracing discomfort ultimately defines their creative vision.
Photographer – Arthur Gareev @ig.arthur
Model @teejroszko TJ Roszko
1. On the evolution of his creative process… You began using daily sketching as a grounding and coping mechanism during your treatment for OCD. In what ways did the nature of your work evolve as you transitioned from those early grounding exercises to the abstract, physical approach you use today?
Three and a half years ago, I ended up in a rehabilitation center for OCD and depression, and there was a stretch where I really didn’t think I’d make it out. That whole experience taught me a lot about how broken the mental health system is in America. So many of the doctors working with me didn’t actually understand what was going on, so I was put on medication after medication, one thrown at me after the next. At one point they added something that put me into serotonin syndrome, which is basically when there’s too much serotonin activity in your body and it starts to turn on you. I couldn’t sit still, I couldn’t sleep, I felt like I wanted to rip my skin off. It was one of the scariest times of my life.
I threw myself into my art at that very moment. I’d just sit there and sketch. Very literal stuff at first, just trying to get what I was feeling out of me and onto the paper. Art in that period was the thing that grounded me. I had no idea what kind of career would come out of it. I just knew it brought me back into my body, and in a real way it saved my life.
The work has changed completely since then. It went from sketching to keep myself sane to something that’s about actually becoming myself. It’s intuitive and free flowing now instead of me trying to depict anything literal. I use color, texture, and movement to get at the complexities of the mind without spelling them out. Back then the work was me trying to make sense of how lost I felt. Now it’s me asking what it means to be human. It’s all process driven. I make myself sit in the discomfort of not knowing where a piece is going to end up, and I’ve found that if I keep pushing through that, the work ends up meaning the most to me. In person especially, you can feel all the layering. It says a lot about who I am and what I’ve been through, and I hope people can find some comfort in it and feel less alone.
2. On the influence of travel and identity… Your academic term in Australia and solo travels through Asia seem to have been major catalysts for personal growth. How did those experiences, stepping outside your comfort zone and fully embracing your identity, translate into the palette, texture, or composition of your recent pieces?
I grew up in a small suburban town (Manhasset) on Long Island and then moved across the country to USC, and in both places there were these cliques and social norms I felt like I had to conform to. I always thought I needed a certain number of friends, or I put pressure on myself to feel socially adequate. A lot of that pressure came from my sexuality. For a long time I felt out of place in it, like it was one more thing I had to manage to be accepted, and I had a hard time being happy with that part of myself.
Traveling broke all of that open. Living in Australia completely by myself, I had to meet people on my own terms. There was no pressure to be someone I wasn’t. Being that far from everyone I knew, I stopped performing the version of myself I thought people wanted, and I finally started to accept my sexuality instead of being at war with it. I found so much authenticity out there, and I got introduced to all these cultures and ways of living that were nothing like what I grew up around. It let me see the good in people and made me realize how much love there actually is in the world. By that point I’d done enough work on myself that I was clear on who I wanted to be, so the relationships I built came from a real place instead of me just trying to fit in.
For how that shows up in the work, on a literal level I pulled so much from the geography of Asia and Australia. The bright warm and cool colors that have come into my palette, this feeling of calm that still has some complexity underneath it. There were hard parts of traveling alone, times I felt completely isolated, but I found a lot of beauty in that too, and I think the work carries it. Everything in it is moving. There’s constant flow. I’ve also been pushing my materials so they feel less like a painting and more like a sculpture, almost like a formation of something. Being on my own for that long taught me to fully sink into the process.
3. On balancing control and intuition… A central theme in your work is learning to “let go of control” and embrace vulnerability. Practically speaking, how do you balance that intuitive, unstructured movement in the studio with the structure required to manage an active artistic career between New York and Laguna Beach?
This one is tough for me to answer, because letting go of control is one of the hardest things there is for me. With OCD I love when everything is perfect and in its place, a certain order, a certain color. But I’ve learned that when I do the opposite and force myself out of that, this uncertain kind of beauty comes out of it.
My process isn’t as unstructured as it looks. It’s loose in how I layer, but there’s real structure inside the layers. Things have to dry, things have to get carved out, the material tells me what the order has to be. So freedom and discipline are living in the same piece.
The rest of my family works in finance, so I’m sort of the black sheep going off to chase this creative passion of mine. Our schedules look nothing alike and there’s a lot of comparison that comes with that. Staying active and eating well has been a huge part of why any of this works. I try to get to bed early and get up around six so I can work out and have a healthy breakfast, and those small things give me a base to stand on. Holding order in the world around me is what lets me surrender to the chaos of the work. That’s where I feel the most like me.
4. On viewer connection and impact… Given that your practice directly addresses personal topics like mental health, sexuality, and self-discovery, what kind of dialogue or reflection do you hope to evoke in the viewer when they stand in front of your work?
A big part of my work is knowing exactly who I am. The recent videos I’ve put up on my socials that get into the vulnerable, human side of my life are the kind of thing I want people to sit with in their own lives. The work isn’t literal, but I hope it moves people. If someone knows even a little about my life and what I’ve had to overcome, I think they can feel that emotion coming through the textures and the layers.
I’m so grateful to have such a supportive family. And even with that, I’ve had my own childhood struggles and mental health battles, and I know what it’s like to not want to be alive. I found ways to get through it and face those things, and it was incredibly hard. It’s honestly surreal to look back even a year and a half ago when I did another intensive treatment for my OCD.
What I want is for someone to stand in front of the work and wonder how the artist even got here. How this was made. Only I really know how I got to it, but I think people can take something from that without it being spelled out for them. There’s so much going on under the surface of every person that nobody else sees. And I believe the more we speak up and let ourselves just be human, the more we can find connection and love and become the best version of ourselves. My most recent collection is on display right now at Presley Fine Arts, a contemporary art gallery in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, curated by Zac Presley.
1. On adjusting to the pace of New York… Moving to New York completely changed the way I see photography. One of the biggest adjustments was the pace. How did transitioning from studio photography to high-pressure event photography shape your speed, instincts, and overall approach to capturing moments?
Moving to New York completely changed the way I see photography. One of the biggest adjustments was the pace. Sometimes the photos need to be delivered almost immediately. By the time a celebrity arrives on the red carpet, editors already expect to have images ready to publish. Coming from studio photography, where you can spend a couple of weeks editing and delivering the final work, that took some getting used to.
At the same time, working at that speed made me a much more efficient photographer. You have to make decisions in seconds, especially at major events where you only get one chance to capture someone. There are no retakes.
That experience taught me to trust my instincts much more. Over time, I realized that instinct and experience go hand in hand. Knowing when to push for a shot and when to wait for the right moment has become one of the most valuable skills I’ve developed.
2. On balancing fast-paced events with personal shoots… You navigate two very different photography environments—from fast-paced live events to slower, intentional personal projects. How do these distinct mindsets influence and complement each other in your creative process?
I actually see them as two very different mindsets, and that’s exactly why I enjoy doing both.
At live events, everything happens in a matter of seconds. You have to react instinctively because the moment is gone before you have time to think. Personal shoots are the complete opposite, and that’s what I love about them. I can slow down, experiment, and really explore different compositions and lighting setups. Even if it’s just natural light coming through a window, I enjoy taking the time to see how small changes can completely transform an image.
That said, working in fast-paced environments has definitely stayed with me. Even on slower, more intentional shoots, I’m able to make creative decisions much faster. Instead of overthinking every detail, I can trust my instincts and stay focused on creating the strongest image possible.
3. On human connection and technical style… In high-stakes environments where everyone is shooting the same subjects, how do you manage to bring your own personality and human connection to your images beyond technical settings or editing presets?
I think it comes down to experience and timing. At major events, it’s easy to follow the crowd and take exactly the same photo as everyone else. Sometimes the best decision is actually to wait a second longer and capture a different moment instead of reacting with everyone else.
But even when it’s just a classic portrait of someone looking straight into the camera, there’s still a lot you can bring to the image. You only have a few seconds, but I always try to make the person feel comfortable in that short amount of time.
You were probably expecting me to say it’s all about using a certain lens or finding the perfect preset. But honestly, I don’t think that’s what gives a photograph its personality. To me, it’s much more about the human connection than the technical side.
Sometimes I’m so focused on the moment that I couldn’t even tell you exactly what camera settings I was shooting with. And when it comes to color, I don’t have one preset that I apply to everything. I simply edit each image until it feels right to me—until it’s something I genuinely enjoy looking at.
For me, it’s immediately obvious when someone is posing because they genuinely want to versus when they’re doing it out of obligation. That feeling always comes through in the final image. Whether I’m photographing someone on a red carpet or during a studio shoot, the subject’s mood and energy have a huge impact on the photograph. Building that connection—even if it’s only for a few seconds—is just as important as getting the lighting or composition right.
4. On future creative vision and dream projects… Looking ahead, what types of projects or themes are you most excited to explore, and what would be a dream assignment for you in your photography career?
I’d love to do more editorial work and collaborate on projects with bigger creative concepts alongside talented stylists and creative teams. Those kinds of shoots give you the freedom to build an entire visual world instead of simply documenting what’s happening.
I’m also very interested in photographing the human body. There’s something timeless about it. I think the body itself can tell a story without needing much else in the frame, and I’d love to explore that more in my personal work.
As for event photography, I think every photographer has their own version of a dream assignment. For me, shooting the Met Gala or the Oscars would definitely be at the top of that list. Those are the kinds of events that combine everything I enjoy—fashion, culture, history, and the excitement of capturing moments that become part of the visual record.