📸 Signs of the Times Through Phill Harvey's Lens
Signs don’t just mark space. They mark time.
And sometimes, you need someone with the right eye to remind you of that.
When we started working on Signs of the Times, we knew we didn’t just want to write about signs—we wanted to see them. Really see them. So we called up a guy we’d only recently come across through a mutual friend, but whose work made us stop scrolling and start paying attention. That guy was Phil Harvey.
Phil shoots on film. Real 35mm, black-and-white stuff. Grain, light, patience, and dust-in-the-air kind of stuff. He’s got a way of photographing modern Dallas like it’s been standing still for a century—and somehow, in those frozen frames, you realize how much is changing all the time.
So we gave him no big brand brief. No polished script. Just one ask:
“Go out there. Find the signs. Show us where the city’s speaking without saying a word.”
🎞️ The Places That Made the Cut
Over the course of several weeks, Phil Harvey walked Dallas and Fort Worth with fresh film, a sharp eye, and no real agenda—except to listen. His path wasn’t mapped out by search engine results or trendy mural pins—it was shaped by instinct, mood, and the feeling that something in the frame was about to speak.
He focused on neighborhoods with tension and story: places where development collides with memory, where old signs fade into new scaffolding, and where even the smallest hand-painted arrow might outlast a digital screen. These weren’t shoots for slick marketing—they were quiet moments, honest captures of a city mid-sentence.
Some spots offered loud change. Others whispered. But each had something to say—about where we’ve been, what we value, and what still stands.
Here’s where he went—and what he found.
📍 Downtown Dallas
Where skyscrapers cast long shadows on forgotten corners, and every block feels like a tug-of-war between what was and what will be. Downtown Dallas isn’t just a skyline—it’s a mood. You’ve got construction cranes reaching toward the future while hand-painted ghost signs whisper reminders from the past. There’s always motion here, but it doesn’t always feel like movement.
Phil’s camera caught that quiet tension perfectly. In one shot, the Pegasus, that old neon horse of ambition, hovers just out of focus—caught between steel beams and dusk light. In another, arrows painted on a decaying warehouse wall seem to point nowhere at all, or maybe just forward.
“Downtown felt like contrast,” Phil told us. “Clean signs in windows, ghost signs above them. There’s a rhythm to it all—you just have to be patient and let it talk.”
There’s a photo near Akard where the light hits the alley just right—Pegasus in silhouette, barely visible—but somehow that image says more than a city brochure ever could. These aren’t signs that tell you where to park. These are signs that tell you what was once possible—and maybe still is.
📍 The Stockyards – Fort Worth
There’s nothing subtle about the Stockyards at first glance. You’ve got the big boots, the longhorn statues, the tourist-heavy signage, and the unmistakable smell of leather and dust. But behind all that cowboy theater is a working district that still moves on rhythm, routine, and handwritten instructions.
Phil skipped the souvenirs and leaned into the corners most people walk past. One photo locks onto a half-faded stall number, painted years ago, still guiding someone’s everyday. Another captures an old rodeo flyer taped to a barn wall—sun-bleached, curling at the corners, like it’s aging in real time. Then there’s the shot we kept coming back to: a sign next to a livestock pen that simply reads “WAIT HERE”—crooked, barely hanging on.
“You can’t stage moments like that,” Phil said. “They’re just… sitting there, waiting for someone to notice.”
That’s the thing about the Stockyards—it isn’t all myth and hats. The real story is in the space between the flash and the function. Signs out here still mean what they say. And in Phil’s hands, those ordinary notices feel strangely poetic. Every “ENTRANCE,” “PLEASE CLOSE GATE,” and “TRAILERS ONLY” becomes a message from a slower world—one we might still need to hear.
📍 Bishop Arts / Oak Cliff
Phil’s camera met this part of Dallas like an old friend. Not just because of the charm—but because of the texture. This neighborhood wears its history out loud. Paint peels slowly here. Fonts fade with dignity. Storefronts advertise businesses that closed years ago, but the signs remain—like guardians of stories nobody bothered to archive.
You’ll see it in his shots: an old “DRY CLEANING” sign peeking through vines, as if nature itself was trying to preserve it. A crooked chalkboard left outside a home daycare with a hand-drawn smiley face—sweet and oddly haunting—framed against a taped-up permit warning. Even the street poles in Oak Cliff look like they’ve seen things.
“Oak Cliff has layers,” Phil told us. “It’s like digging through your grandparents’ garage and finding stories you forgot you lived through.”
There’s an intimacy to this neighborhood. It’s not trying to prove anything. The signage feels less like marketing and more like memory—written in Sharpie, brushstrokes, and sun damage. Even the modern spots tend to nod backward, respecting the lines on the wall instead of erasing them.
Phil’s lens didn’t just document the place—it tuned into its frequency. And in black and white, Bishop Arts reads like a family photo album you found in a box marked “Don’t Throw Away.”
📍 Magnolia Ave – Fort Worth
If the Stockyards speak in drawl and dust, Magnolia Ave whispers in typeface and light. This isn’t Fort Worth’s cowboy hat—it’s the notebook in its back pocket. Cafés with sidewalk chalk menus. Vintage storefronts repurposed into art spaces and record shops. Restaurants that treat their signage like part of the plating.
Phil didn’t treat Magnolia like a showpiece—he treated it like a sketchbook. One photo catches a modest, modern serif painted on a brick wall beside a faint trace of an older business name still visible underneath. In another, a back-alley arrow points to nowhere… or maybe just invites you to follow.
A few images capture model Ivy Baresh (@ivypayton_modeling), represented by Brooke Modeling Agency, mid-movement—subtle, unscripted, absorbed in the street around her. She’s not the focus, but somehow she grounds the scene. Like she’s part of what makes Magnolia feel lived-in and curious.
“Magnolia’s interesting,” Phil said. “You can tell people care about design here. Even the ‘For Lease’ signs try to say something.”
This is where intention and atmosphere meet. Every awning and hand-painted letter feels less like instruction and more like invitation. To sit down. To look around. To stay a little longer. Phil’s photos here don’t try to explain the neighborhood—they just let it breathe.
Magnolia doesn’t yell for attention. It lets you find it.
And in that way, it fits right into this series.
🏁 Final Thought — Why This Matters
We didn’t print most of the signs in this series—and that’s exactly the point.
Sure, if someone’s looking for printing in Dallas or Fort Worth, they’ll find us. But this? This was about more than that. Because signs are more than instructions—they’re signals of change. They mark where we’ve been, where we are, and where we’re going.
To most folks, a sign is just a sign. But when you stop and really look, you start to realize: a sign can be the start, the middle, and the memory of something. A beginning. A boundary. A reminder. Sometimes all at once.
I tell people this all the time—we don’t just print signs. What matters most isn’t just the message. It’s the moment in the crossing, the texture in the pause, and the echo that lingers after someone walks by.
This series reminded us of that.
And we’re grateful to Phil for helping us see it.
🖼️ Want a Print?
We print images like these on everything from posterboard and canvas to acrylics and custom cards.
If there’s a specific photo from this series you’d like printed—or if you want the whole set—give us a call.
We’ll check in with Phil and make it happen the right way.
🎖️ Full Credit Where It’s Due
Every photo featured here—and many more to come—was shot by Phil Harvey.
He shoots on film. He lives near Fort Worth. And he sees the city like a storyteller who just happens to carry a camera.
→ Check out his work here: Phil Harvey on Instagram
→ Check out Phil’s Website here: https://philharv3y.com/home-1
Model appearance in the Magnolia Ave series: Ivy Baresh – @ivypayton_modeling
Representation: Brooke Modeling Agency
Images used with permission. Copyright retained by the artist. Attribution required for reuse.
🗣️ Working with Phil
What makes Phil’s work special isn’t just the medium—it’s the mood. His photos don’t shout. They observe. They give you the space to sit with something long enough to notice what it’s saying.
He called the process of working on this project a prompt to “create intentional art,” and that’s exactly what it became. This wasn’t content. This was presence. Light. History. Foot traffic. And quiet reminders that signs aren’t just about where to go—they’re about where we’ve been.
And we’ll say it here: Phil was a pro from start to finish. Clear, collaborative, communicative. If you’re a business, agency, or organization looking for photography with soul—Phil’s your guy.
