The Art of Paying Attention: A Study in Patience & Light

As Told By: Andrae Steed, Photographer and Surety Hotel Sommelier

I usually tell people I pay attention for a living. I make photographs, but more than that, I try to notice the small things that give a place its character—those moments that feel ordinary while you’re in them, but meaningful once you step back. I didn’t grow up thinking I’d be a photographer. I picked up a camera at a moment when I needed to slow down and make sense of things. Once I did, I realized how powerful it felt to frame the world and really look at it.

People often think Des Moines is quiet in a boring way, but I’ve found it is quiet in a patient way. The good stuff doesn’t announce itself. You have to stick around long enough to notice the rhythms and the creativity that exists without needing validation. This city lets me breathe. There is an everyday honesty and a restraint here that sneaks into my work. It’s a place where attention feels like a form of respect.

My days start quietly at The Empire downtown, with the same coffee and the same rhythm, setting the tone before the day asks anything of me. I don’t go anywhere specific for inspiration; I reset by moving. I’ll walk without an agenda or drive aimlessly, following a bit of light that catches my attention in a parking lot or on the edge of a winding-down event. The city rewards the wanderer. When I stop trying to find something and just let myself drift, things reveal themselves.

There is a version of Des Moines that only exists after dark, and that’s when it feels most like home to me. The streets get a little eerie, a little more honest, and less managed. If you want to feel the true heartbeat, you come on the last Sunday of the month for the jazz jam at The Cave. It’s musicians, artists, and familiar faces in one room with no agenda other than presence. We jokingly call it “church.” It’s a reminder that this city is built as much on small, repeated moments as it is on big ideas.

When you walk through downtown, you feel layers of time stacked on top of each other, a continuity that is why I’m drawn to the Surety Hotel. It feels porous, a place where locals and visitors overlap without friction. There is a shared philosophy in our work: a care for what already existed. The building’s history isn’t erased. It is folded into the present thoughtfully. You see it in the restaurant, Mulberry Street Tavern, where craft and details matter, but so does warmth. When those things come together, you feel it immediately, even if you can’t quite explain why.

If I were guiding you through a day here, we’d move at an easy pace. We’d start at Horizon Line Coffee and wander into Dust Collective to dig through vintage and feel the city’s creative undercurrent. We’d have a relaxed lunch at Purveyor, where the thoughtful cooking always delivers. For dinner, we’d head to Harbinger, a place for people who really care about food and want to be surprised. We’d end at Bartender’s Handshake, a place where time disappears and the espresso machine ensures the night can stretch as long as we want.

I hope that before you leave, you understand that a place doesn’t need to be loud to be meaningful. I want you to notice the pace, how the city doesn’t rush you and how much space there is to simply settle in. If you sit somewhere longer than planned and let the city meet you where you are, the rest always falls into place naturally.