From this compelling interview: SUN Celebrates: Tajette O'Halloran

What is it that you personally get out of photography?

Gosh, so much. Such a simple question feels so complex. Photography has become an enormous part of my identity. In all its beauty, heaviness, intricacy, freedom, abstractness, realness and romance.

Photography is constantly revealing who we all are in this big mad world.

Creating images is a way for me to enrich, understand and create my own existence and it feels so personal and ingrained in who I am. Even though there are about a gazillion photographers out there, it still feels like my own little thing that I carry around with me constantly soothing those nostalgic yearnings. Photography is inexhaustible which is such a freeing feeling and I'm constantly checking in with myself to make sure I'm not putting nonexistent limitations on myself and my work.

 

On cultivating intuition and trusting faith. Notes and observations based on The Gifts of Imperfection, by Brené Brown.

Kate and I are continuing our project, From Here to There, sending photos back and forth to each other. This picture—the icy cold, frozen tire swing, taken at the playground, near dusk—is Kate’s photo #30, sent to me on February 19th.

The response part of this project is my strength. I rarely rely on reasoning. Mostly I shoot from the heart, trusting my gut to make a match. It feels like an unconscious associating process, and I love this part of the work.

But after I take the one response photo, the one my intuitive voice led me to, I often feel the need to take a few more pictures. I am not very good at knowing, or trusting, that this picture is the one. I second guess myself. I like sure things and guarantees so much that I do not pay attention to my internal instincts. Or perhaps in my case, I never really developed those strong internal instincts. Growing up fearful taught me to crave safety and reassurance.

After I take two or three, or sometimes even five or six, response pictures, I am stuck. I start surveying people. My husband, my sons, my friends, and Kate. It’s hard for me to go it alone.

What do you think?

Which picture is your favorite?

When I am making this decision, I feel disconnected from my intuition. I feel vulnerable. What if it’s the wrong one? Yes, they are all good, but which one is BEST? I want to hurry up and make the choice because it’s stressful thinking about it.

Letting go of certainty is one of my greatest challenges because it means dealing with my own responses—fear, anxiety, and vulnerability—all in one fell swoop. This project is a place to learn and practice. To be quiet and still and find a way to hear my own voice.

Here are my three response photos to Kate’s icy cold tire swing on the playground. It wasn’t easy to make a final answer because I really loved the less-traditional choice, the third in this sequence. Once I let go of my assumptions about what the next photo should be, it got easier. There is no one right answer, only the one that is right for me.

 

It seems I spend a large part of my life unlearning things these days. Things I thought I knew. Things I was nearly certain of.

I was pretty sure there was nothing new worth photographing on the Canal Path. After all, I’ve walked that path hundreds of times, in all seasons, taking pictures all along the way. I’ve looked down at the murky water of the canal and deemed it unworthy of picture-taking. But a new book gave me reason to reconsider.

I recently bought the beautiful photo book, Just When I Thought I Had You by Sal Taylor Kydd. The book is exquisite in its insight into the world of motherhood and the sojourn we have with our children. I was drawn to Sal’s photo, Ferns Under Water. In the picture, the ferns float gently below the water surface, contrasting with the shadow of trees on the surface of the water. She managed to capture this simple interplay of light and texture along the surface of the water, above and below, with elegance and reverence. Sal’s photo got me thinking. Perhaps the rules I’ve learned are holding me back.

I walked the path today with new insight. It didn’t matter at all if the pictures were “good.” It only mattered that I was rooted in this place and willing to see all of the beauty.