I ordered a collection of poetry from my wish list today, Familiars by Holly Wren Spaulding. I’ve been a fan of Holly’s work as an author, artist and educator for years and want to support her endeavors. I look forward to her newsletters where her insight and perspective never fail to encourage me in my photography. I’m sharing a brief excerpt from her most recent Letter + News from Holly (if you want to read the full letter, email me and I’ll forward Holly’s letter to you!).
These lines jumped out from the page, calling to me. I’ve had this conversation often with many creative friends. The one where we try to answer the deep questions. Who is my audience? How and where do I show my work? Is my creative work just a hobby? And if so, how can I lay claim to its importance in my life? What’s the point of all this creative angst?
Most of us will do the most important work of our lives within a modest sphere. Even more of us will do beautiful, soulful, essential work that is essentially invisible to most other people. Such work is valid, powerful, and important. Or we will eventually publish a poem or collection, and realize that it's still, ultimately, going to be read by very few people in the scheme of things. Realizing this fact (and it is a fact) returns us to the deeper reasons we write and make art. —Holly Wren Spaulding
I won’t pretend to have the answers to these questions. Honestly, for a person like me who struggles with perfectionism and people pleasing, I am surprisingly unfazed by the notion that this work may never mean anything to anyone but me. The process of making pictures has unlocked a part of me that I didn’t even know existed. As a maker, I am fearless (or nearly so). The drive to see and know and experience the world through the lens of a camera is so fierce that it eclipses my anxiety. For some, the camera is a fence that separates them from the world, but for me it is a bridge that connects me to everything.