The Bigger Picture

Today’s favorite findings—

Best photography advice from Lisa Ryan-Boyle by way of the Sunday Edition of Photosnack.

Five things that work for me:

1. Seek out the work of other artists - any medium, not just photography-for inspiration;
2. Remain curious - try new subject matter, new places, old places with a new eye, new equipment, etc;
3. Share your work;
4. Make prints;
5. Find the support of fellow photographers and be generous in return with your support of them.

A subscription fee that was worth the price. MasterClass.

I signed up for an annual subscription on a really good sale around Christmas. Mostly, I signed up to watch and learn from Annie Leibovitz. (No one needs a link to find Annie Leibovitz).

You can read a review of this class, which coincides with my own opinions, here.

I’d wait for a sale. But I’ve more than gotten my money’s worth. The series, The Science of Sleep by Matthew Walker and Yoga Foundations by Donna Fahri are both excellent.

An article written for people like me.

Overcoming Perfectionism in High-Achieving Women by Annie Wright.

The Images That Made Me | No. 5

In my last few entries, I’ve shared the images that most influenced my development as a photographer and artist. Those images that helped me learn to see differently. But, there is, of course, another entire subset of photographs that made me the person I am, by which I am mean pictures from my childhood—parents and siblings, snapshots of family dinners, vacations, birthdays, and the like. The equivalent of today’s Instagram feed. The images that make us who we are overlap and intersect, compete and combine, and contribute to the way we see ourselves, how we talk to and treat ourselves.

LITTLE DAVID, BYRON PEPPER [1960]

For this fifth and final entry, I’ve chosen a small stack of film pictures of my husband, Dave, when he was a little boy. Dave’s family had a friend and neighbor named Mr. Pepper. Mr. Pepper was an amateur photographer who took his hobby seriously. He always had his 35mm camera at the ready. Out behind his modest home in Colonial Beach, Virginia, Mr. Pepper had a shed where he developed his film and printed his pictures. He often took snapshots where my husband and his younger sister were the subjects.

About 10 years into our marriage, my mother-in-law was cleaning out and and asked if I’d like to have some old pictures of Dave. I said yes (not wanting to hurt her feelings), but secretly wondered what I would do with another stack of not-so-great snapshots. I was surprised when she handed the pictures to me. Beautiful black and white 5 inch X 7 inch prints. My husband, all boy, in each of the images. Not self-conscious at all, his goofy little self shinning from within. This was the man I fell in love with, and I could see why.

These images made me in more than one way. I could plainly tell the difference between these gorgeous prints and the careless point-and-shoot photos I was taking at the time. In one fell swoop, I was swept off my feet by film and pictures to hold. I saw how the picture was not only about the subject, but also, the person taking the picture. I could feel the difference between an authentic shot and a forced one. I could plainly see that Mr. Pepper shot from his heart, and even though I never met him, I loved him for making these pictures.

But I chose these pictures for more than these reasons. Because they remind me that the person I chose to live my life with will always, by some measure, be that little boy who was happy simply being himself. I’ve seldom experienced that kind of relationship with myself. Instead, I spent years striving and trying and fixing. He’s the one who taught me how to enjoy myself. There is that old trope of the tortured artist making poignant art from trauma and heartache. And I guess that is true enough. But isn’t it also true that we can make meaningful art from contentment and joy? I hope so.

The Images That Made Me | No. 4

Conversations by Mark Forbes from his book Collected Memories, published in 2024, is one of the images that made me. More accurately, his photograph validated the way I see the world and gave me reassurance to continue to trust my own intuition. I look at a lot of photographs, always with respect and admiration, often being moved by the work, but only rarely with the pull to create something similar. Or the recognition that I have already created similar work—though often not as good—but still on the right track. Studying this image makes it possible for me to create images that are stronger and more meaningful. Good photographs are a scaffold, a framework, for me to build upon.

CONVERSATIONS, MARK FORBES [2019]

This photograph of a quiet place to sit is like heaven for me. I am easily distracted by noises, irritated by harsh lights, and pained by uncomfortable furniture. Corners like this one—filled with natural light or the softness of light from a lamp, chairs soft and plump, with table for coffee or tea—make for an intimate setting for thoughtful conversation. I seek spaces like this one, preferring them to any restaurant, coffee shop or counter, in real life and in my photographs. I picture myself in this vignette and I feel right at home.

This may be one of the images that made me, but Mark’s entire body of work in Collected Memories is the style I am most drawn to these days. Medium format film and Kodak Portra color are my love languages. Truly.

ROYALE WITH CHEESE, MARK FORBES [2021]

The Images That Made Me | No. 3

There is simply no way to consider the photographs that made me without including the photographic collaboration by Maria Alexandra Vetesse (MAV) and Stephanie Congdon, A Year of Mornings: 3191 Miles Apart. These two women who lived 3191 miles apart, one in Portland, Maine and the other in Portland, Oregon, posted images from their morning routines side-by-side every day for a year.

A YEAR OF MORNINGS - 3191 MILES APART, MARIA VETESSE AND STEPHANIE CONGDON [2007]

It began like this: On December 6, 2006, MAV emailed Steph with two images side by side—each image taken by one of the women—and posted the diptych to the photo sharing site Flickr that morning. MAV asked Stephanie, “Do you want to do a project?” That was the beginning of a beautiful friendship and a collection of images that serves as a meditation on gratitude and compassion.

These photographs introduced me to the realization that my ordinary life could be seen as art. Where every little moment could be photo-worthy. This was the place and the time where I began to cultivate the habit of observation without judgment. Where home was seen as a palace and the routines of the day, art hung on a gallery wall.

The collaborative aspect of this project reminded me just how desperately we all need to feel as though we belong, to feel connected to someone. I’ve looked for opportunities to work in this way ever since. My projects, For the Time Being, From Here to There, and Natural Histories can all be traced back to these two women who showed me how to unlock the power of working with true friends, bound by trust and elasticity.

But there was something else about this work that resonated with me. That creative work could be healing work. I recall reading that for MAV, that year was a difficult one. Newly divorced, she was learning to live alone and by her own account, the mornings project saved her from a deep depression. There were days when she was too sad or lonely to shoot, and the project paused while she took a breath. I’ve been in this place, too. Haven’t we all? Sometimes we cannot abate the pain a friend must endure, but we can witness it. Maybe that is all we can do.

A YEAR OF MORNINGS - 3191 MILES APART, MARIA VETESSE AND STEPHANIE CONGDON [2007]

Maria Vetesse is currently facing a life-altering health crisis. She was diagnosed with bacterial endocarditis in September 2024 and while awaiting surgery to repair a heart valve, she suffered a stroke. When I read this news, I wept. As a former physical therapist, I know the journey that lies ahead of her and it is arduous. I hope that MAV finds the comfort I have by learning that you can accept reality while still working for change. You can read about and support MAV’s recovery on her GoFundMe page.

The Images That Made Me | No. 2

This is how it all started.

Rebecca Curtis and I first met and established a friendship when we were published together in the Autumn 2015 Issue of Artful Blogging. There’s really a bit more to the story. I went through that issue carefully and reached out to every featured photographer. It was a short note to say hello, to acknowledge their work, and to make new connections. Some people wrote back and friendships took root. Rebecca wrote back. I began to follow her work and fell in love with her deeply moving photographs and her honest writing about her life. Rebecca had begun a daily practice of photography and writing, aiming to continue for the entire year, 2016. It took a while for me to build up the courage to start my own daily project. I started my 365 Project, Like Medicine For Me, in March 2016.

The idea behind the 365 Challenge was to bring practice and discipline to our photography and to foster our own artistic growth. But behind the scenes of our daily posts, we exchanged hundreds of emails, letters of truth and encouragement that revealed both the light and shadow of our inner lives. Our correspondence illuminated the struggles we faced through the project: finding our inner voice over taking in outside influence, facing fears, accepting rather that avoiding discomfort, embracing imperfection, and learning self-acceptance.

THE QUIET LIGHT, REBECCA CURTIS [2016]

Our experience of working through 365 projects alongside one another culminated in an article we co-wrote for Bella Grace, Issue 10, Winter 2017.

A Year’s Worth.

It was hard to choose just one of Rebecca’s images that made me. Her photographs from that year read like a treasured novel, one where you can’t wait to turn the next page and yet slow your reading because you don’t want the experience to end. This is how I felt about her work.

With The Quiet Light, I learned that light alone might be subject of the photo. I began to appreciate careful composition and the arrangement of elements within the frame. Rebecca’s images were often moody and soft and characteristically Leica. Like glimpses or whispers or gentle invitations. Through her work, my own work began to evolve. I tried to emulate her style, make it my own in some way. Even though I was the older of the two of us, I was the beginner. Her voice was more developed than mine. She knew herself and I did not. But during the course of that year, there was a seismic shift in my work and the beginnings of a long journey of healing. Work that was worthwhile in every way. I will always love The Quiet Light.

The Images That Made Me | No.1

I come to know photographers and their work in roundabout ways. Since I am not a regular social media user, I sometimes miss things or find out about them later or more slowly. Nevertheless, the most interesting people and ideas often find their way to me—or maybe I should say that I track them down. I am a lover of deep research and often follow casual links or comments or posts to their primary sources. Compelling work.

I honestly cannot recall how I came to know about Emily Keegin. Wait, I think I remember now. It was in a post from, Shoot With Film. The post, Is Film Photography More Expensive Than Digital Photography? by Neil Milton, referenced Emily Keegin and linked to her Instagram. From there, I was off and running, learning about this intelligent and thoughtful artist.

In my search, I discovered a post on Darklight, called Images That Made Me, featuring Emily Keegin. Understanding how other people think, that kind of deep connection, feeds my soul, so this exercise really appeals to me. I was delighted to see that 3 of my very favorite images were in Emily’s list.

Feeling inspired, I decided to take on this exercise for myself. At first, I worried I might not be up to the task. After all, could I even point to 5 photographs that have brought me to where I am now? But once I settled down and thought about it, it wasn’t so hard after all.

MARGARET’S RHUBARB, SUSAN WORSHAM [2009]

I discovered Susan Worsham by way of Candela Books + Gallery in Richmond, Virginia back in 2010 when my interest in photography grew from casual to serious. Susan’s work moved me in the same way that a light switch instantly moves us from darkness into light. Every picture touched my heart and her story of her brother’s suicide and her neighbor Margaret’s role in his last day on earth made me weep. I’ve known the association of family and pain all my life, and still been able to see the whole mess as bittersweet. Just as Susan does. She lives just 50 miles from my home and I’ve never met her. She works in a fancy restaurant, L’opposum, that’s out of my price range. I hold out hope that I’ll meet Susan in person one day. But in the meantime, she will always be responsible for my love and longing for pictures. I searched high and low for a book of Susan’s work but I don’t think there is a published work. I snagged a copy of Contact Sheet, Number 168 featuring Susan Worsham on eBay and you would have thought I’d won the lottery. I look at this small paperback book, studying the pictures, most every week. Always like an old friend.

As for this particular photograph of Susan’s, it is the tenderness that has made me. Through my early years, there was always so much pressure to hide, pretend, and lie to myself and to the entire world. But this picture of aging skin and hands gnarled by arthritis brings me to my knees. Rhubarb and the old enamel pan are the calling cards of my grandmothers. I remember their soothing love and think about how different they were as grandmothers than mothers. As though, with the strain of active mothering released, all that remained was love and patience. This photo makes me feel safe.

This is deep work so I’ll share one image each day for the next 5 days.

Already I find that even though I am not actively taking pictures right now, this kind of thinking feeds what will come next. I see the work I’ve already made in such a different way as time passes. And I wonder how it is that in working so hard I neglected my relationship with my self .

Not Gonna Lie

Kim Klassen shared a post, complete with templates and a video tutorial, on how to make a year-on-the-wall calendar. She did all the heavy lifting by creating the templates, picking the fonts, making sure the days and months were correct, and even adding a perfect quote to the bottom of the calendar page.

Kim’s calendars were so beautiful, I decided to give it a try.

Not gonna lie, even when she made it super easy, it was still hard for me. My husband tried to help. I called my son who works in IT and he conveniently did not pick up. I spent a good amount of time figuring out how to import the templates into Lightroom. Then I had to step away from the computer and come back the next day. Once refreshed, I signed up for Canva and again uploaded Kim’s clever calendar templates. This was tricky. Somehow I got the files to open in Word, enabled editing, clicked on the “here” button and presto the file opened in Canva. Don’t ask me how because I do not know.

Fortunately, I already had a dozen images chosen and gathered in a collection. This is the only really fun part of the project, and I had already done this part for another small calendar I ordered from Artifact Uprising to give to the two people who most keep me going. My physical therapist and my counselor.

Calendar finally complete! With all that effort, I felt as though it would be a shame not to print one. Ordered from an online print lab, 11 X 17 poster.

I didn’t even need a wall calendar, but I fully consider this work to be brain exercise! Apparently, I am of the age where this is a daily requirement.

Calendar Design and Templates courtesy of Kim Klassen.

Unintentionally

The universe just keeps sending good things and good people my way. Sometimes I am living in my head and do not take notice. In these cases, it’s usually my body that has the power to call my attention, and nowadays, I listen.

First up, there was this most perfect post from Helen McLaughlin, Is it okay not to be intentional?

“Your inner compass is on all the time. Fresh, new thought is occurring to you all the time. You don't need anything you don't already have, including intentions.”

Second, a new book that has me thinking.

Accidentally Wes Anderson. From the book jacket: “Inspired by a community of more than one million Adventurers, Accidentally Wes Anderson tells the stories behind the most beautiful, idiosyncratic, and interesting places on Earth.”

The book is essentially a travelogue, where each story begins with a photograph captioned with a Name, Location, and Date (when the structure or location was founded, established, built, manufactured, or opened to the public).

Studying the book, I began to think back to the pictures I’ve taken on our travels and how some of them might fall into the identifiable style of a Wes Anderson film. I’ve been culling through my archives, creating a collection of images that could become my own Adventure Journal. There are many things I like about this type of project. The travels don’t have to be far away or exotic to yield interesting photographs. I find the idea of one or two compelling photographs of a place far more possible and intriguing than snapping away at everything. This project would also give me the opportunity to dive into the history of the subject, an added dimension of narrative. And of course, the COLOR and DESIGN elements!

Helen’s words ring true:

“What if the right things, the right 'intentions,' if you want to call them that, will find you? (What if the exact right next step has been finding you this whole time, intentions or not?)

What if it's less about planning what you want to go after...and more about following the next thing that gives you that indescribable juicy feeling? That buzz of energy?”

Riverview Inn
Colonial Beach, Virginia | c. 1948

Arriving Home

I’ve been away from this space from a whole year. Resting and recharging. There is no grand plan. No big reveal. No promises or pressure. A big part of healing from trauma involves finding what nurtures you. Taking these simple photographs is my creative outlet - and a sign that I recognize that my needs matter too and that I am worthy of respect.