Let’s talk about the artist’s evolution. As you continue in your craft – grow, change, repeat – your art will grow with you. It will evolve and expand and collapse. You will hate it and love it and hate it again. You will want to change it, and you will, and you’ll regret that sometimes, and you’ll move forward.

I’ve been a photographic artist for 10 years. That’s a DECADE, people! And in my fairly young life, that’s a third.

In a fortunate turn of events, I’ve also had an audience for those 10 years that I’ve been an artist. From just a couple of weeks into creating up until now, I’ve had people looking at, and commenting on, my work.

Which makes it understandable as to why I’ve heard this comment more times than is countable:

“I prefer the old you.”

In my career this has meant anything from “the you of 10 years ago” to “the you of last week”. And it used to bother me.

Can’t they see I’m GROWING?!

It doesn’t matter if you have a big audience or not. Anyone from your mother to a stranger on the Internet will likely tell you the same exact words sooner or later. Here’s why:

1. People change.
2. People hate change.

…And we all have opinions.

I’ve had periods of what I consider really, really bad art-making in my life.

2013. What a bad year. I look back at that year of my art and cringe! It was so flat, so boring, so not where I wanted to go.

But I had to make that art. I had to do it to move myself forward. To experience, to know that it wasn’t me.

I used to get upset when people told me they prefer a different style that I used to make. I thought it made me less of an artist. I’d second-guess my artistic direction. I’d let it consume me.

Imagine a friend calls you up and they say: You know, I really prefer your personality from a couple of years ago. This one just isn’t cutting it for me. I don’t enjoy being around you as much anymore.

That’s basically the conversation around art and change.
(That might have been a tad dramatic).

So it makes sense that feelings get hurt and that it stings a little to hear it.

As an artist, you want to yell back: “Don’t you see?! I’m doing the best I can!”

But you can’t, without sounding paranoid.

The fact is that we are doing the best we can. Even if you haven’t created in months, that’s the best you can do for yourself right now. You might look back in a year at this time and recognize just how much you needed a break.

Maybe you feel your style shifting and it scares you. Let it, but keep going. You never know where that will lead.

I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve made some art that I don’t like. And I don’t blame you for not liking either. But that doesn’t mean that it wasn’t worth making.

Perhaps the most difficult part of being an artist with an audience is knowing that, inevitably, someone will tell you that you were better before. And they’re not necessarily wrong. I value every opinion. I don’t disregard someone because they think differently from how I do.

But I do know that the bad art is as necessary as the good. That where I am now is where I’m meant to be. And that where I’m going will remain fulfilling if I listen to myself…

…All opinions valid, none as much as my own.

As I speak to more and more people from all age groups, there is a mounting desire to be self-employed and a growing frustration in corporate drudgery. In great numbers people are cultivating creativity and trying to go it alone. The problem is that we have been taught from very young ages which jobs matter and which ones don’t; which jobs make money and which will lead to a life of suffering.

At the top of the suffering jobs list is art. Parents worry about their kids when they want to grow up and be artists because it is a notably unstable profession. No one wants their kids to struggle. But what about the, dare I say, equal importance of struggling and succeeding? All the better if that struggle is in pursuing something you love instead of struggling against a job you hate.

Either way you were raised or what you were taught to believe, there is a growing trend toward creativity in the workplace and jobs in art. That desire often comes with conflict, as though responsibility and art are directly opposed to each other. If there is a cultural shift toward creativity, there needs to be an economic shift in that direction as well; our actions must perpetuate the creation.

We need to learn to value art like we value other commodities. If you ask the average person, they would likely say that buying a car is an easier investment than buying art. Naturally so – buying art is frivolous and buying a car is responsible. But is that really true? Let’s dissect what it means to invest in art, for yourself and for others.

There have been massive renaissances throughout history that favor beauty, desire, and art. These periods of time are ones that we look on with fondness, a more idyllic time that allowed us to partake in art as an everyday cultural experience rather than an elitist activity. Perhaps we’re moving into one of those art renaissance periods.

Investing in art brings about social, cultural, and economic changes. Socially, we learn to stop putting artists down for having ‘self-indulgent’ jobs. If we invest in art, we make art a natural part of our lives, one that brings a greater attention to beauty and darkness, to introspection and deep thinking. Culturally it brings attention back to those things that weave the fabric of our societies together. It highlights trends in popular and low-brow thinking, waves of inspiration centered around the time we currently live in, and informs us of how we evolved out of trends of the past.

Investing in art economically allows artists to thrive, and in doing so gives weight to those who are driven, creative, and forward thinking. In this great technological boom, a time that could be defined by mass tech and assembly lines, we see more artists than ever before stepping out with that technology and creating wild, mind-bending works. Those creations aren’t purely aesthetic or frivolous, though; they give us a lens to see our culture, our shortcomings and successes, and our place in the world. They teach us how to engage in business and relationships more freely and creatively. And most importantly, they teach our youngest generation how to incorporate creativity into every part of what they do.

Trends show that the more creative an individual is in all aspects of life – business, relationships, personal and beyond – the more successful they become. The rules of the economy are changing. I graduated college at the start of the recession in the United States and fell into my normal – a world where jobs aren’t secure, where a steady career isn’t guaranteed with a college degree, and where I have been continually rewarded the weirder and more creative I get.

I take that as personal proof of change for myself and others in my generation. The more we invest in art, the more we show the next generation that art is a worthy thing to pursue; that your vision and your unique voice is valued and heard. If you have something to say, you can not only say it, but succeed in saying it. In a world where art is valued, individuals are valued. Free thinking and creativity are pulled into the limelight. And in a world where those values are praised, artists can rise into beautiful inclusion in the topic of worthwhile careers.

If we want individuals to believe their voice matters, we need to begin investing in art. Through the commitment to personal expression, we create a world where anyone can change the future.

Major breakthrough time.
Which means major letting go,
coming to terms,
etc.

Lindsay Adler must be my soulmate, because she has this freaky tendency to reach out to me at pivotal moments. I had just finished yoga and was sitting back down to write when I see a text from her. It simply said:

“How are you? Something made me think I should call you or text.”

I responded quickly, flippantly almost, saying that I’m good. And then, before pressing send, I added this:

“Just doing lots of writing and trying not to worry that I’m solidly not doing anything that makes money.”

Casual.

Writing those words opened up a can of worms in my brain. I hadn’t really said that out loud until that point. I knew I was making a big shift in my business/career, I had discussed pay decreases with my husband, but I hadn’t really acknowledged that the fear I feel with my new creative endeavors is rooted in money.

I know, I know. Money is just NOT COOL to talk about when you’re an “artist”.

Whatever.

It’s a fact and a stress and it is necessary. So be it.

Our ideas of success are wrapped up in it. Our confidence is wrapped up in it. Sometimes, even our reputations.

Let me be clear about some things. My business makes money in multifaceted ways, from teaching and motivational speaking to print sales and licensing, and more. I’ve always excelled at diversifying and branding. But, for the first time since starting photography, I mentally ditched that. Even though I still have revenue streams, even though I’m doing fine, I stopped associating with money.

The last time I did this was 9 years ago when I started photography. I was fresh out of college, 21 years old, and just starting photography. I knew I had to make money, but I never considered that photography would be the way to do that. It was fun and exciting and I didn’t put any expectation on that.

Photography grew to be my career, unexpectedly.

And now, 11 years later, and nearly 10 years after starting my business, and 7.5 years since learning to rely on it for money, I’m slowing it down. I’m pursuing writing, and it feels just like before – when I started photography…

…with one main difference. I make a living for myself now. Back then I was fresh out of college and had no house, no income expectations. This time I do. I’ve taught myself, as we do when we become adults, to rely on ourselves to make money. We learn to measure our success in our bank accounts.

I’m not trying to say that I have lost any joy in photography or teaching, or that I personally put my confidence and success in money, but that it is tied together even when we don’t realize it. I’m just ready for change.

I’m overjoyed about dissociating my passion from my income. It means that I’m back to passionate basics. I’m doing something because I HAVE TO. Because my soul is pushing me to do it. Because I feel a calling to write this book.

If I am ever to do it right, I can’t let money be a thought, or success, or reputation.

None of that matters in passion.

What matters is that I put aside my former expectations and learn a new way of living, one that does the deed no matter what. Just like I did with photography, and just like I will do with writing.

One day I will tell the story of how I put all else aside – my fears, insecurities, doubts, and expectation – to write the novel of my dreams. It will be a beautiful story to tell.

So, Lindsay, to answer your question…

I’m doing freaking fantastic. I really am. Thanks to you and your perfectly timed text, I’m finally feeling free.

On today’s DIY list, we’re making wire sculptures! I’m demonstrating how I do this on a large scale, but you can try the same thing for tiny sculptures, too!

I started making wire sculptural pieces for a photo series, so my plan to use this wire is ultimately to be photographed. The next part of the DIY will go through how to finish the piece and photograph it.

MATERIALS LIST:
Chicken Wire
Gardening Gloves
Wire Cutters
Pliers

I use chicken wire because it is malleable but strong. It can be cumbersome to work with but once you get the hang of it, it molds into shape.

Step 1: Separate the edges of the wire from the roll.

Step 2: Bend the sharp edges inward for safe handling using either your gloved hands or pliers.

Step 3: Roll out the wire. As you go, bend it backward so that it doesn’t curl in on itself.

Step 4: Cut the wire away from the roll when it reaches your desired length.

Step 5: Bend the newly sharp edges inward for safety.

Step 6: Start bending the wire into the shape you want, hooking the wire to itself via the cut edges to hold it in place.

Step 7: Finalize the shape and admire your handy work!

My sculpture doesn’t look like much, but that is because it is only half finished and is meant to be extremely abstract. Remember, you can sculpt anything from abstract creations to little animals and more!

In the next blog about wire sculpting, I will show you how you can coat your sculpture to finish it. Here are two options:

Paper mache is a great choice for coating your wire sculpture. It can be done with newspaper and glue, or you can get the heavy duty stuff for things like body casting. Either way, this technique can be done simply and is great to utilize if you plan on painting it.

Because of the nature of my sculpture, I’ll probably opt for using spray foam. My final sculpture will be covered in mushrooms, and I want to keep the organic flow of it alive.

I hope this was helpful, and I can’t wait to see what wire sculptures you make!

Please share below if you have an idea,
tips for wire sculpting, or if you finish a piece!

I’ll be back soon with Part 2 of “How to Make a Wire Sculpture”!

When it comes to creating a strong portfolio, confidence is key. The more you can stand behind your work, the better received the work will be. This is true of anything we do in life. Our own confidence inspires confidence in others.

How do we gain that confidence, and how do we project it? That’s what this outline is for. These are my methods for creating a strong portfolio that I can feel good about.

I’ve been an artist for 11 years with a successful business for 10 of them. Five years ago I began attending portfolio reviews, and my work has only improved since then. In fact, it was a review that got me to create my first award-winning series. After that, it was a review that got me a book deal. I’ve had harsh criticism and soft, been praised and hugged and ignored. The gamut has been run!

I want you to go into crafting a portfolio with a good sense of what images to choose, how to print them, how to present them, and how to stand behind your decisions. Portfolios are useful for so many things. It’s your business card as an artist and the way you introduce the world to your work. You can create a portfolio in print, on social media, on your website, or any other way you choose!

Here is an outline I made to help with the portfolio process. I hope this helps, and if it does, let me know! In fact, leave a link to your portfolio in the comments!

Choosing images for your portfolio

• Think like a gallery owner (or whomever you’re going to show your portfolio to!)
  • Galleries, magazines, clients, etc., mostly want cohesion. They want someone who is known for something, who will deliver that thing excellently, and who will give them direction. All of this comes from understanding your niche.
• Multiple styles
  • If you have multiple styles, keep them well separated or only show the style that most pertains to the person you’re showing your portfolio to. Don’t mix them.
• Choose your strongest images
  • Don’t know which are strongest? Ask a diverse group of people, and then ask them why. Ask people who do what you do, who have no idea what you do, and in between. The people who know how to create can look technically. The people who have no idea how you do what you do can look conceptually and emotionally. And anyone else is a bonus.
  • Part of having an awesome portfolio is understanding intuitively and intellectually which images are strong. You should not rely on others to choose for you, and if you do, you have a lot of work to do in understanding your craft.
    • Start by looking at which images speak to you the most and that you were most excited to create.
    • Narrow that down by then asking which are technically strongest – that matters A LOT.
    • Finally, choose 2-3 images that are both emotionally strong and technically strong. Use those as your flagship images.
  • If you feel overwhelmed in choosing your strongest images, try studying your medium. Look into classic examples of well-received and critically acclaimed art. Dissect that like you’re in a classroom and ask yourself why they were applauded for their work. Chances are there are books about these people or at the least, blogs, that go into detail about their merit.
• How many images should you choose?
  • In my experience, choosing anywhere from 10-30 images for a printed portfolio is great. Any less, and you won’t seem experienced enough. Any more, and you won’t feel curated. I go for the higher number because my portfolio is massive.

Printing your portfolio – sizes, paper, order

• When you print a portfolio, you must consider how you’re printing it. Or, if you’re printing it at all! Are you presenting digitally or physically?
  • When presenting a digital portfolio, make sure you arrange them in an order that makes sense and keeps the viewer’s attention all the way through. I have reviewed a LOT of digital portfolios, and the biggest issue is that the sender puts too many images in. I lose interest and can clearly tell that as I keep moving through the portfolio, the work is getting older and older. There are glaring technical errors and the concepts aren’t as thought through. Limit yourself.
  • If you’re printing a physical portfolio, choose the paper that you would present your work on professionally. For example, I print my images on Elegance Velvet Fine Art Paper from Breathing Color. Therefore, when I show my portfolio, I make sure the images are printed on that paper. That way, if a gallery sees it and likes it, they know exactly the standard, quality, paper, ink, etc., that they would receive to hang in their gallery. There are no questions because it’s right there in front of them.
  • I recommend printing two different sizes to show people. I print at 10×10 inches and 20×20 inches. The 20 inch size is rather large for a portfolio review, but it always wows them.
• What order should you put them in?
  • Order matters a lot when creating a portfolio. Here are some ways you might choose to order your prints:
    • Color – by creating a through-line of color, you create natural visual cohesion and flow. You may go from cool tones to warm, desaturated to colorful, or you may even alternate color palettes.
    • Theme – Sometimes it’s great to combine like themes together. This is especially great if you are presenting a series (which would naturally go together) or if you are a concept based artist. This method has another bonus: it gives you more to discuss as you flip through.
    • Date – you may choose to order your portfolio chronologically, but I warn against this if your work continues to get less polished as you go.
  • Order matters because it shows you understand the work you are presenting. A sloppily laid portfolio will reflect that you aren’t sure how to curate your prints.

How to present your portfolio – questions to ask, type of case

• What case should you use?
  • The case is the least important part of a review. You’ll likely immediately take the prints out and then not bring the case back until the last minute. That said, cases are hard to come by. There are very limited options, and the awesome ones are so expensive it is often prohibitive. I got mine at a local craft store. It’s just a big zippered case where the prints sit lose inside. For this reason, I keep the different sizes sandwiched between cardboard. Don’t overthink it! The prints are the star.
• Questions to ask. This is vital to a successful portfolio review. If you have nothing to ask, your reviewer might be annoyed and it will reflect that you didn’t put enough time into preparing.
  • I would come up with a list of 10 questions to ask the reviewer. They can be generic, but slip in some specific questions as well. This lets them know you have done your research and you are looking for their specific expertise. Here are some sample questions:
    • Do you think I am technically ready to submit to X (galleries, magazines, clients, etc.)?
    • Do you think I am conceptually ready to submit to X (galleries, magazines, clients, etc.)?
    • What do you feel is the best niche for my work?
    • What stands out as most unique in my portfolio?
    • What stands out as most generic in my portfolio?
    • Do you feel my work is sellable?
    • How do my images make you feel?
    • Can you recommend any resources for me to look at after our review?
    • Does my work fit in to the industry on a professional level?
    • What do you feel would be a good next step for me?
  • When asking questions, remember to ask for detail. Don’t be afraid to ask: Why? How? Can you help me further? Ask them to be specific. You paid for a good 20 minutes and some reviewers will fall short – very short – of giving a proper review. Pull it from them.
• Finally, leave a leave-behind.
  • A leave behind is a piece of paper that they can keep with them. It could be as simple as a business card, or you could go my route:
    • My leave behind is on the paper that I print on for exhibitions, at the size of 8×8 inches. It has multiple images represented on it, plus my name, phone number, and website. This allows the reviewer to remember me, remember my paper and printing quality, and to follow up if they want to work with me.
    • Many reviewers are looking for artists to work with, so this is not far fetched! Like I mentioned, I’ve gotten shows and other good opportunities from reviews, so always be prepared.
      • There are reviews that have gone terribly for me, so I use my best judgment in giving someone a leave-behind. When in doubt, do it! They’ll politely take it whether they want to work with you or not.

I hope this outline has been helpful for you in growing your craft, business, and confidence! Take all these steps and you’ll be sure to present a more polished portfolio that you can feel good about.

Share a link to your portfolio here if you’d like!

Recently I sat in a room full of brilliant women talking about careers and dreams and goals. One after another I heard hopes of changing the world through activism, spreading joy, and setting a strong example to others like themselves. When our formal presentations were finished, talk turned to social media. Gone was the language of dreams and hopes, of confident goals and paths forward. Instead, an air of questioning and pleasing replaced that confident conversation. The language changed to self-doubt and subservience.

In our goals for our careers, it is simple to say I will do X to achieve my dream, because we recognize the power that we ourselves possess to make those dreams a reality. But in the realm of social media and marketing, we believe we are subservient to the greater population.

Much of this ingrained belief comes from entitlement issues online. Not long ago I fell sick and was unable to keep up with social media for one full week. I ceased all communication and didn’t touch my phone. When I finally picked it back up, read my emails, saw my DMs, and took a breath, I was shocked. I received emails and messages from all types of people with a similar message: we expect an explanation.

Certainly, there were well-wishes and genuinely concerned people, but even so, the underlying message (and sometimes overlying), was the same: a demand for information. This happens in big and small ways, and sometimes it is the small ways that are the most destructive.

We post an image on Instagram. We hear instant feedback, sometimes in the form of silence. We share an opinion, and we instantly know how people feel about that. This alone is not the problem. The problem is that we, as the sharers, begin to feel that that however someone reacts to our provocation (even if it is silence), is the right way to react. We feel that their reaction validates our contribution.

WE FEEL THAT THEIR REACTION VALIDATES OUR CONTRIBUTION.

This is how we learn about entitlement through social media. Because our careers, our income streams, or (and this is the heart of the issue) our self-worth are tied up in how people react to our social offerings, we become beholden to how people interact with us online.

And it is the acknowledgment of that relationship that pushes us to explore how to tide the ebb and flow of social media in our favor. We study charts and graphs, take classes, hire mentors, obsess over SEO, and for what? To find the best time to post online, in the most engaging way.

But really, all we’re doing is finding the most effective way of being beholden to someone else’s desires.

When I sat in that room of women all sharing “tips and tricks” for social media, myself included, I recognized the deep emptiness that had entered the conversation. Why, when we talk about our dreams, do we speak so confidently about what we will do to make them a reality, but when we talk about marketing those dreams, we demurely ask how we can serve others?

My social media strategy, if you can call it that, is an intuitive one. I do not study numbers or charts. I don’t care when the best time to share on Instagram is, or what type of post does best, or how to create cohesion in your gallery. Once, I cared. But a lesson, deep and nourishing, crept in at some point:

You can get people to follow your work. You can get people to take notice, you can post at all the right times, you can build a successful business by doing “all the right things”. People do it all the time.

But you can build something real and lasting if you let all of that go.

There is a way forward through authentic and intuitive social media marketing.

It’s called trailblazing. This is my social plan:

1. Care about what you put out so deeply that others care too, no matter what time you share your post.
   
2. Speak about what you care about so deeply that others are compelled to speak back.
   
3. Stop worrying about if you will offend or put off or alienate with your work. You will. GOOD.
   
4. Let your passion be the light that brings people to you. Not gimmicks. Please not gimmicks.
   
5. Let people go. If you lose followers, they were never meant for you.
   
6. Stop using the word follower, it’s yucky.
   
7. Start conversations that you want to have. Don’t start a conversation if you don’t want to have it.
   
8. Find your purpose in everything that you do and share.
   
9. Never let the reason for sharing be to satisfy a statistic (ie: when you should post, what you should post, how you should post).
   
10. Let your legacy fill your marketing strategy.

Go forth and conquer, Passionates.

I started Promoting Passion years ago. It was a way of bringing together two seemingly opposed words: promoting, and passion. What if, I thought, we could learn to share our passion confidently, and in doing so inspire others to be confident in their passion? How could that change the world?

I started a blog.

And then a convention.

And now a tour.

Because education, inspiration, and community should be accessible. Because without a family of creative weirdos, we too often feel alone. Because why the hell not.

Six weeks ago I set out on the Promoting Passion tour. This tour allowed us to come together as a family of 800. With sponsorship from Sony and Sony Alpha Female, I was able to bring accessible education and inspiration around the world.

I visited: London, Seattle, Los Angeles, Dallas, Atlanta, Chicago, New York City, Toronto, Vancouver, and Melbourne. Without Sony believing in the message of Promoting Passion, I could not have made this tour possible, and certainly not at the price point I was able to. They went all in to support us.

I just got home from spending 5 weeks on the road. It was a grueling schedule. Travel – event – travel – event – repeat. I would have broken under the pressure of it if not for my best and most trusted friend, KD. She was there every step of the way to support, encourage, and lift us all up. When the curtains closed, she cleaned every event space, made sure I had food to eat at the end of a 12 hour event day, carried bags and boxes, and truly cared about all of our well-being. If you have one goal in this life, it should be to find a friend that comes close to her. It is rare, and she is precious.

The theme of the tour was legacy. How do you cultivate a legacy with all the noise around us? What steps can we take to roadmap our way to being legends?

I laid it out as best as I could: my own personal path to legacy, and an open invitation for others to join me. It was beautiful. There were so many tears and so many laughs. Thousands of hugs. New friends and old. Paths forged before my eyes. Artists blooming everywhere I looked.

Not all of us get to understand the impact we can have on others in our lifetime. But I witnessed on this tour, without a doubt, that we are all making a dent. That we are all touching someone. That we have the ability to exceed our most narrow limitations and to soar above our potential.

But only – ONLY – if you respond to the call. If you respond to your ability to make change.

Response – ability. Take it or leave it. That is the choice we are all given.

Each group was so different. The energies different, the hugs, the talks, the essence of each tour stop. But one thing remained. We are all artists, and we have something to say. With resilience and pride I watched people find their legacy, watched them say it out loud for the first time, or embody it truly.

My legacy is to inspire creativity in others. Or at least, that’s what it is right now. This tour made me feel like I’m getting closer to that legacy. And it made me want to reach higher, gain more, and give more.

I am so very thankful for everyone who joined me on tour. To everyone who gave me a hug, gave me a knowing look, let me know we are connected, let me know I am not alone in my fears. To everyone – you are my creative family, and with each other we raise the tide for everyone.

I will leave you with a quote that I shared in my lecture on tour, one that I hope you are taking to heart right now, and one that inspires me to keep chasing my legacy:

“If I accept you as you are, I will make you worse; however, if I treat you as though you are what you are capable of becoming, I help you become that.”
– Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

If you came on tour with me, I’d love to hear your takeaways. And if I didn’t get to see you this time, then next time, it’s for you.

Sending you all my most precious creative energy,
Brooke

There was a long period of time when I felt like everything I made had to be amazing. Screw that.

I’m so far past that I think I might be going in the opposite direction. I liken it to choosing friends when you’re really young.

At first, you want everyone to be your friend. You have an insatiable desire to be liked. And you quickly learn what behaviors are widely accepted and which are not, so perhaps, you adopt the behaviors that reward you with praise.

And then you realize how exhausting it is to keep up that many friendships, and how unmanageable it is to spread yourself so thin. You start to get anxious over presenting yourself in the best way possible, and you worry that if your friends see you for who you are – imperfect – they won’t like you any more.

And some day, you rebel against that. You clean closet. You get rid of friends that don’t accept you for your weirdness and your flaws.

Well folks, here we are. I cleaned out my closet a while back. Since then, I’ve been sharing my failed images. I’ve been sharing the times when I hate creating, or nothing goes right. I’ve been sharing those moments of sheer panic, frustration, and anxiety. I share everything. Everything art-related, it’s all out there.

I’ve stopped caring if you (the broad You), think I’m a bad artist or a good one, or an artist at all. I don’t care if you hate my art, share my art, wish my art had never been made. I don’t care if you make fun of me, think I’m weird, or any other mundane, idiotic thing someone might think.

Because honestly, it is boring. And it is silly. And it’s not worth our time – mine or yours.

So if you’re here, it’s likely because you’re weird too. Because you accept me for who I am. Because we’re weirdos and we love it, and hey world, we don’t care.

Speaking of that long period of time where I did care what people thought, seeing as it took a while for me to be as empowered in my weirdness as I am now: I used to be ashamed when I made something that wasn’t great.

This new image I made the other day isn’t my best. But I love it. It satisfied a primal need to create. I wanted to make something where before there was nothing. One of the greatest and most interesting things about humans is our desire to play God – to create where once there was nothing. In so many ways. Artists are the obvious example.

So I made this thing. It’s a self-portrait covered in hands. I’ve done that before. I touch on this a lot in my voicemail. And when I finished it, I thought, “Hmph. It looks a lot like other images I’ve made. It’s not special. I shouldn’t share this.”

And then I realized what I just did. I just degraded something I made simply because it isn’t the most fresh and new thing. Simply because I thought YOU might be bored with it.

And when I say YOU, I mean the YOU of the Internet that steps on artists who don’t fit their vision. People who think that art is made for them, personally. People who get bored too easily because that’s the time we live in. And the people who don’t care how fulfilled an artist is by their own work.

That is not you, because you’re still reading this. (Well done, by the way. I ramble).

I loved making this picture.
I love this picture.
I love creating. Everytime. No matter the outcome.

I’m so glad that I’m intentionally making time for myself to create no matter what. No matter the whim or inspiration; no matter the hang-worthiness of it. No matter. No matter.

And that is what I wish you for you. To create without worry. To create because you must. To create because you feel a primal urge to make something out of nothing. To create, no matter what.

No matter.

No matter.

Inspiration & moons,
Brooke

This image was meant to be exactly what it is, but it wasn’t meant to be what I tried to force it to be. I set out to create a new photo series all about death. I had personal reasons for doing that, but that story is for another day, maybe months from now or maybe years (or maybe never). I wanted to break down the barrier between the living and the dead. I wanted to confront what scares us most about death and in doing so, become better acquainted with my own mortality.

Alongside an idea is always a technique, or in other words, the physical manifestation of that idea. How was I going to portray death? What would the series look like? How would it come across?

At the time that I began the series, I was in a transitory period as an artist. What I didn’t realize was that it was just the beginning of a two-year struggle to find my new voice and vision. Back then, I thought I knew exactly what I needed to do to take my art to the next level.

High budget productions, ornate sets, and models.

So I started building a new series on paper, writing about it and casting models. I rented a few abandoned locations and decided to give myself a one year timeline to finish this new body of work.

As I went on, it became clear to me that something wasn’t right. I liked the images, spent thousands of dollars making them, and on some level, was proud of myself for creating in ways that were a bit foreign to me.

But on the other side..the IN-side, I knew it wasn’t right. It can be very difficult to admit, after so much money has been invested, that something isn’t working. But that is the conclusion I eventually drew after 1.5 years of working on this series.

The problem wasn’t with the series, but with the way I was creating it. I realized I stubbornly tried on different ways of creating, hoping in the process to find my new style and vision. The truth of the situation was that I was relying on visuals and techniques that I thought would make my art better, not that I actually wanted to utilize.

It also turns out that I needed that whole year and a half to reconnect with myself. I had a very scary, very honest talk, alone in my garage, about what this series should actually look like. And when I reassessed, I learned that I needed to go back to basics. That the simple, inexpensive techniques that have always served me well would serve me well again. That I didn’t have to change everything about my creation process to do something groundbreaking.

But, that’s for another time. For now, I want to share the story of this image with you.

I contacted my friend Kyna to do a photo shoot. She was 6 months pregnant at the time. It felt like harmony as I pursued a series about death and she was about to bring life into the world. I crafted an image around her, deciding to play up the themes of life and death.

In a really scary moment, I decided to ask her a question that I hoped wouldn’t offend. I asked her if we might create art using her father’s ashes. He passed away a few years ago and I thought, with new life and old, that we could create something really meaningful.

Here’s the thing about being a totally out-there, weird artist: you attract like-minded people. She didn’t flinch at the idea, but instead welcomed it openly.

I booked a location, drove 3+ hours away to find it, and then took a 1 hour truck ride on the most treacherous road to get to the house. It was off-roading to the extreme. But finally, we got within a mile and hiked the rest of the way.

I spent the day before gathering ashes. I went around to some local campsites and asked if I could clean out the fire pits, which the park managers happily agreed to let me do (that way they didn’t have to do it!) and I took those ashes with me to our location. They were HEAVY, which was unexpected, but we somehow managed to hike with them up to the house.

I scattered the whole room that I chose to shoot in with ashes, and then set up tall black candles around the space. In addition I set up a light outside the window to create streaks of light, and kicked up dust to create a hazy effect in the room. I also bought an old bassinet for the background.

When it was time to shoot I asked our helpers to leave so that we could have privacy. It was time for her father’s ashes. It was years working to heal through his passing, and this was one more step in that process. She had the box next to her, and I asked her to take some ashes and wipe them across her eyes. She did, and it worked, but we needed more. Eventually holding the pose and getting the fabric to stay up was too much to keep together, so she asked me to spread the ashes.

I felt such an interesting feeling of connection and disconnection in that moment. Connected, because I was permitted such a sacred rite. Disconnected, because I could feel the bone pieces in the ashes as I wiped them across her eyes and I recognized what I was doing in its component parts; that something can carry memories, and therefore be alive in one way, but be entirely inanimate, too.

We finished the photo shoot and packed up as best we could. Hiking down the mountain, I remember feeling such awe for her and the amount of vulnerability to do a photo shoot such as this one.

She thanked me for creating something so personal to her, but for me, it was universal.

We all touch death. We all touch life. In that, we are all connected. She gave me a gift that day that I will never forget, and it was the gift of facing death (and life) in a way that most people don’t get to. To hold the remnants of a person in my hand and to be entrusted to create art out of it. To be told, through willing participation, that my vision is worthy of creation.

That is the gift that this image gives me. And to my dear friend, whose baby girl is nearly a year old now, I thank profusely for participating in and helping to create this story.

Though this image won’t live it’s life as part of the series I intended for it, I’m learning that sometimes the things we create have a way of settling into exactly the place they were meant to be.

—

Photographed in January 2018 on a Sony A7RII + 24mm lens.

The creative process. Is it usually the same for you each time you create, or is it different? Maybe even drastically different? Do you know what to expect or is it a surprise?

I work from routine best, so my shoots usually go to plan, or at least follow very similar steps. Here are most common steps for my shooting process, as you’ll see from start to finish in this in-depth video:

1. Brainstorm
2. Sketch
3. Write
4. Costume/Props
5. Set the camera
6. Test shot
7. Shoot
8. Cull images
9. Edit image
10. Share!

I often wish I was different so that I could embody more of a traditional artist spirit. For example possessing any of the following traits would be kind of great: wanderlust, spontaneity, or fits of inspiration.

Well, that third one does happen sometimes. But in general, I am predictable and even-keeled. That doesn’t mean that I don’t surprise myself, that I am not wildly inspired, or that I don’t enjoy a big adventure. Simply, that I don’t thrive under those conditions all the time. I love to work with a list, an itinerary, and a closely monitored clock.

I actually attribute these characteristics in myself to success. Because of my frighteningly equal split of Type A and Type B personalities, I can focus, understand my tasks, and get work done efficiently. But, because I am naturally creative, I have lofty dreams, big ambitions, and a wild imagination. They work in really good unison and harmony to create steadfast creativity.

Steadfast creativity. What is it?

It is the knowledge that creativity will always be there.

It means not relying on inspiration to strike like lightning.

It’s cultivating what inspires you to draw upon that any time.

I don’t like uncertainty. But I especially don’t like it when it comes to my imagination. I want to know that it is a muscle I have worked so much that it remembers what to do in a pinch.

I think that is why I’ve taken such a step by step approach to photography. It helps me to understand my job, which frees up my mind to focus on more creative tasks. If I’m confused by my process, I can’t focus on my creativity. Plain and simple.

So, that’s my creative process! What is yours? How do you work best?