I was on a trip in Iceland. It had been five days with my friends, driving around in RVs, our little homes crammed with people we hadn’t seen in a year but filled with love. Homemade dinners, everyone swapping motorhomes to taste some of each. Pitstops at inspiring places when the mood struck. Sunsets and sunrises that made us all squeal with joy and then immediately stop, and quiet ourselves, and reflect.

It was our last evening. We had been taking pictures for hours in the lava fields. Night was coming for us despite our resistance. We had one more campground to find. One more sleep until we all left the next morning. I called a stop to the shooting so that we could pack up, but I didn’t listen to my own command. As I stood in the lava field, watching everyone slowly pack up, I didn’t want to go. I had an overwhelming, all-encompassing feeling that I should not be leaving – that I belonged there. I stood for what felt like seconds but was certainly longer, staring out at the bleak yet beautiful dropping sun, almost hidden entirely through the misty clouds.

I had been gone for three weeks. I would be returning home the next day. A trip back home is sometimes a welcome thing. I love being home. But on a trip like this one, something changes in you. You see the world more profoundly, and when you do, it is hard to leave. So I stood there, while everyone else did all the work of packing up, and I let it wash over me. It was that feeling of understanding, like your entire person has expanded because of a deeper connection with everything around you. I felt as though I was being spoken to through the bottoms of my bare feet resting easy on the soft moss.

It was cold, but I hardly remember shivering. It started raining, but I don’t remember the drops. It was getting dark, but I only remember the light.

I stood there wondering, before she came over to pose for me, what would I create? If I could do away with what was cliche or what anyone expected of me, what would I create. And that was when it was obvious, like the image was burned there in my mind already. I would create what I felt. I would create what cannot be, yet is my truth. I would photograph her floating, being lifted by the light that didn’t exist but in my mind. I would create an image indicative of my experience there in that lava field, utterly surreal in that surreal place, completely elevated by that experience.

While I was traveling I overheard two statements that made me sad:

“I can’t believe how stupid humanity is.”

“People are just naturally cruel.”

I heard two people say those statements in the same day, and for some reason, instead of letting them be random words murmured by strangers in passing, they stuck with me. I wrote them down in my notebook and really thought about them. I thought about all of the horrible things people have done, and all of the senselessness that seemingly goes into decisions that turn out terribly. I felt down that day. I felt like those words got into my head.

Here is the problem with allowing negativity inside: it clouds the good stuff.

The next day I had forgotten all about what those people said, and when I was out for a walk I watched someone help an older woman up some steps at the subway station. Someone held a door for me even and I hardly even noticed. My suitcase got stuck on a curb and a stranger picked it up for me. I gave my leftovers to a homeless person.

And then it struck me: Yes, people can be cruel and people can make poor decisions, but that does not make people universally blanketed by those qualities. I started thinking about the amazing things people do for one another every day. About the way that if we did focus more on the good, we might come to define people based on those attributes.

If we show others more kindness, we might see more kindness in the world.

We are an innovative people. We are always imagining and doing more and creating. To think only of the negative contributions we’ve made is to take away the probability of something changing. If you always scold a dog for doing bad things but never reward them for doing good, how will they know to keep doing those good things? We must remind ourselves of our powerful we are, and use that power to swing ourselves over to the good side.

When I was creating this image I couldn’t help but think about the concept of how powerful our minds are when we allow them to be. From being kind and compassionate creatures to using the little machines in our heads to create amazing art or build an amazing piece of technology, we have the most infinite potential – more than we could ever tap into. Let the magic come from within. Let it envelop you. Let it overcome all other senses. And use it for good. Good art. Good actions. Goodness.

There is a certain song that we sing, sometimes without realizing that our voice escapes our clenched throat, that vibrates through the air, noiseless, until it beats against the place it was meant to find. The lyrics are without words yet speak to a place inside where the voiceless booming of magnetic poetry carves itself in deep. Words are not necessary in this song. It is a pounding mystery. The ocean beating rocks against one another, or the crack of thunder. It carries inside itself a booming melancholy, or a rich light, and when we hear it (for only we can) we know it to be true. Such is the way with certain places. We release a song and hear nothing until it hits hard the place that makes it sing. Such is the way with humans. Such is the way with the soul.

Iceland – June 4th 2015 – 9:00pm

We arrived at the lava rocks with both joy and sadness. It was our last stop for our 5-day adventure together. The friends that I loved would be departing the next day and right then, in those few hours, we would spend our last moments creating art together. I stepped out on the rocks for the first time and bounced. I felt like a child, touching and smelling something for the first time. We rejoiced at so many things that evening – the way the clouds continuously changed, each calling to one another to look in different directions, each of us in awe. We jumped from rock to rock, holding hands, calling out, and laughing. We each strayed off by ourselves for brief moments, taking it all in. And I went with one of my best friends to shoot a private series.

The cold lessened that evening more so than the other days. We felt warm with life and excitement and so creating art nude and exposed felt easier than other times – more comforting. Soon enough we were barefoot, letting the moss tickle in between our toes, and I was glowing with inspiration. When I was photographing my friend, I wondered if the power that we felt would translate in a single image. There are times when I wish I could bring the viewer to the shoot, make them (you) feel the air and touch the ground and let your heart beat to the rhythm of that creativity. But in the moment, knowing there is no way to translate such a feeling, I had to settle for doing the best I could with what I had – a powerful woman nestled in the heart of all hearts, the soft ground covering the dangerous lava rocks in the land of fire and ice.

And so I created five images in a series, making her body look like the landscape. I photographed the first image and asked if I could keep going, changing my angle each time to create a triptych of the same model in nearly the same poses from three different angles. I photographed one pose of her reaching for the camera. At first it spoke to me as someone who needed to be rescued, but the more I looked at her reaching there in that place, I felt she was beckoning to me. Pulling me in and telling me to stay forever in this place where my heart sang more than ever before. Finally at the end of the shoot the inspiration fever had caught on, and Jen asked if she could join the shoot, which I was absolutely delighted about. And so I ended the session with both of them there in that powerful place, a finale to a poetic and emotional day.

Model, Images 1-5: KD Stapleton
Model, Image 5: Jen Brook