I’m in a small room in India – West Bengal. Outside the horns are blowing like crows, attacking. People are yelling down the street, their voices drowning together, indecipherable. This is a place that envelopes me the moment I step foot outside the airport, but it challenges me, too. The sounds, the people, the food, the smells, the stories. The stories.

When I listen closely through the mountainous shouts I hear cross-sections of lives; one man tells another to be careful crossing the street, not through his words, but through his body language. A woman kisses her child while a hundred people push past her, tenderness going unnoticed.

In my workshop I’m teaching self-expression through photography and movement, aided by Kolkata Sanved. The young women that sit in the room with me have pasts that I cannot imagine. I try, but it feels wrong to imagine my life with the same difficulties; disrespectful, somehow. I am ill-equipped to feel what they feel, at least precisely. My life has been vastly different and that shows in every minutiae when I travel in India. In the ways that I get irritated by people bumping into me, when I feel exhausted by the crowds, and especially when I feel trapped by the buildings and pollution. That is life here, though, and I am unaccustomed, even after five years of coming.

Today in the workshop we are learning storytelling. I explain why this is important –  because, after all, their story is theirs. It is for them to tell, not me. I never felt comfortable photographing people whose lives have been so uniquely different from mine, using my way of telling stories to tell theirs. This is for them to share. Instead, I teach storytelling. I teach how to use a camera. I teach self-portraiture. I teach them how to tell their own stories.

And so they do, effortlessly.

Because storytelling is the culture here. This is a place where stories pile on top of stories so that every object, every location, is imbued with the deepest stories.

Even more than stories, though, is the hope that permeates.

I’m in the Kolkata Sanved office and day one of my workshop is almost over. We are talking about our stories, but not in literal terms. I never, ever ask someone to share their past. Instead, we speak in symbols, in emotions. I ask them to bring me an object that represents their past. We learn symbolism in art.

They bring me water, as a symbol for constantly moving. They bring me a rock, a symbol for heaviness. They bring me a dead tree, a symbol unto itself. A box, to show entrapment. A match, to show danger.

We photograph those objects, and they learn the camera.

I ask them to choose an emotion that represents how they feel now that they have had education, now that they have found safety. Shanti, they say: peace. Aasha: hope. Curiosity. Learning. Happy.

As I listen to them sharing a symbol from their past, I do not have to use a lot of imagination to understand where they come from: darkness to light. The story is there, the details are not important for me to hear.

As I hear them share their emotions, representing who they are now, I see the shift from sadness to joy.

Everyone that I meet here is so open.

YES, I have had hardship. BUT, now I am free.

This is not true for so many. This is why the power of self-expression is so vital. When we give voices to those who feel they cannot speak they realize that their story matters.

It breaks me to think about how many people are living in poverty, enslavement, abuse, and more. How can we help them? I don’t know, myself. It is a problem the world may still be trying to solve a thousand years in the future. But, how can we help those who have been rescued, who have come out the other side? How can we heal them, give them strength, hope, determination? Empowerment. Education.

We give them a tool to tell their story. Because, so many – too many – have had their stories taken from them. Here, in this workshop, we try to give it back.

I have done many of these workshops over the past five years. Always, they say the same: we have come from ash and we have rebuilt ourselves. They tried to break us but we would not be broken.

There is hope. There is always hope.

This is a culture of light. Where there is darkness, light permeates.

I show them a camera. I show them a window. I show them a dark stairwell. The choice is theirs. Always, the image is the same: we reach toward the light.

They take their self-portraits. “Represent your dream for your future in a single image”, I tell them. A heavy thing to portray. They have never taken pictures before. And yet – beauty, hope, determination. The word of this workshop is: POWER.

“I am powerful!” one girl shouts as she takes her self-portrait.
“I am confident!” another girl says as she poses.
And finally, at the end, someone says: “I have learned how to tell my story. This is my story to tell.”

It is a culture of light.

And, can’t we all use that? No matter where you are right now, remember the beauty I have seen here. I need you to see it with me. I need you to feel this. The light demands it. Their stories demand it.

Will you try to reach for the light,
even when it is difficult?

1. What do you consider to be ethical storytelling?
2. How do you prefer to tell your own story?

—

I am currently in India teaching self-expression workshops to underprivileged communities. These workshops were developed by myself, Blossomy Projects, and Kolkata Sanved to blend movement with photography. I travel here to Kolkata, India once a year to help end gender-based violence and aid in the education and empowerment of those effected.

I am leaving for Sri Lanka in the morning to continue this work before returning home on February 2nd.

I have always loved photographing bandages because of how timeless they are while being sad and a signifier of pain at the same time. Old and sad are my favorites. I have been using these bandages since I started taking pictures. I had a vision of a group of girls standing in a circle, abandoned, scared to look out from the bandages that have kept them in the dark.

To me, bravery looks like the person who would peer out from behind the mask they wear to show the world who they are, despite what anyone might say about it. It is the one in the group who looks first, not knowing what they will see, and then encourages others to open their eyes. At some point in our lives, we could all use the encouragement to open our eyes when darkness is much more comforting.

I hope that no matter what you are going through you find the courage to look out at your world with your very own unique eyes and cast your gaze upon it’s wonders. You are sure to change the landscape just by being open to seeing it.

P.S. Very soon I’m releasing a brand new PAY WHAT YOU CAN challenge that I’m so excited for. You’ve got a 50 page e-book coming, daily emails, and all the guidance you could need to take on a CONTENT CREATION challenge. WAHOO!

Lately I have been reminiscing over my earlier photos from when I first started photography. There are still, miraculously, some people who support my work that have done so since those earliest days. And sometimes I hear people telling me to go back to what I used to do. Some days I agree. Some days I want very much to be overtly deathly and creepy and to create more simply. Some days I try. Other days I rebel. Sometimes I recognize my growth and I revel in having come so far. This month has been one of those times when I keep looking back and desiring to create as I used to.

The problem is obvious, once you are on the other side. I am a different person from who I used to be. My interests/talents/mindset is new. I can’t create those images again. They were golden, but they are stale. Still, my desire remained so I decided I would put myself in the same situation I used to be in, with some of the same inspirations, but resolved to do something new.

This resulted in a rather hilarious photo shoot. Picture this: Me, in my bedroom, with a Disney princess kiddy pool, black fabric, and a jug of almond milk. Cue my husband, wondering 1) what I’m doing, but more important, 2) how I plan on doing it without soaking the floor in almond milk. That was when he found helping to be less futile than letting me alone with the soon-to-be mess.

I set my camera up on the tripod above me, using a Sony a7ii and 50mm lens. I made sure my shutter speed was high enough to catch some motion of the milk splashing, and after I was in focus, I got to shooting. Using a 10-second remote timer, I was able to click, get rid of the remote, and wait those L-O-N-G 10 seconds until the milk splattered all over me.

The first time, I actually forgot it was going to happen. I was so focused on trying to get my pose right that it hit me in the face like a huge shock, and I proceeded to laugh uncontrollably for a whole minute. Afterwards it started getting easier, we got timings better, and it took about 30 (very cold) minutes to finish. I realized my error of refrigerating the almond milk only after I started.

In the middle of shooting I had a moment, as I so often do when finding myself in a strange position, where I was filled with gratitude. These are the moments I remember. These are the memories I want to keep close. Some people may say I’m bonkers for wanting to do things like this, but I say the rest of the world is mad. To not desire a more interesting, fun and joyful existence is insane to me.

We might choose different ways of achieving it, but I can say something with certainty: The more you put yourself out there and do the things that other people think are crazy, the more alive you will feel. Trust me. It works every time.

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.

Hello LOVELY community! This is the final day of our 3-week collaboration and I am just so thrilled with the results. I hear time and time again, when I’m out at different events, that community is dead and it’s every man/woman for him/herself. But I believe that there is community everywhere if you are so willing and bold as to create it, or join it, or give back to it. We, as creatives, are too often taught that to be vulnerable in a community is weakness. It is your allowance to other people that they may make fun of you, judge you, or bring you down. But I believe that community is strength. It is what brings us together, not what rips us apart.

I’ve chosen a winner for the collaboration, but that doesn’t mean that this picture is any better than any other – who am I to judge, anyway? I chose a winner based on the attempt – based on the interpretation and how much it inspired me at first glance. I was a little bit worried about choosing a winner, since I fundamentally don’t believe in competitions, but then I remember who you are – that you are a group who would not judge me for picking one out of so many, and you, who would be happy for whoever won, and gracious toward everyone. That makes my butterfly wings flutter.

Here are the WINNERS — That’s right, plural, because I liked these two so much for completely different reasons, and in the end felt I couldn’t judge one against the other. In random order…

Julie Mullin’s image stood out to me because of it’s simplicity and strength. She didn’t have to show a lot to make the viewer understand the image. The shadow of the bed across the girl’s face paired with her expression and moody lighting drew me in immediately and I’ve been thinking about it ever since I saw it. It reminded me so much of childhood, with a fantastic sense of innocence, and I truly commend Julie for achieving that.

Julie also made a video to go with her image, reading the story aloud and showing part of her creation process!

Theresa McManus’ image is overtly powerful and full of fury. The red color of the dress screams strength while the lighting says war: the war above, the war within. The way she used the sword in this image in such a proactive way really grabbed my attention. And finally, the ray of light that she included really made me center in on the subject and highlighted the intensity of the battle raging within our main character. Not to mention that light had a flair of heaven, which goes well with the ending of the story, too.

Fantastic work everyone! Please scroll down to view everyone’s work (in alphabetical order), each linked to their websites, and pocket that inspiration for a beautiful week! Barbara, Julie and Theresa – Please get in touch with me so I can send you some goodies!

This week, read Barbara’s story and find inspiration within it. From the theme of fear to the way she describes it, to the dusty attic location and the emotions the character goes through, there are near endless ways of becoming inspired. Once you have figured out which part of the story inspires you most, create a piece of art based on your inspiration. Post a link to your artwork in the comments, and optionally, you can add commentary about the piece and how you were inspired if you like. 

Next week I will be choosing a winner and honorable mentions from the artwork provided, and I will be sending along a personalized package to whomever is chosen (as well as to Barbara for her amazing contribution!). Happy creating!

Barbara’s Story:

“Oh Daddy; how will I ever do anything or be anybody if I’m always scared.

She was fearful…as far back as she could remember. Afraid to walk to school alone, of failing a test, of not being good enough; afraid of going to Hell if she committed a ‘sin’. Even her dreams were scary, filled with darkness and monsters. So many fears for such a little girl.

The little girl’s father took her by the hand and together they went to the attic. He dusted off a big wooden box and slowly opened the lid. The box was empty except for what looked like an old piece of cloth. Her daddy removed the cloth to reveal a beautiful shiny sword. Whenever you feel afraid; all you have to do is touch this sword and you will have the courage to do anything.

One by one she conquered her fears with the help of the shiny sword. As the years passed she grew into a confident courageous woman. Yesterday her Daddy died and as she lay the shiny sword beside him, I heard her say ‘Thank you, Daddy, but I won’t need this anymore. I realize now that the courage was within me the whole time!'”

Honorable Mentions:

Kisa Kavass
Michael
Hanna
Sydney Paige Richardson
Naiya
Lea M. Callais
Marcy Criner
Danielle Anderson

Read all the stories here!

WEEK 1

WEEK 2

Here are my top tips for storytelling:

Post your stories in the comments of this blog post, and have fun!

The STORY

A year ago I traveled to France to shoot in the most spectacular location I had ever seen. I got there, concepts planned, props in hand, and I shot all day long, for hours and hours straight. I took the images home, proud of what I had done, and yet I had no desire to edit them. The longer I waited the more I came to terms with the fact that I would never edit them. They had lost their magic. They weren’t as special as I thought they were. They were complicated and the lighting wasn’t right, and I felt really down about it. I could have edited them and I could have created something from what I had, but I knew that I was going to go back, and so I didn’t touch them.

A couple of months ago I did have the chance to go back. I went in with an idea but didn’t put too much pressure on myself to do what I had sketched out. Instead, I helped other people shoot throughout the day and contented myself with enjoying the moments I shared with my friends. At some point in the day someone found a dead bird. I went to the attic where the bird was resting and I sat with it for a long while. I pleaded with someone to let the bird stay where it was for a time. The truth was that I wasn’t finished with it. I have a very deep and sincere connection to animals and death, two things one wouldn’t normally pair together, and I am inspired by separately. But put together, I become overwhelmed with emotion – and inspiration.

I find beauty in death, light in darkness, and inspiration in the macabre. This is how it has always been. I embrace it. It makes me who I am. And so I found beauty and inspiration in that tiny bird and what it meant to me, in my life, at that time. To me, inspiration is how we most authentically manifest our truest self. It is why we create. I took that little bird with me throughout the day, carrying him as I looked for locations to create self-portraits, while coming up with a narrative for him, and for myself.

I challenged myself that day. I went into the chateau with ideas in mind that were safe and easy and would guarantee results from the shoot. But when it came time to shoot, I didn’t do what was safe or easy for me. I did several things that I almost never do, as a rule for myself. I shot directly at light sources. I shot in harsh light. I didn’t overcomplicate the work with a lot of Photoshop or heavy editing. I kept it simple, posed how I felt, and embraced the emotion of the day. It felt right. It felt respectful, in a way, for my little co-character. It was all perfect, no worries and massive inspiration. At the end of the day my friend asked if I had anything solid to take away from my shoot. I said I had no idea, and I didn’t…and I didn’t care. It felt wonderful to do what makes my heart soar, to try something new, and to connect with my deepest inspiration.

The TECHNIQUE

While shooting each of these images, I exposed for my skin tone. Because I was so often shooting at a light source, that meant that windows were blown out and the surroundings were bright in order to see detail in my skin and dress. I shot each image underexposed as well, so that everything but the light source fell into darkness. While putting the images together, I used a manual HDR type of stitching process, matching up the darkened window with the nicely exposed images and combining them.

In Photoshop, I spent a lot of time refining the light. In each image, I identified the light source, chose how soft I wanted the light to be and began to create softer light coming from those sources by adjusting my curves layer like this:

I added vignettes to each of the images to make the light stand our more.

I spent a good deal of time selectively changing colors. For example, in the image with the red floor, I had to selectively enhance the color of the floor. It was naturally orange/pink, so I made it a more uniform color and enhanced the darkness and saturation of the red tones. In others I selected the dress to change or enhance the color, and in others still I selected walls/doors to change colors.

To finish each image I softened them to give a more painterly look, since the light spoke to me as being like something from a classic painting.

The CONCEPT

When I found the bird, I wanted to create a small series that would honor his life while also speaking about the fragility of life and how heavy death can feel. The first image I created was the one where I’m standing next to the large feather. In it, I wanted to show how small we can feel around death, and how looming it can be. In a way, we shield ourselves from death so that we can experience life, but it is only when we accept our imminent demise that we can appreciate the impact our life can have.

The second image I created was the one laying down with the bird on the floor. I really pushed myself with this one and the lighting, but I felt it was important because that particular lighting spoke to me about fragility. It seemed so perfect, with the way it raked across the subject and bird, highlighting the shape and form of the lifeless pair. I wanted to pose like the bird, solemn and asleep, eternally or not, to embody the beauty in death.

The third image I went about creating was the white feather on my back. I posed in that space first sitting up and realized quickly that the light would not allow for such a pose, with it being so directional and harsh. That was when I decided to take a concept I had planned for a different room and try it out here. To show the weight of death (and life) was something that was important to me. Death weighs heavy on us all, whether it is thinking of our own or dealing with that of a loved one. All of these images speak to both instances.

The fourth image was taken in the room with the red floor and black dress. I wanted to dress in mourning, yet also like a blackbird – ominous and strong at the same time. Foreshadowing death perhaps, or mourning someone’s life, was what I was thinking of when creating this image. When I started editing I was thrilled with how stark of a contrast it presented in color and light, and I thought that appropriate in such a dark image.

The fifth picture was the one on the bed, looking up at the feather. To me, death feels like a dream – it is something we consider but cannot imagine, something we dream of but cannot feel, and something that is, often, better not to think on. I personally struggle with many dreams of death and darkness, and this felt an appropriate connection for me, visually, to the theme at hand.

The sixth picture was meaningful to me because of a memory I have. When my grandmother died I remember lying on a set of stairs, I couldn’t even say where now, and looking backward out the window, feeling the light on my face, and wondering if it was my grandmother touching my face. I saw these stairs and the light shining down and wanted to create an image in that fashion, looking toward the light with the little bird in my hands, as if offering him up to the light. All of these images deal with light and darkness in a literal and metaphoric way.

I hope that you can find something in one of the images that speaks to you.

She is filled with heaviness
like rain water sitting on a window sill,
cracked wood, fogged glass, unseen.

She is filled with heaviness
like autumn leaves under a long winter snow,
waiting for the melt to breathe again.

She is filled with heaviness
like a small dead bird filled with worms,
under the weight of a feather.

Share with me a series you’ve done, or a theme you are connected to.
Remember to never apologize for what makes you unique.
It is, indeed, what makes you so wonderful.

My first love was writing. After that it was filmmaking. And only after that was it photography. I thought, for the first few years of my career, that photography was my passion. But what if photography fades from my life? What if I suddenly find myself without a camera in my hand? Will that mean that I’ve lost my passion? I don’t believe so. Passion is deeper than the medium you create with, or the job you go to. It is the reason behind doing that thing that you’ve grown so accustomed to. And with that comes the willingness to change the way you manifest that thing. It is the why, the behind-the-scenes brain-work that lifts your life off the ground. It is your imagination fed. Passion can never be lost. It might hide, but it is never gone.

My passion is storytelling. It is making others see beauty in darkness. It is shedding light on those things which many people shy away from. My passion is not photography. My passion is sending messages.

If you are trying to find your passion, I suggest a few different methods to hone in on something. And you must promise me a few key things. First, you will try hard. And I mean really hard. Try so hard that it tires you out. Fail so often that you cry. It is better than never trying hard enough to find the soul of your soul. Learn every day. Never stop seeking knowledge. Believe that you have a passion. It might not be obvious, but then again, all of the best things lie “in secret, between the shadow and the soul”, as Pablo Neruda would put it (and was also part of my wedding vows).

1. Try Harder

Seriously. I mean, really. Try to find your passion. Try everything until something sticks. Motivate yourself. Search.

2. Learn More

Seek knowledge. Never believe it is a good time to stop learning. The more you know…

3. Define Your Strengths

If you know what you are naturally good at, you know how to begin finding your passion. Do what you’re good at. Do what makes you happiest, and go from there.

4. Join Meetups/Clubs

Find like-minded people to encourage you into a certain activity, hobby, passion, etc. The more people there are to make learning fun, the more likely you are to stick with a new project.

5. Ask WHY More Often

Question what it is about a certain thing that you like so much. I could easily say that Photography is my passion, when in fact, I don’t enjoy clicking a camera and going out on shoots nearly as much as I love the story behind why I’m creating. When you ask WHY, you know WHY.

6. Find Your Message

You have something to say that someone needs to hear. Guaranteed. Don’t argue with me.

7. Stop Making Assumptions

Never assume that you simply don’t have passion. The moment you allow that excuse to slip off of your lips you can rest assured you have gone off the deep end and you are almost certainly doomed to spend the rest of your life doing something that doesn’t fulfill you. That might be an exaggeration.

8. Believe in Imagination

One of the biggest problems that a lot of people have is not believing that they can dream big or that their imagination is worth as much as someone else’s. Passion requires imagination, not just to come up with what it is that you love, but to pursue it. Creativity is kind in a world where entrepreneurs and passion-go-getters are rewarded. So put stock in imagination. Believe you have enough of it to get in the game.

Model: Jen Brook

I’m actually en route to France right now where she will be modeling for an artist retreat I’m hosting there, and then, just a week after that, we’ll be meeting again in Iceland! I hope that you enjoy the process that went into this edit. And please check out Jen’s blog post as well!

Have you ever collaborated with another artist – model, painter, sculptor, poet, art director…anything at all? I’d love to see pics from collaborations you’ve engaged in!

Model: Jen Brook, photographed in Norfolk UK August 2014. Fish purchased from shutterstock.com.