Shadows and highlights
Reflections on my growing photo practice
The night I'm writing this is the eve of the full moon. I watched the moonrise last night over the sleepy midwest town I call home. Everyone was either at home, in the bars, or watching a 1950s black and white film at the local theatre. Cumulus clouds shaped like cotton balls hover over our muggy August skies. It rained sporadically all day, one of those rains that is a straight downpour while the sun is still shining. I caught a rainbow hiding above the red brick apartment buildings, showing its hues to those who pay attention.
I'm not always good at paying attention, at slowing down enough to truly see what is around me. I want to see the real life that surrounds me instead of getting caught up in thoughts and worry spirals. Like raindrops making ripples in a river's reflection, hiding reality in it's midst. That is why this walk is so important to me this weekend. An intentional walk just to notice and capture what I see.
I've loved photography for so long, but I've ignored it for the later half of a decade. While in college I was influenced so much by what others expected of me, and now my career has taken a turn down a path I don't recognize for myself much anymore. I'm craving slower moments, and the things that make me feel like myself again.
By instinct, I picked up my Canon AE-1 film camera for the first time in years in October 2023. It was after the rush of our wedding, moving into our home, and starting a life together. We went on a camping trip in November, and I threw a roll of Kodak Ultra Max into the camera and shot some images. Because I couldn’t see what the photos looked like, I hoped for a good outcome but didn’t get caught up in the perfection.
When I got that roll of film back a couple of months later (I left it undeveloped for longer than I should have), I was pleasantly surprised by all of the images — a moment, a feeling — captured in time. Some of the photos I experimented with turned out shockingly well for not having used film in years. In December 2023, I upgraded my Canon EOS T3 digital camera to a mirrorless one, thanks to my savings and Christmas money. In January, I took elements of photography class that helped me brush up on the technical side of making images. Aperture, shutter speed, ISO — it all came back to me slowly like it was in the recesses of my brain; I just needed to give it space to come and play.
For the rest of this year, I have been playing with my camera while working at my day job and building a life with my partner. I’ve been grateful for my community. I had the opportunity to photograph an event for my local bookshop in July. And I have two other gigs this month that I’m excited about to build a portfolio and hone my eye. It’s like my camera, and the opportunities were waiting for me, waiting for me to give it my attention.
I recently read this Georgia O’Keeffe quote:
I have done nothing all summer but wait for myself to be myself again.
That has been me. Coming off the last year has felt like a shock after a large wave. I've let this summer be what it is. I'm not particularly striving for anything, but I'm letting myself be present—creating, collecting experiences, words, and conversations—hoping that I will resurface, giving myself time to just be.
At my day job, I've been encouraged to develop goals and a career plan to strive for. I've tried to put it off, saying that I've done so much in the past couple of years and am satisfied with where I am. If you know anything about corporate life, you know that doesn't always fly. But it's true, and I can't say that I'm slowly building something sustainable, a business, a practice, outside of the corporate spiral I've found myself in.
In his book, Drinking from the River of Light, Mark Nepo writes:
When I was young, I was overwhelmed with so much of life racing through me. I didn’t know myself and often felt like a drop of water breaking, always spilling the moon and the sky. Finally, I stopped analyzing and unraveling what I knew to be true and trusted my own direct experience of life. When alone with the sun on my face, I felt the miracle of existence in a way that couldn’t be broken down or undermined. Building on those irreducible moments, I came to know myself.
I often felt like I was breaking while living in my apartment on my own. My job constantly broke me and tore me down with negativity and challenge. I was on my own, yet dealing with some trauma through therapy that I didn’t have a name for. I felt pushed and pulled from the wind, ungrounded and trying to find a way to steady myself, but the things I would hold on to often shifted and left me falling to the ground time after time. I was overwhelmed and tired, felt like I was never enough, and constantly chased perfection and self-worth through how busy I was.
I’m a little more grounded than I was then, having settled some and having a husband to come home to. I left the toxic job. I’m still working full-time, but it’s like a stepping stone until I can get on my feet and create something of my own.
I’m slowly trusting myself again, looking for the highlights among the shadows. I can tap into this core deep within me, put down all expectations, and soak in the sun. When I open my eyes, I can truly see. While capturing a picture, I’m slowing down that moment and preserving it. I’m growing my awareness, seeing moments unfold before me instead of breaking me.
A gift from all of this is that I have an intention for myself—a soft intention that I can work towards on my own timeline and on my own terms.
I digress. All of this to say is that I’m grateful for this photo practice. It has slowed me down, helped me see, and given me a way to express when the words get caught in my throat and when I find it hard to breathe.
your photos are lovely! keep shooting!!