It was always for you
Work that will never be seen and eye miniatures
A small stack of memory cards topples over as I grab another one to check. I label them one by one: which to clear, which to keep. They're filled with photos that may never be seen by anyone but myself.
The delicate shape of a leaf, the way light crosses a trail. Moss, lakes, sky, and occasionally a person. My family. Cities I've visited.
I scroll through, reliving moments, one keyboard tap at a time. As I look at my photos, I see not just images, but the places I've been, the feelings I've had. I can recall the air, my mood, the walk. My camera is my constant companion, and I can spend hours editing. On walks with Corey, I talk about ideas, dreaming up projects and envisioning where I'd like to take my work in the coming years. Photography is my way to see the past, experience the present, and dream of the future.
I feel a powerful urge to create, knowing that most of my work will be for my eyes only. While others may document their lives through journaling, I capture mine through the lens of a camera.
So tell me: if no one but myself sees my photography, should I still do it?
I'll wager you thought "yes." Because when explained as a way to process the world, it becomes a deeply personal act.
So tell me now:
Why do you create?
What pulls you, and do you follow that pull? Why?
Do you create for yourself or the viewer?
To create is to be human.
Don't create for exhibition or write for a following.
Write because it helps you process, think, challenge yourself. Write a novel, a poem, an essay, because your heart aches to spill the words.
Paint, take photos, sketch, create because it is a part of who you are.
Whether the work is seen doesn't make it less important.
Because it was always for you.
A while back, I sat down with my niece to draw. She chose a picture of characters from Frozen for us to try, and soon became intensely focused on the eyes.
She leaned closer to the paper, almost folding in on herself, and told me that the eyes were always her specialty. This sparked a moment of recognition—I, too, had always been sketching eyes when I was young.
Even as children, both of us discovered that eyes are unique to each person, capable of conveying emotion with just the slightest pencil stroke. When you know someone well, you could recognize them by their eyes alone.
That's why I find these eye miniatures so fascinating. They were intimate gifts, tokens of love. And, as I mentioned, if you know someone well, you will likely recognize their eyes. While a passerby might see just an eye, the wearer sees the person they love.
Personal Work
A collection I am slowly working on: Collecting doors and their numbers.
Hey you made it to the end! I have a little secret for you.
I saw and smelled a humpback whale yesterday! With family visiting from out of town, we decided to go on a whale-watching tour. We were lucky enough to see orcas, seals, and humpbacks. But the real surprise was confirming something I’d heard before—that you can actually smell a humpback’s exhale. And let me tell you, it’s not exactly pleasant.
We were cruising along, nearing the end of the tour, when the air suddenly filled with a scent that, on any other day (and not out on the water), I would have blamed on the dog. The zodiac came to an abrupt halt as the captain popped their head out and mentioned that they could smell a humpback nearby. Although we didn’t see it right then, I can now confirm that a humpback’s breath is neither delicate nor lovely.
Fascinating - both the eye portraits AND the humpback whale breath - I had no idea...!