If there’s something that scares me more than anything, it’s to hear someone tell me that they want to buy something I’ve created.  I draw, sculpt, photograph, and make videos because sometimes, I don’t have the words to express myself.  Sometimes, art is a way of saying “I wish you could feel my pain” or “I am not sure how to let go” or  ”My heart is dancing”.  And sometimes, the art is a fragment of me, you, her or him or all of us.  It may be about what’s wrong with the world or what’s very right.  It may be full of rage, full of lust or full of love.

And it’s never done at the right time or the right way.  It’s a constant struggle.  ”Why even bother?”, “It won’t be any good.”, “Nobody else will care for it”.

I wish I could say that art is just created for the artist.  But it isn’t.  It’s not meant to.  It’s meant to be shared.  And every artist cares about what people think.  And every artist has questions that scare him or her so much that they’re willing to sacrifice a little or a big part of themselves in order to not confront the questions.

“Who will buy my work?”, “How will I pay the rent?”, “How do I value my work?”, “What will others think of me?”, “Why can’t I just do this on the side?”, “Will I just be forgotten?”, “How do I compete with all of the other art that’s out there?”

“Why am I scared when someone says they want to buy my work?”

I went to a play recently where the main character was a businessman, who, at the end, is suddenly awakened by something beautiful and leaves the world of business.  However, something didn’t feel right about it.  It felt too easy.  So, I wrote to the group who put this play together and asked them to consider what kind of businessman he was – a “suit” or an artist in a suit.  The ending is different depending on the type of man he was.  There is always hope for the artist in a suit.  Always.  There is always a chance that something or someone will trigger the desire to confront the questions, to seek the answers… no, to live them.

Someone has triggered me.   It’s not to say that the questions don’t scare me anymore.  They’re terrifying.

I would love to have the luxury to create all the time.  Luxury.  Is it a luxury to be yourself?  Why do we do these things…

There is always hope for the artist in a suit.

C’est rendu lourd.  J’en ai eu assez.

A theatrical control scene between dark and light (my concept).

Dress rehearsal shot for Deluxe Hot Sauce’s production for the SubDevision theatre event in Ottawa.

Dress rehearsal shot for Deluxe Hot Sauce’s production for the SubDevision theatre event in Ottawa.

Promo shoot for a Fringe festival play.

Promo shot for Fringe festival play.

Dress rehearsal for the Ottawa Stilt Union.

Dress rehearsal for the Ottawa Stilt Union.

Shot during the performance piece by Two Little Birds during SubDevision.

Shot in an abandoned paper mill – a dance scene between two women.

This was shot in an abandoned paper mill, playing with the available space.

Playing with space under a bridge.

“Aperture?  What’s that?”, I reply.

“Julie doesn’t know any of those things – she’s just an artist with a camera”, I hear in the background from another photographer friend.

Sigh.

It’s so embarrassing.  Here’s the context: I got invited to a big photoshoot at an old paper mill just outside of Montreal, where many photographers gathered to shoot models in this unique location.  I planned ideas and managed to secure the participation of two of my most favourite people in the world to act as models in my ‘scenes’.  And I did it all knowing that it would be absolutely terrifying to work in the presence of people who actually know what they’re doing with their cameras.  And I avoided talking about technical terms with any of them.  Because I have no idea what I’m doing.  I only know how to change the ISO speed – that’s about as far as I got into the manual before I decided to just experiment with my camera.

I’m not a photographer but I really love seeing.  I love observing, I love exploring, I love light and I love shadows and I love silent moments.  And that’s what photography means to me: silence.  And honesty.

“Shall I put on some makeup?”, asked Gabrielle.

“No.  No makeup.”, I replied.

I wanted to see her, as she was.

And that’s all I really know.  What I see, what I imagine.  For the first time this weekend, I shared a bit of what’s in my brain.  And even then, I held back.  I wanted to try things and I didn’t, because I was scared that it would be perceived as too out there.  Baby steps, Julie, baby steps.  The next time, I’ll just do it because I know in my heart that it’ll make a great image.

It’s funny how sometimes, the only thing preventing us from being fully creative is us.

What I’ve learned is that because I don’t know how to use the tool, I am not achieving even half of what I could achieve with my photos.  My eyes lit up when Jesse lent me his lens and showed me how to set it up properly.  All of a sudden, low-light shooting was made even more awesome.  All of a sudden, creative ideas weren’t just little rough drafts coming out of my head.  They became great photos.

All of a sudden, I was a photographer.

And now, I’ve begun a quest to learn more, buy better equipment and take the biggest risk of all: to take more photos that reflect what’s in my heart and mind – my imagination.