a collective blog by indigenous women photographers
My studio is a mess. The artwork is shipped. I photographed 13 people in 4 different cities in 1 month and turned them into super heroes. But more about that later. Right now, I'm trying to process it all. I don't often share openly about what happens behind the scenes. For me, the process is as important as… Continue reading What happens to an artist post-production? The results may shock you
I was shifting through them, and was amazed at the stories they were sharing. Indigenous women, who look to the camera and see a way to express their story, their passion, their relationships with their Indigenous heritages. It was humbling.
But those of us left looking for our sister or auntie or daughter or mother know that this has been going on for way too long. Why suddenly is it a hot topic? This is something so real, something so terrible and monstrous and bigger than any one of us can understand. And it has somehow become normalized in our society.
She looks out the kitchen window for a real long time, thinking. I put some thick raspberry jam on my bannock and start eating, listening to the radio on low.
I like being able to show my daughter that our images portray us as we are – diverse, different, complex, alive, happy, complicated, surviving, resilient.
And we’re starting. It’s a start. It’s something small, just a touch of sexuality. Just a touch of sensual. And it makes us laugh, and blush, and hopefully smile.
As I rummage through old boxes looking for negative and prints, I find myself asking the question: Who am I? How does my identity affect my work? I find piles of forgotten negatives, polaroids, burnt CDs, prints; photos of friends that I haven’t heard from in years mixed up with snapshots of old boyfriends. What am… Continue reading MY FAMILY CONNECTIONS ARE THERE
My earliest art school projects were probably out of focus and underexposed. I don't consider myself a Photographer (with a capital P), but an artist that works with photography.
So me, with my pale skin and wavy hair, I didn’t fit the ideal they held in their head. The warrior. The stoic. The maiden. The headdress and the pony.
tea&bannock 