My mum was an artist.
She studied fine art at University; she taught high school art; she had her own studio where she immersed herself in her work; she visited galleries big and small; she read books; she watched the news and documentaries and she talked to people all the time.
Her work evolved and transformed, but it was her voice, her point of view no matter what the subject or medium.
We each have a distinct way of seeing the world based on our own life experiences. We all have something to say and a unique way of saying it. Sometimes I find I am so concerned with finding my voice, that I forget I already have one.
Over the weekend I attended (virtually) a workshop which opened my eyes to a way of seeing families and portraiture that I hadn’t really been conscious of. As I took a look back at my pictures, I noticed that my favourites shared a common thread of connection, of love, of moments shared. There was a common voice I hadn’t seen before, or at least not in a way I was really present to. Sometimes it takes something outside of ourselves to hold up a mirror to who we already are.