A few nights ago, I was sorting through an old, old, old portfolio site I had made for myself back in 2010. When I first opened the home page, I felt a little... guilty. Like I'd wronged myself. We all expect to grow and change in 5 years' time, but sometimes the growth isn't what we thought it would be. Sometimes, while developing one part of a heart, another vital piece gets pushed aside.
I'd like to share a little history about my creative journey. This is history that, until I was flipping through process books and websites and old portfolio pieces a few days ago, I had almost forgotten. But, with the direction I'll be taking my business in the coming months, I feel this is a vital part of me to share because this is where my passion comes to life.
2008-2009 process book
Brag moment: My 2009-2010 process book was turned in for credit and received an "A+++" with the note: "Raw, vulgar, I love it. You nailed it."
In 2008, I was attached at the hip to my best friend, Chelsea. We would spend 80% of our time after school clipping fashion magazines and creating some honestly vulgar "collage-y" interpretations of pop culture, pasted into required reading books from our English class that we hated. (My "process book" was The Old Man and The Sea, in case you were wondering) We'd take inspiration from the colors, textures, and compositions we created in those books and bring it alive on camera. Chelsea would get dressed up in something classy, sexy or downright weird. We'd take my little Canon Rebel XTi outside and find a well-lit spot, or we'd go to my brother's old empty bedroom, drop a bed sheet down the wall, and I'd use his car work lights for studio lighting. We did some variation of this almost every day for two years.
For two years, I did nothing with my spare time but create. And looking back, given my knowledge and the tools I had to work with, I am damn proud of what I created.
Fast forward to fall of 2009. I had gained admission into my dream school, Minneapolis College of Art and Design, with plans to pursue a career in fashion and editorial photography. I was happy. I was sleep deprived and sometimes my work got shredded to pieces in critiques, but I at least had momentum. I organized regular Fashion Friday events with my friend and art director, Zamin Dharsi, collaborating with all kinds of local artists and creatives; I was doing what I loved even when it wasn't the assignment.
But at some point, I got spooked. I don't remember exactly how or why. I don't know if it was something that was said to me by a well-meaning friend or professor, or if it was the weight of the idea that my art would have to be meaningful and unique to sustain my career. In a sea of artists of all levels, I couldn't help but compare myself and feel inadequate. So, I left MCAD to "figure it out."
Reality check: You know what happens to students who leave school to "figure it out?" Most of the time, they don't. At least, not for a really long time. I can't say I regret my decision to leave school. I think huge parts of me--parts totally unrelated to my creative life--needed to grow or heal before I was ready to pursue my art. I do, however, regret that when I left school, I left my art with it. I should have known better!
It was a long time before I really picked my camera back up. I continued shooting occasionally, either at the request of friends and family or when I had a creative urge. But for the most part, my creativity was stifled by fear of the unknown. As an artist, I was completely paralyzed by fear.
When my husband, Nick, and I got together, I really got the what-for. Nick knew my work from far before we were a couple or married (in fact, I took his moody-guitar-player senior photos back in the day). He knew my talent and he loved that about me. Nick pushed me. At first it was, "Don't you want to do photography again?" or, "Would you like to shoot this session for my buddy?" I'd respond with a sheepish excuse: "I haven't shot anything in so long" or "I don't have the right equipment" or "I'm just not ready." Finally, his "do you wants" turned into him volunteering me for every type of session or event under the sun, which led to my hesitant first few bookings.
When my passion for photography came back, it honestly took me by surprise. I'm no longer a 19-year-old college student with nothing to my name but a beat up Toyota Celica and a closet full of hand-me-downs. I am now a wife and a mother; people are depending on me to do this right. I don't know why I dared to jump in like I did, investing so much of my time, money and heart. If I had to guess, I'd say (as cliche as this sounds), I did it for my daughter. In 17 years, Olivia will be going off to college to start her own career. I don't want her decisions to be based on fears. I need her to know that it's okay to fail, as long as you try with all of your heart. I can't teach her that if I don't show her that.
Last year, I committed most of my time, all of my money, and a little bit of my heart to my business. This year, I'm doing things differently. This year, I'm committing some of my time, a little bit of my money, and ALL of my creative heart (but not my family heart--shout out to you, husband, you tolerant, neglected man!)
How will that change Emily Caldwell Photography? How will that change my style and how I do business? It’s going to be amazing… but more on that later.
Yours,
Emily
