Sometimes life presses pause on our passions so that our hearts can become even more tender to the pain we must feel, endure, and bear witness to.
Photography, for me, was always a way to see beauty in the mundane and ordinary. But when those simple sights are taken away and forced to live only in memory, creating becomes difficult. Existence itself can feel like it has dimmed. Many days, I get up and fight just to do what used to be normal, common, and habitual. Yet when the motivation behind those simple actions shifts, it becomes laborious for the heart to see beauty all at once.
Creativity lives in all of us. It flows through different avenues—whether that’s photography, working with animals, crafting a welcoming home, painting a scene, or writing a melody. When it runs deep in your soul, it requires tending. That care comes by slowing down and walking through the hard seasons—those moments where life feels like it is pulling you under.
I’m grateful for the hardships: the sorrow, the pain, the grief, the tears, and every emotion that brings us to our knees so we have something to reach up for as we begin again. It is only in a state of surrender—when we feel completely broken open—that we find the ground where we can pick up our scattered pieces. We stand up not fractured, but renewed.
I am so thankful for the souls who have enriched mine, whom I still see through my photographs, my dreams, and my imagination. Nothing can destroy what God has built. Time is fleeting, but God is eternal, and we exist through Him. Because He is timeless, we will always be a part of what He has created.
Through this understanding, we can encourage one another using the very trials that once led us to believe we had lost our voice.
Memorial Portraits for Those No Longer With Us
In that spirit, I am beginning a remembrance portrait series in the coming weeks for friends and family who have had to say goodbye to their fur babies. Whether it is a dog, a cat, or a horse, my goal is to create a memorial portrait honoring their bond and their farewells.
This first piece is in memory of a horse named Checkers. My friend Karen loved Checkers dearly. Just a day after one of the best trail rides they ever shared together, Karen arrived at the barn to find her beloved horse had been called home into a peaceful, heavenly sleep.
The image below was recreated from an old film print Karen shared with me. Because the original photo wasn’t very clear, I took a picture of it on my phone, then restored and enhanced it to create a newly refined portrait. Instead of a traditional print, I had the restored portrait woven into a blanket for Karen—and needless to say, she loved it.
Through this series, I hope to continue using what once discouraged us to instead encourage, heal, and honor the ones we hold dear.
