Through the Lens V

Kitty and Nathan

http://searchingfortomorrow.com/

Year of Birth: 1990


Where are you currently living?

London, UK

What kind of work do you do?

Sadly our blog isn't our work so we spend the weeks in our jobs. Nathan works for an IT firm developing and coding websites and Kitty works as a freelance lifestyle and portrait photographer. When it comes to the blog, we will take the camera on one of our "adventures" taking it in turns to snap as we wander, then we'll sit down and write something to accompany it once we're happy with the photographs. It's a joint effort which flows well, we never find ourselves stuck as the other one will be able to help out and vice versa.

Tell me about your website?  Is it your only creative outlet?

Searching for Tomorrow used to be Kitty's creative space to post her fashion shoots, but she recently moved away from the fashion industry; and as we were both spending more time out in nature, she decided it should turn into somewhere we could both post and share our little explorations instead. So it has slowly grown in a different direction and turned more into an online diary for the both of us that we feel a lot happier with. For now, it is our only creative outlet.



What elements of your life inspired you to pursue your creativity?  Was there a turning point or an event that made you want to become something?

There wasn't ever a stage where one or both of us suddenly made that decision and decided to pursue photography, it's kind of just been a natural flow which has brought us to today. We've always been art geeks and actually met on DeviantART when we were 16; it was a bustling community for people at the time to share their art, gain feedback and try to polish skills as well as make friends from around the World.

(http://searchingfortomorrow.com/photo_files/166504aa607944b5bf5b96feced8ce09.jpg)

This was just a really happy day and the memories behind this photograph make us smile. It was a bitterly cold winter's day and we live near a park where herds of deer roam wildly so we decided to give them a visit. This red stag was really curious and came right up to us to pose. He seemed enchanted with the camera and even nuzzled our arms for a head scratch. We shoot with only prime lenses which means we have no zoom whatsoever, so everything is ever shot as close as it really was. This guy gave us a real treat by coming so close for those few minutes and so the photos that day felt like a huge stroke of luck and chance.



How do you meet and collaborate with like-minded people?

Usually it's after a chain of friendly emails back and forth, it's always really exciting to bring a relationship out of the virtual stage and into "real life." It's always wonderful to collaborate with someone whose work you've felt a connection with. Everyone works so differently and they end up teaching you a lot and you probably end up making them think slightly differently too!

How do you think the internet and social media can benefit creatives like you?

It makes the World smaller. People's work is now accessible to anyone out there and you can connect with people from anywhere. Clients who may have otherwise never seen your work can stumble upon you, you can sell pieces to people in countries you've only ever read about and you can make lifelong friendships with fellow creatives.



Do you think the internet has improved your ability to connect with other artists? 

It definitely has. Where it was once down to formal introductions in person, nowadays you can make that introduction yourself despite being continents apart just with a simple, "Hello, your work is amazing!" Any time you want, you have this online world at your fingertips to be able to explore and get lost in. It gives you this new immediate access to people's updates and new work they publish, there are definitely many advantages to all this new technology for artists.



Thoughts on social media and anonymity?


The rise of social media has brought many benefits for creative folk; there are some brilliant platforms to be able to reach out and share your stories with others. It can be a blessing - getting to make friends with people you wouldn't otherwise meet and feeling part of a community. It can also be a curse - some people can feel it's okay to hide beneath the cloak of anonymity for malicious reasons. Social media does take away that face-to-face reality and so sometimes it can be easy to forget that you're actually talking to a real person on the other end. In person we can read a person's face and body language in a conversation, with social media that's all gone and it can make that connection a bit harder to read.



Website? Social Media?

http://searchingfortomorrow.com/
https://twitter.com/sftphotoblog

Days in the City

Sometimes the mundanities of the city are so ugly, they become their own art form.

What do you see in your daily life?  Maybe the most amazing things you'll find will be the ones you've walked past every morning.

Advertising

Looking to advertise your site or promote yourself online?

I am looking to help fellow creatives and artists get discovered.  

The first person to enter this contest will win a month of free advertising in the sidebar on all pages of my website!

To enter, comment on this post with your email address and FIRST15.  The winner will be contacted within 24 hours.  Your work will be seen by more than 8000 readers around the world!

Ready, set, go!

Through the Lens IV

Maisie East

www.maisie-east.format.com

Year of Birth: 1994


Where are you living?

Currently living in Norwich, studying at Norwich University of the Arts.

What kind of creative work are you most interested in making?

Photography.

What elements of your life inspired you to pursue your creativity?

I got a camera for Christmas from my grandparents when I was fourteen, so it must have been around then. Art and photography has always been a part of mine, and my family’s lives, so it was natural for me to gravitate towards photography, its more instant then art and I’m better at it.

Do you have an artistic intention, focus, or message that you try to convey?

I’m trying to figure that part out at the moment, this year I have been looking at deconstructing and distorting photographs, but I’m naturally drawn to photographs that convey a sense of freedom and adventure or emotion. I took photographs at the 2010 student protests in London opposing spending cuts to further education and the cap on tuition fees being tripled and it was a real buzz being able to document it from my perspective.

I’ve chosen this photograph because I took it in the first project of my first year of University at University of East London (I did a year there before transferring to NUA where I am currently ending my second year). Our first project was film based, so we had to take a series of photographs on analogue film and learn how to develop and print them in the darkroom. I was really pleased with this photograph of my sister because I thought I had completely ruined the film, but when I washed the paper into the developer and this perfectly exposed photograph came out I was so pleased and got really good feedback from the rest of the group, it felt like it set me up for that year as people had already noticed my photographs before even knowing me properly.

How do you meet and collaborate with like-minded people?

I’ve found the best way is just meeting people through friends, it’s a more laid back environment to in a classroom, there’s not that pressure to get along as you have to spend the next few years together. By meeting through friends its more likely you have similar interests if said friend has introduced you. 

How do you think the Internet and social media can benefit creatives like you?

I think social media plays a crucial part in getting yourself and your work known, without access to money for exhibitions or ways of getting your work viewed on a large scale the internet serves well. If its easy for people to click a few buttons and see a range of you work without having to even leave their beds then that serves the creative well, people don’t have to buy your book or travel to see your work, which they are unlikely to do unless having already seen your work.

Do you think the Internet has improved your ability to connect with other artists?

I’m not as sure about connecting with other artists so much as having so many artists, photographers, film makers work at your finger tips to browse at really helps to inform your own practice. Its easy to find people that inspire you from across the other side of the world, that maybe only practice their medium as hobby that you otherwise wouldn’t have heard about. 

Thoughts on social media and anonymity?

As much as I hate to admit it social media is such an ingrained part of this generations especially lives now. Its difficult to keep anonymous without trying really hard, but I think it has it benefits. I enjoy looking at photographers I like Instagram feeds, it allows a laid back, more human less professional side to be shown, giving the impression you’re getting to know this person. The down side is, unless you’re already iconic, unless you’re constantly posting and updating then its easy for people to forget about you and follow someone else who’s work is constantly popping up, remind you. 

Website? Social Media?

I have a Facebook page for my photography as well as an Instagram account which can both be linked to via my website www.maisie-east.format.com.

The World As We See It

As it was.  As it is.  And as it may be.  When I was five, I had no way of distinguishing one from the other.  

September 11, 2001  Brussels, Belgium

     Early morning light illuminates the frost that has found a temporary home in our backyard.  Each blade of grass glistens as sharp as a knife.  Only the second week of senior kindergarten, and fall is already coming.

     I lay in my parents’ bed, watching Star Wars, while Mommy makes me porridge.  We always sleep together when Daddy is away.  I’ve been sleeping in Mommy’s room for a long time now; I can’t remember the last time Daddy was here to read with me at night.

     Mommy comes in with the porridge so I sit up with good posture.  She doesn’t like when I spill on the sheets.  The hot milk burns my tongue, but it’s soft on my loose tooth.  So wiggly now, the Tooth Fairy must be getting ready.  

     “Time to get dressed for school,” Mommy says, petting my head.  My bangs are growing out; they stick up all over the place until she clips them back with my multi-coloured barrettes.  

     I wear purple leggings and a fuzzy pink top that Aunt Louise says looks like the shag carpet she used to own.  My barrettes don’t match but I don’t mind.

     We stop at Julia’s house on the way to school to pick her up.  Her mom is in the hospital having another baby and her dad has to stay home to take care of her brother, Theo.  

     Julia slides into the back seat of our silver Beetle Bug, smiling at me.  Blonde hair, blue eyes, the image of Sweden.  I’m blonde and blue-eyed too but we aren’t the same.  I speak English and she doesn’t.  The kids in our class at school are split into people who can learn French and people who still need to learn English first.

     I’m not happy about sharing my colouring book.  I’m an only child; I hate when people touch my stuff.  We sit in silence for the rest of the long drive to Waterloo, she colouring the right side of the page and me the left.  I give her the markers that are all dried up so maybe she will get fed up and give me my book back.  She doesn’t, just smiles.

     I look out the window as we pull around the round-about in Waterloo.  There’s the Pizza Hut, and the Carrefour grocery store and a couple other shops I recognize, but then suddenly we are swerving off onto a side road.  None of these streets are familiar.

     “Mommy, where are we going?” I ask.

     “School,” she says.  “But we’re going a different way today.”

     “Is that because of what happened to Maria?” Julia pipes in.

     Mommy glances at us in the rearview mirror without answering.  “Don’t you worry,” she says.  “It’s just for fun.”

     But it wasn’t just for fun.

     My nanny, Tina- she picks me up from school so Mommy can have dinner ready by the time we get home.  But she’s not cooking dinner when Tina and I get home.  

     “Hello?” Tina calls, locking the front door behind us.  We walk into the kitchen and she takes my back pack from my shoulder, tossing it onto a barstool.  A stack of plates has been left on the counter next to a pot of Manwich that somebody has left to burn on the stove.

     “In here,” Aunt Louise calls from the living room.  Her voice is muffled by the walls separating us but that doesn’t stop me from hearing the tone.  Anger?  Fear?

     My hand is snatched up and I’m pulled down the hall, back into the foyer and towards a collection of voices, all different pitches, all jumbled together.  When I step into the living room, the noises engulf me.  I don’t know what’s going on but the hysterics around me push tears into my eyes.  I realize that part of the sound is from the television, volume up high.  It’s the news, not in English, probably French, but I know it’s the news by the little crawler that goes across the bottom.  The other noises around me are human and nothing like anything I’ve ever heard before.  Noises so raw they make me instantly nauseous.  

     Mommy, huddled over the phone on the sideboard, heaving uncontrollably, jamming a number into the keys with all her might.  Aunt Louise, collapsed on the chesterfield in front of the television, hands across her face, screeching like an angry bird.  

     “I need to know!  I need to know!” Mommy roared at the receiver.

     Whoever she was speaking to didn’t have much time to respond before she decided the answer wasn’t good enough.

     “Damn you!  Damn you!”  

     Tina, who I had forgotten was standing beside me, put a hand firmly on my shoulder as if to stop me from going further into the room.  We are flies on the wall of a very unusual scene.  Nobody has yet to notice we are standing in the door frame - and in retrospect, that was probably a good thing.  

A newly-provoked scream fizzles from Aunt Louise’s mouth, choked out by another onslaught of sobs and hysterics.  I follow her gaze of horror and we watch together as a plane flies into a massive office building.  The nose of the plane makes contact with the concrete structure and suddenly the television shows a mass of dust and flame.  No more building.  No more plane.

     “DAMN!” Mommy starts up again, smashing the phone into the wall.

     “What’s happening?” I murmur.  My quiet question seems to surprisingly command everybody’s attention.  Tina clenches my shoulder in a death grip.  Aunt Louise stares at me while mascara runs onto her blouse.  Mommy drops the phone and swallows me into her embrace.

     “Daddy’s meetings are there.”  Mommy whispers into my ear.  Maybe she thinks that it isn’t real until you say it out loud.

     I pull away from her wet cheek to look her in the eyes.  “You mean Daddy’s in that building?”

     Mommy shuts her eyes and shakes her head, but I can’t tell what this head-shake is supposed to mean.  “We don’t know where he is, Darling.”

October 11, 2001

     Early morning light illuminates the frost that now creeps into the backyard each night.  Each blade of grass glistens as sharp as a bayonet.  Daddy has been home for two weeks.

     I sit in my little wingback chair, watching Star Wars in the living room before school, while Mommy makes me porridge.  Daddy’s driver has already come to take him to work.  Everything is normal, but nothing is the same.

     I thought driving a different route to school everyday was odd enough, before this all happened.  “This” is called 9-11, Mommy says.  And Daddy was very lucky to be safe.  We are all very lucky to be safe.

     Now we are not just driving different streets everyday to stay away from the bad people.  We have a man sleeping in our guest house.  He’s a guard, Mommy says, and he watches for bad guys while we sleep.  I don’t like bad guys, but I don’t like strangers in my house at night either.

     Daddy has always had a chauffeur who drives him to work in the morning and home at night, but now he has extra protection.  I don’t know where New York is, but it sounds far enough away from here that all this guarding seems a bit much.  Why would the bad guys jump on a plane to Belgium?

But we aren’t the only ones with guards.  It’s been nearly a whole month since my school has been locked down.  Armed guards, Mommy says they are, line the perimeter of the school grounds, standing at attention like the little plastic soldiers in Toy Story.  They are still there this morning as Mommy pulls into the parking lot of the kindergarten classrooms, stopping so that the car can be searched.  A buzzer opens the gate and we are motioned to continue.

     I smile and wave at one of the soldiers through the back seat window but he is as still as a statue.  Frowning in disappointment, I say, “Mommy, why won’t he wave at me?”

     She swerves around in the driver's seat to get a good look at me.

     “Machine guns are probably very heavy, Sweetie.  I’m sure he needs two hands to carry it.”

     The iron gates clanged shut behind us and we were met by a collection of other moms also getting out of their cards to walk their children to their classrooms.  Inside the gates, the world is normal again.  All I have to think about is spelling and reading, until 3:30 when the iron gates open again.  

     I’ve never been in kindergarten before, but I don’t think it’s supposed to be like this.

Therein lies the experience that fundamentally alters the rest of my life.  

The Walking Stick Revised

     The world is alive, humming and vibrating like a hive of angry yellow jackets.  Every fibre of my self, from thickened toe nail to strand of silvery hair, is awake and intent,  grasping at the senses the way I grasp my walking stick.  In a chokehold.  It is all I have to go by.  

     “Gran?”

     I whirl around all too quickly, though of course I don’t expect to see her.  The speed of movement knocks me off balance; a small, smooth hand reaches out to steady me, then another.  Small, but much stronger than mine.  They’re holding the droopy shoulders of my crew neck sweater; the one Jane bought me on her honeymoon in Bermuda.  I can tell that’s the one - my favourite - because of the ribbing around the collar, all bumpy between my fingers, and the raised appliqué of a little bird on the chest.  I know it’s warm outside - late summer - but I like my sweater.  

     “Jane?”

     “No Gran, it’s me,” Karen cooed again.  “Doctor Martin is ready to see you.”  Her voice was a steaming mug of cocoa; it warmed my insides and washed away the cold.

     I squeezed my cheeks up into a smile, gazing in what I thought to be her direction, though sounds can often be deceiving.  Karen’s hands smooth down the folds of my sweater - she doesn’t want me to lose her touch - and then she has reached my hands and enfolded them in hers.  She has always been thoughtful, always my anchor to the world beyond the darkness.

     Soon, she’s pulling me gently, and I follow willingly.  The hum of patients’ voices gradually dissipates as more and more steps widen the space between us and the waiting room.  The only sounds are of Karen’s flip flops squelching against her feet and of my loafers shuffling along the carpeted hallway.  There is another set of footsteps ahead; a nurse I assume.  Suddenly, Karen comes to a halt, dropping one of my hands to reach for my shoulder again so that I know to stop too.  

     “I’m sorry, ma’am,” a younger voice intones, which confirms that there is indeed a nurse here with us.  “Your grandmother is going to have to see Doctor Martin alone, so that he can examine the contusion impartially.”  

     “Would it not be a good idea for me to be there?”  I can only hear the concern in Karen’s voice.  “You know, to mediate the conversation?”

     “She’s blind,” the nurse says in the same matter-of-fact tone that Jane always uses.  “Not mute.”  I am pleased to see her standing up for me, but I don’t like the way she speaks to my granddaughter.  I am not sure who to defend, so I resort to upholding my mute state.  

     Karen pets my sleeve in consolation.  “I’ll be right here Gran, just the other side of the door.”

“My walking stick.”

     Its familiar grip is slid into my hand as the nurse reaches out for the small of my back, encouraging me along.  I don’t rely on her, but on my walking stick.  A door creaks open and I step into the next room, alone.  

Through the Lens III

Marley Treloar

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Marley-Treloar/1548378685448135?fref=ts

Year of Birth: 1995


Where are you going to school?

University of Gloucestershire, Cheltenham, England

What kind of creative work are you most interested in making?

I’m currently focusing on painting, drawing and projection.

“In response to luxury” (2015)  - Ink, Acrylic, Charcoal on Paper

“Daily” (2015) – Projection on wall

What elements of your life inspired you to pursue your creativity?

I have always been drawing from a young age; however, I can think of a few key people who really tailored me into the artist I am today. When I was quite young, my brother was learning Mandarin. Through watching him work I became enthralled with the language and calligraphy for a short time. Chinese and Japanese art were probably the first notable style and period in history of art I was interested in. Secondly, were a few of my high school teachers, both art teachers and in other academic subjects that helped me not only grow as a person but were always interested and supportive of whatever area of art I was working in.

Do you have an artistic intention, focus, or message that you try to convey?

My current focus is one of self-discovery and exploration. I’ve been working with women of all ages around the themes of self-confidence and body image and through discussions and taking in of the stories and life experiences of my subjects, beginning to explore how I feel in my own skin and how I can test my boundaries.

These two paintings are the product of this year-long process of listening to the stories of others and testing my own boundaries. In these two pieces I have taken two very different women in their own places of positivity and self-confidence and tried to put myself in their shoes to reflect how I would feel in that situation. The painting on the left titled “Get Out of My House”  (2015) explores the confidence of a dear friend of mine whose “take no bullshit” attitude has had a very positive effect on me. On the other hand, the painting on the right, titled “All Leg” (2015) explores my confidence in the role of a burlesque dancer and how I felt my boundaries being pushed too far. 

How do you meet and collaborate with like-minded people?

I met a lot of like-minded people through joining an arts course, but I think that’s a given. It can be much more difficult to find like-minded people when out of an art learning environment. Working groups in galleries, artists organizations and volunteer opportunities are a great way to keep expanding your network of people. 

In terms of collaboration, I personally find it best to put on small shows with another artist or two, either through official means or by trying to rent out spaces for an evening. The process of working with others to put up a show is a brilliant experience and it can be a great way as well to meet other people looking to either promote their own work.

How do you think the Internet and social media can benefit creatives like you?

I think the Internet is a great way to get your work out to your audience and to promote yourself. Having a website, or social media to keep engaged and speaking to people interested in your work or other artists is a great way not only to keep motivated but to get feedback. Especially as a young artist, being able to connect with thousands of people either through a Facebook or blog post is great. It’s easier to organize group shows or find out about upcoming competitions through Facebook groups or blogs when there is an online community of people keeping in touch and looking out for one another.

Do you think the Internet has improved your ability to connect with other artists?

The ability to send an email or instant message to someone has certainly made it easier to connect with other artists. I think the internet can make it a lot easier to talk with someone as an initial connection, whether they live in the town over or half way across the globe. 

Thoughts on social media and anonymity?

I think one has to construct a very careful professional online personality for themselves, whether that be through social media, personal websites or whatever else. When growing up in a social media lifestyle it’s so easy to just throw up whatever information onto your Facebook or Instagram and not think about how it could leak into your online portfolio or website. It can be a great tool to connect with people and make a name for yourself but it also needs to be managed. As a young artist the balance between how much time you should spend marketing yourself and how much time you should spend making work is sometimes hard to judge. 

Anonymity online always has its good and bad qualities. On the good side, it gives the person a chance to express without fear. On the down side, you cannot take credit where credit is due and there is often a fear of art theft when your work is not either watermarked or put under your own name.

Website? Social Media?

Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Marley-Treloar/1548378685448135?fref=ts

Instagram: @marleytreloar

Online portfolio: https://www.behance.net/marleytreloar

Cottage Culture

Anyone who is friends with anyone who is Canadian will know exactly what I mean when I say my Insta feed is blowing up with cotty pics.  

May 24 - Labour Day = Muskoka










I'm not sure if this is just an Ontario phenomenon or if it's nationwide, but here in the city, it is estimated that 1/3 of our summer is spent driving to the cottage.  That sounds like an awful lot of time, but all of us who do it know that it's probably true.  Thursday and Friday afternoons, all highways headed North are packed out.  Sunday and Monday afternoons, all highways headed South are bumper to bumper.  We hate it but we love it too.  What would summer be without it?



Sunny afternoons on the dock.





Late nights out by the lake, getting covered in so many mosquito bites they start to look like goosebumps.  

 

Black flies.

Horse flies.

Leeches, yum yum.

 

Roasting s'mores in the dark.

 

Frog catching in the pond.







Tadpole hunting.



Canoe flipping.

Ice cream eating.  

Endless summer daze.  





After a weekend in Muskoka, reality just doesn't seem all that appealing.  

 

     

What are your summer traditions?

  

The Walking Stick

Happy Weekend, everybody!  

While I wish I was soaking in the tub with a London Fog and a new book, I'm actually slouched here in front of my laptop catching up on readings for school, notes, et cetera.  For those of you who don't know, I am taking two courses this summer to count to my degree.  One is European Civilization from the High Middle Ages to the start of the Cold War.  The other is Creative Writing.  

Although I do love learning about history, I think the reason I find it so fascinating is because I see history as a very very long series of stories.  For me, history isn't about memorizing dates or having three solid body paragraphs to an essay, although I am bound by the nature of institutionalized education to learn those things.  History is about learning the stories of those who lived before us and appreciating the significance of their impact on our lives today.  

Anyway, enough rambling!  I have a short story for my creative writing class that I am more than happy to share.  Hence the short story shortly following.  Our assignment was to write 400 words relating to conflict and journey.  I haven't written anything like this before, but I wanted to try to convey the difficulty of living without sight.  I personally don't know what that would be like, but in trying to convey it to the reader, I was forced to rely on my descriptive writing capabilities for all the other senses.  

Enjoy.

     The world is alive, humming and vibrating like a hive of angry yellow jackets.  Every fibre of my self, from thickened toe nail to strand of silvery hair, is awake and intent,  grasping at the senses they way I grasp my walking stick.  In a chokehold.  It is all I have to go by.  

      “Gran?”

I whirl around all too quickly, though of course I don’t expect to see her, and the speed of movement knocks me off balance.  A small, unwrinkled hand reaches out to steady me.  Then another, holding the shoulders of my crew neck sweater; the one Jane brought back for me from her honeymoon in Bermuda.  I can tell that’s the one - my favourite one - because of the ribbing around the collar, all bumpy between my fingers, and the raised appliqué of a little bird on the chest.

“Gran,” Karen cooed again.  “Doctor Martin is ready to see you.”  Her voice was a steaming mug of cocoa; it warmed my insides and washed away the cold.

I squeezed my cheeks up into a smile, gazing in what I thought to be her direction, though sounds can often be deceiving.  Karen’s hands smooth down the folds of my sweater - she doesn’t want me to lose her touch - and then she has reached my hands and enfolded them in hers.  She has always been thoughtful, always my anchor to the world beyond the darkness.

Soon, she’s pulling me gently, and I follow willingly.  The hum of patients’ voices gradually dissipates as more and more steps widen the space between us and the waiting room.  The only sounds are of Karen’s flip flops squelching against her feet and of my loafers shuffling along the carpeted hallway.  There is another set of footsteps ahead; a nurse I assume.  Suddenly, Karen comes to a halt, dropping one of my hands to reach for my shoulder again so that I know to stop too.  

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” a younger voice intones, which confirms that there is indeed a nurse here with us.  “Your grandmother is going to have to see Doctor Martin alone.”  

I can only hear the concern in Karen’s voice.  “I’ll be right here Gran, just the other side of the door.”

“My walking stick.”

Its familiar grip is slid into my hand, a door creaks open, and I step into the next room, alone.  

Summer Reading List

Dragonfly in Amber

by Diana Gabaldon

If you liked Outlander.

The Girl on the Train

by Paula Hawkins

If you like books that play mind games.

The Winter Rose

by Jennifer Donnelly

If you like to read about empowered women at the turn of the century.

All the Light We Cannot See

by Anthony Doerr

If you like historical war fiction.