On trusting our creative path

On trusting our creative path | SusannahConway.com
I started taking my photography seriously when I was 19 years old. I was at art college, deeply immersed in making what I considered to be art. I was unsure of myself and couldn’t always articulate what it was I was trying to say, but those three years of experimentation gave me the space to explore my creativity. I left college at 22 and back then (1995) the photography I wanted to do didn’t seem to have a place in the world yet. I didn’t want to be an editorial photographer, which is where most of my peers were headed, but I couldn’t see how I could make a living as a fine art photographer. I’d left college with dreams of solo exhibitions and a fine art book, only to find myself back in the real world. So after a couple of years working to pay the rent, I went back to university to study journalism; I put those original dreams on hold, indefinitely.

It’s now sixteen years later and today I’m preparing the online space for my photography class starting next Monday. My photography path unfolded in ways I hadn’t imagined and along the way I learned that you do not need to be published in books or magazines, or belong to a certain association, or even earn money from your images, to call yourself a photographer (or writer or artist or musician, or whatever your heart yearns to called). All you need do is hold a camera in your hands with the intention of creating. Recording beauty and decay. Capturing memories. Documenting a scene. Telling a story. Catching a likeness. Exploring your inner world in pixels and film.

What I’ve learned in my many years of being a photographer and not being a photographer is we have to trust that our creative path will unfold exactly as it wants to. 22-year-old me wanted to make books and be seen, to be recognised as having some talent, some purpose, something to say. Back then I craved validation — these days I see that being a photographer is not a badge I wear but simply the way I move through the world. I take photographs everyday — it’s like brushing my teeth.

I’ve been thinking about how the time in my life when I felt most at peace with who I am as a creative person was when the opportunity to pen two books came along. Last week I mentioned that the books were a childhood ambition realised. And they are — i’ve imagined seeing my name on a book ever since I could read. But what I’ve been feeling lately, aside from the vulnerability of sharing my thoughts and stories in such a public way, is a quiet sense of rightness. I don’t feel validated or seen or any of those things younger me craved because somehow this isn’t about me anymore. I’m making things for others that I hope will be useful, and I feel just like I do on Christmas eve when I’m busting to give my family their presents and see their faces when they open them. It’s about sharing and giving and delighting.

A slice of reality cake

 

First of all — wow! I wasn’t expecting so much comment-y kindness, so thank you all so much! You made a (young! I’m still young!) woman in Bath feel very loved over the last 24 hours. And it’s great to know that I’m doing something right :-) So I’ll keep doin’ what i’m doin’ and will try to weave in some more stuff about photography/writing/blogging as I go.

Yay for community!

So there was one comment in particular that made me sit up and take extra notice. Sweet EMC wrote: “I love your photographs and the way you represent your life, both photographically and in words. It sounds, although I’m sure it’s not (just because no-one’s is) almost perfect. And that’s a lovely thing to look at — especially when one is in the mire, as I am and have been for a while, of finding a new life.”

And my second thought, after soaking in the kindness of EMC’s words, was “Oh no! Has this turned into a happy skippy sunshine blog lately where only good things happen?! Because that couldn’t be farther from the truth!”

So in an effort to redress the balance and let you see what is really going on around here, I made two lists: 1. Things that are GOOD. and 2. Things that are SHIT.

 

Things That Are Good.


1. Noah/family

Everything is put back into perspective within five minutes of being in our Blondie Bear’s company. He is the Nutella on my spoon, the film in my camera and the sunshine of my life. My relationship with my family has never been better — we are enjoying the salad days and it’s really lovely. My sister is my best friend and soul mate. It’s all good.

2. The book(s)

Yep, I can’t deny that the book stuff is good too. It’s been a huge learning curve, and i’m so grateful to even be in the position to learn all this. It also makes me feel extremely vulnerable, but I just tell myself that even if everyone hates it, at least I sat down and did it. A childhood ambition realised.

3. Work/purpose

I work seven days a week which is probably neither healthy nor wise, but work is my sole focus right now. There were many years of unemployment after my love died and it’s remembering that desperately lost time — and the mountain of debt I accrued, that I’m slowly chipping into — that spurs me on today. I’ve found the meaningful work I’m so passionate about and I’m proud to stand on my own two feet because it hasn’t always been this way.

4. Friendship

I have some truly awesome mates, both here and abroad, and I thank the universe for them every day :-)

 

Things That Are Shit.


1. Love life

I don’t have one. There was that short-lived ill-fated foolish-but-needed flingette I had in January 2008, and a date with The Most Unsuitable Man For Me in September 2008… and that’s it, folks. I’m so single I’m like a nun, but I’m betting nuns probably have more of a love life than I do. In all honesty i haven’t exactly been looking, and working seven days a week from home means I don’t get to mingle with eligible men in the workplace (or anywhere else for that matter). I am really good on my own — I love my own company and love being able to support myself (see no. 3 above) but as I approach the seven-year anniversary of my love passing, i do find myself wondering if I’ll ever bump into Noah’s future uncle. As the next 12 months are booked solid with work commitments I don’t imagine my situation is going to be changing any time soon, which makes me a little sad. I miss morning kisses and breakfast in bed. I miss the companionship (though I don’t miss the bickering and endless laundry that seems to come with a relationship ;-) So when you’re in bed with your loved one tonight, snuggle up extra close and be glad they are there. I wish for that too.

2. Weight/fitness

Even admitting this makes me feel like a cliche, but it is the truth — since I gave up smoking at the end of 2008 my body shape has changed radically. Like, two extra dresses sizes. Like, out-of-breath when I walk up the stairs, wobbly thighs everything, radically. There is nothing in my wardrobe that i wore before I moved to Bath. I know it’s my age, and my sedentary job, and my dislike of exercise and my cigarette-replacement activity (and writing a book — a lot of this is book baby weight) but still, after a lifetime of slimness, I am finding it hard to navigate my new curves. And it’s been getting me down and makes me feel less confident about solving issue no. 1 above. I don’t feel like myself. I’ve lost my minxiness. And I am so bloody tired of feeling bad about this. I eat heathily and well, and the last few months i’ve started to move more, but still it seems that this is the body i’m taking with me into the rest of my life. :-/

3. Hormones

PMS really does make half of my month a freaking misery. I’ve talked about it here before. I’ve blathered about it (probably too much) on Twitter and Facebook. I am sick to death of my hormonal challenges. I’m sick of thinking about it, I’m sick of trying to cure it and i’m mightily sick of enduring it. This issue also affects issues 1 and 2 above. (Hmmm. I’m sensing a theme.)

4. Ageing

This is a relatively new phenomenon that has made itself known over the last six months or so. Basically issues 1 + 2 + 3 = a new obsession with issue 4: feeling the fear of 40. Or — less melodramatically — I’m facing up to the fact that my reproductive years are fast disappearing and if I wanted to give Noah a cousin that’s probably not going to happen. And it’s surprised me to realise I’ve a lot of sadness around this. I was feeling pretty sure I didn’t want children, that I was comfortably ambivalent about it and would be fine if it didn’t happen. And then I became an auntie. And even though my conviction of the hardness and sacrifice of parenting has been confirmed 100% as I watch Noah’s parents, I’m also witnessing the alchemy of family: creating ones own and enlarging the one you were born into. Even through the exhaustion we weave magic with Noah. My heart has been made bigger, and I guess I’m learning that there’s room for more than just me and a future companion in there. But as I count down to my 39th birthday, take stock of my non-existent love life and witness my radically-expanded waistline spilling out of my jeans, I wonder if I missed my chance a few stops back. (That slapping noise you just heard? That’s me slapping myself around the face to GET OVER MYSELF. Bloody PMS. See? It makes me say whiny things)… so I’m trying to make peace with the idea that i don’t know what will happen — there’s no need to panic just yet — while still acknowledging this new tender place inside me. It’s one a lot of women share, no matter their age.

See what fun it is to be in my head? Happy happy joy joy!

Note: I’m not looking for any advice or solutions for my list of shitness, loves. Just venting and sharing and letting you know what’s happening on the other side of the computer screen. Maybe some of you can relate to how I’m feeling.

If you have any slices of reality you wanna get off your chest feel free to share in the comments :-D

The stay-at-home auntie


Seriously. That’s all I want to do these days — hang out with these guys. Doesn’t it look like the The Best Place to be in the world? I joke with my sister that I should move into the house next door so I can be a stay-at-home auntie — she and I could take it in turns to work and look after Blondie Bear. And there is a big part of me that wants to do this for reals. To follow my heart and live closer to my family. But the reason I haven’t upped sticks and moved to their village in the middle of nowhere yet is the fragile hope that one day I will meet Noah’s future uncle. This mysterious man who is alive right now, somewhere in the world. Because it would be so easy to stay as I am, contendedly single, working from home, putting my books out into the world. It would be so easy to live in a cottage by a field, writing all morning and spending my afternoons playing with paints and trucks and being a hands-on auntie.

But.

There is always the but. The quiet yearning that I’ve pushed down for so many years. The one that gets louder with every anniversary that passes. The very human need for love and companionship. The desire for my own little family, even if it’s only a family-of-two. And yes, the delight of bringing an uncle into Noah’s life.

* * * * *

I don’t know how to end this post. Two hours have passed since I wrote those words above. The next 12 months are going to be so full of work and travel, I have no idea how I’ll fit in everything I need to do. And the thought of putting myself out there to find a mate feels… tiring. Daunting. Impossible. Unlikely.

I have no idea what I’m trying to say, so i will leave this as an unfinished post. The wind is blowing so hard today, making the windows rattle and bang; the leaves on the horse chestnut tree across the street are already starting to fall. Time is moving on.

When the universe speaks


It’s two o’clock in the afternoon and I should be sitting on a plane in Heathrow airport, about to depart for San Francisco.

But I am not. I am at home listening to the washing machine whirling on the spin cycle.

There was a delay in getting the visa i needed to teach my workshop at the Teahouse Studios next weekend, which means i can’t even enter the country while there is pending paperwork (so says the immigration people). So my flight (which can’t be changed or refunded)… the friends i was excited to see… the workshop I was excited to teach… none of it is happening.

Disappointed doesn’t really cover how I’m feeling right now. Letting down the souls who’d signed up for my class makes my heart ache.

I love visiting the USA and always feel very at home while i’m there. Running an online business means I don’t see the boundaries between countries any more and I love how global my Unravelling classes always are. So it’s quite a shock to be denied entry to a country that I feel so attached to; a country where so many of my friends live.

But there is something else running underneath the disappointment, a knowing that perhaps this is what I need right now. That the universe is telling me to slow down and stopping doing, that my profound tiredness of the last few months cannot be remedied with an international flight. Of course, I’d rather have got this message without the loss of an expensive plane ticket and the cancellation of a workshop I was looking forward to teaching, but I’m trying to let go of all that. Worse things could have happened.

So, as always, i’m opting to take this in my stride.

Deep breath.

Onwards.