Process

Looking out the wide windows, snow breezes off tower rooftops. A myriad of weightless diamonds swirl in the bright sunlight, peeking from behind the staid behemoth of an office block directly in front of me. I’m in a bright conference room with grey carpet and white walls, six stories up in the city library. The view is a welcome dichotomy to the soulless box of a room abuzz with activity. Tables are being set up, small and thoughtful trinkets are set at each place for each participant. The waiting begins and the fidgeting increases.

In most rooms before I start shooting, I feel this surge of anxiety. I don’t judge it anymore because it's there to give me the energy required to deal with the onslaught coming at me. The energy people pump out when they’re nervous - pacing, looking in many places at once, tightening their fingers into knots. It’s nearly comical, yet the pressure is on me to make them comfortable, allay their fears. All the while I must evaluate and shape the light, set technical parameters, gauge features to adjust their bodies and bring forward expressions from inside them that set aside self criticism in favour of softer, happier faces.

I love my work for many reasons, but the one I come back to over and over is the privilege of learning. A fly on the wall, a ninja dressed in black. Being invisible allows me to absorb so many new things. Mechanical and engineering specs. Air flow pressure in a surgical suite to prevent infection. Commercial real estate agents on the prowl. The richest and most powerful people in Edmonton coming together while large, handwritten name tags to celebrate an anniversary. That room held 80% of my city’s collective wealth, but it wasn’t about that - it was a beautiful room full of wonderful people and it was a joy to be there.

This room is different. Executive directors of non-profits, social workers, psychologists - too many to name - all there to learn how to teach authenticity and true humanity to those around them. It is not a room full of privileged people who want to strut around in lycra teaching yoga and healing. This is a room where bodies are worn out from decades of fighting on the front lines of disease, poverty, trauma and addiction. They have all been in battle for most of their lives. Yet here they are, leaning into real softness that exists where real humanity is. A last vestige of what our souls crave, while most drown in Black Friday frenzy to buy another TV.

I’ve been hired for social media content and headshots. Nothing new or fancy. In fact, it’s comforting because it’s a shoe I’ve been wearing for two decades. I know how to bounce flash off the low, white ceiling tiles - giving the room a natural glow that covers the many sins committed by fluorescent and led lights. Hide the flashes behind bodies so I don’t have to remove them later in post production. Frame the shot to tuck light switches and garbage cans behind shoulders. Shield the one woman terrified of being in my shot. We make eye contact - I see her, acknowledge her wishes and indicate she’s good to go - all in a second’s worth of gestures. Silent communication is easy with this group. They’ve been attuned to all paraverbal language since they stepped into this world.

It’s not often I’m in a room where I want to be there for my own self. Not for the pay check or the connections that will lead me to my next job, but me as the human. The one that feels too much, too deeply, sees everything. I’m not wise, I’m observant - there’s a difference. One day I hope to be wise, but between that day and this one lies years of schooling, years of listening. Maybe I won’t ever be wise and that's okay.

An overwhelming sense of rightness fills me. Normally when I’m done my time, I slip out silently so as not to disturb the flow of what’s happening. Usually when I get offered food and drink, it’s a trap. At first it doesn’t seem like one, but if I miss a shot or fuck something up, it’s tallied against me. Here, there is none of that. I’m handed lunch made by underprivileged kids getting a second chance at life. Simple food made with hope and love through adversities I hope none of us will ever know. This time I take it and sit down. Conversation is easy and listening is even easier. I even ask to stay until it’s over - something I’ve never done before. A dawning awareness blooms within me, as I realize that this is a room full of people just like me. Forever believing I’m a strange anomaly among normal creatures, it’s jarring to be one of the crowd. Not special, not wounded, just.. ordinary.

Downloading memory cards and sifting through the photos, I know I will have to use the AI software now expected in my industry. A photo isn’t worth anything until the people in it have been reshaped into an ideal that doesn’t actually exist. I will do it though - this transgression against my artist’s soul, and I will do it with love. Manipulation of some kind is normal in everyone. I see over and over again as I walk through life. It’s often not malicious - it’s human. Everyone is just doing what needs to be done to get what one wants/needs. There’s no point in judging them because I have done what I need to survive and so have they. We lever looks and charisma to unlock privileges and hide traits considered liabilities.

These people are stunning. Their character draws in everyone and they offer them true warmth and comfort in return. There’s no underlying motive of manipulation in these people and it’s a jarring realization. Sliders erase double chins, soften wrinkles, brighten eyes. Tuck in the lumps and bumps protruding from elastic bands cutting into flesh. Why should I not do this for them? They have seen so much ugliness that they believe it is in them. A laughable idea at best.

Lately I’ve been quiet. Gathering information, hiding from the cold under too many blankets, withdrawing from the world unless I must engage. My normally chatty mind has been conspicuously silent. RB and I have been talking about analysis and the synthesis that happens afterward, if we are so lucky. Both of us like the hike up and down both sides of this familiar mountain. Another thing I do not take for granted - this soul warming friendship unlooked for, but dearly needed and wholeheartedly cherished.

At the end of the program, one of the team leads looks through me, assessing me, and then she offers me placement for my psychology degree and masters. A sense of rightness fills me and I am honoured. I may or may not take her up on the offer - it depends on what paths I take in the meantime.

There’s no providence or fate for me; no wise person or group with all of the answers. That ship sailed with losing faith and belief in some kind of higher power. The only real truth in any of it are the connections we build between each other. If anything is holy, it’s that. Perhaps this room is a kind of church then, but with no buy-ins. No love bombing. Just listening and learning without judgement.