Visual Op-Ed: Kerry Mansfield

Recently while researching women photographers for a project I came across the work of Kerry Mansfield (tx, Jane Tam & Lenscratch).
Kerry is an artist with a strong vision and an assured sense of space coupled with a superb color palette. See her work at www.kerrymansfield.com and look for our interview with Kerry as part of the Nymphoto Conversations series in the weeks to come.

But today I wanted to share a different body of work by Kerry Mansfield's.
Aftermath is very personal, incredibly frank, courageous and will not leave you untouched.

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Go get checked, check yourself. Remind your friends and family to get checked. Help raise awareness.



Aftermath © Kerry Mansfield

Op-Ed Wanted!

Nymphoto is looking for additional contributors for its Op-Ed Series. Don't be shy, apply!

What is Nymphoto Op-Ed?

Nymphoto Op-Eds are written by artists, curators, bloggers, collectors, historians,critics and students; the Op-ed pieces share the reflections and opinions of its authors relating to & about photography. We are interested in a broad range of opinions & experiences and are encouraging everyone involved in the arts to submit.

If you you would like your op-ed published on the Nymphoto Blog please submit it via contact(at)nymphoto.com along with a CV and a link to your web-presence (if you have one).
Please note that we are primarily looking for op-eds written by women in photography or by men writing about subjects relevant to women artists.

You can find the Nymphoto Collective's Mission Statement at: www.nymphoto.com.

Op-Ed by Jane Tam

Elain, 2007 by Jane Tam

I accept being young, a recent BFA graduate, and naive about the art photography world. I have a long way to go before anything I consider "success" goes according to plan. You can say I'm the pessimistic type of person. When I was 5, I wished I was 15, then 18, then 21, and 22 and out of academia. Now that I am 22, I wish I were 5 and free from real world responsibilities sometimes. This is what happens when I am thrown into the "real world" and entered a free fall, with no boundaries and no guidance as to what the next step is.

I am a photographer and an artist. I want my work to be seen by people who appreciate art and those who are not so accustomed to it. I want it in galleries, museums, houses, streets, libraries, cities, suburbs, and practically anywhere. I want it to be questioned and talked about; create a dialogue. Most importantly, I enjoy the process of trial and error in creating work rather than figuring out what to do with it after it's "done." I'm an artist first and a business/public relations person second, or maybe third or fourth in my line of duties.

After all that talk about being an artist, I was confronted with a logistical question of where will this money come from to help me. I come from an immigrant family of blue-collar workers. Although I am the youngest, I don't act out like a spoil brat and asks for daddy's money. Somehow I always knew I had a responsibility to help the family whenever and however needed. When someone in this circle had an health scare, I chose not to celebrate graduation with my friends in Syracuse. It always seemed my family came first.

Grandmother by Jane Tam

So when I moved back home from college, I thought the next step was to find a job. I didn't want to just live at home and make "art" without supporting myself or the family. So I applied for photo-assistant jobs, digital editing jobs, darkroom lab jobs, retouching, dog walking, administrative assistant, English teacher in Korea, almost anything. I landed a fashion retouching job as an apprentice within 2.5 months of looking. In this economic climate, I was darn lucky. I sometimes can't believe I work full time amongst friends and fellow graduates who still can't find a suitable paying job. I get paid and it's great. With my income, I can support my art-making, while many other 22 year olds are out spending their income (or sometimes lack of income even) on constant socializing.

But where did the motivation go? I was about to blame the lack of time, but it's more of an excuse of being lazy. Motivation is different. In an art school environment, I was surrounded by many different genres of art, from illustration to ceramics to sculpture to painting. Ideas would be bouncing off the walls. Now I feel like a drone, work 9-5, dead tired and go home, and bum in front of the tv or computer til bedtime. The motivating community isn't 24/7 anymore. I realized, it's a lot tougher to be a committed artist. I knew I wasn't going to be one of those people who go to art school, then work as secretary and not make art. I wasn't going to stop. I wanted to work again. This took probably the whole Summer and most of Fall to make myself commit again.

If I don't have the physical community, I'll try to find it and just be patient. The world isn't going to hand me a lump sum of answers so I know I have a lot of growing up to do. I had to bring back the competitive spirit and remember why I chose to be an artist. I am back to shooting during my spare time, mainly weekends, and during nights that I come home from work, I brainstorm ideas. I won't say I haven't slacked off a day or two, I'm human. I make my own deadlines. So far the images I have shot are not what I expected or want, so it's back to trial and error. It's a work in progress. If my work is good, people will eventually come see it.

Jane Tam is an artist, daughter, and "juggler" currently living in Brooklyn whilst working full time in Manhattan.

Op-Ed by Candace Gottschalk

Today in our Op-Ed Series we re-post a very thoughtful piece written by Candace Gottschalk. Technically this makes this not an Op-Ed piece as Candace is a co-founder and editorial member of the collective, however Candace speaks of central issues facing women artists and we think it important to keep the discussion going.
Most women are nurturers and caretakers, and even those without children often take on great responsibilities in their families or even with regard to friends. The single mindedness and perhaps even selfishness necessary to succeed (short term & long term) in the arts does not come easily to most and are difficult to combine with other aspects of life. Candace eloquently writes about her experience of becoming a mother and remaining an artist.



Pregnant: 8 months © Candace Gottschalk

"Thoughts on Catherine Opie and Motherhood"

The day after Christmas, I finally made it to the Catherine Opie show at the Guggenheim (with the husband and son in tow, of course). I was impressed and surprised by the amount of work included. Some of the images I had seen before, others I had only read about. As is the case with many exhibits, I responded to some series more than others. But what captured me most, in the hour or so that I was there (...because Jasper, my energetic 2 year old, can only handle so much museum time) was the variety and breath of the work that Opie has created over the course of her career. I found it refreshing and inspiring. In grad school, the dictating consciousness was to find your niche, and stick with it. But with Opie, she finds her niche, creates a strong body of work, and then moves on to the next challenge. I could sense a further shift after she became a mother, her work becomes more introspective and self-revealing, which got me to thinking...

As a mother and an artist, I am constantly in a struggle with being both selfish and selfless. After reading too much Virginia Woolf in college, I learned that in order to create work, you need to be selfish. The art making process is extremely selfish, there is no denying that. Once I had Jasper, I was confronted with the opposite: there was no me, at least not the me that I developed into and had grown to know. Parenthood teaches you things about love, patience, and selflessness that I never knew I could truly comprehend. Now that Jasper is no longer an infant, and is as willful as the rest of them, I need to re-learn the "me". I need to start re-introducing the selfish back into my life and into my work. Motherhood and Artist are two difficult notions to reconcile. They both want you 100% of the time. So, thank you, Catherine Opie, for making the two cooperate and for opening my eyes to the possibility.

Candace Gottschalk is an artist living in Brooklyn with her son and husband.

Op-Ed by Emily Shur

Emily Shur at Work © Lydia Burkhalter

Being a photographer is a great way to spend a life. It’s my job, but it’s also way way more than work. When I was asked to write a little something on what it’s like being a professional photographer, I had a very hard time honing in on how to describe what it’s actually like. I mean, what isn’t it like? We have to be artists…creative left-brain people, and at the same time, we have to be business oriented, strategic right-brain people. We have to be able to read people whether they are our clients or our subjects. We attempt to satisfy so many people with our pictures, and usually pleasing ourselves gets put on the back burner. We embark on this journey because of our love for the art and somehow have to maintain that wide-eyed optimism throughout the painful rejection and disappointment.
I can only speak from my own experiences, and I make a living as a portrait photographer. It’s funny how things work out because I would never in a million years describe myself as a “people person”. I’m not good at small talk. I’m fairly awkward in general and not very social. Honestly, I think I initially wanted to be a portrait photographer for superficial reasons. It seemed so glamorous, and I wanted the notoriety. Turns out there’s a little bit more to it, and I would probably say that I have learned more about myself than about photography in the past 10 years.
The technical stuff is easily absorbed if you are observant. Portrait work is much more about people and personalities. It’s about me as a photographer and artist trying to get my point across and just as much about capturing what the subject is willing to present. I have to form some sort of bond with my subject basically upon first meeting. I have to gain trust almost immediately. My awareness of the subject’s comfort and/or discomfort must be acute and subtle. I never want to seem unsure. I never want to seem uncompassionate. I always want to let the subject know that I am open to anything, but at the same time, I must have a focused idea of what I want from this shoot. There are many things to consider.
Over time, my want of glamour has subsided and given way to a want of meaning. I wonder if where I started will be where I end up. Making a living as a photographer is not for the weak or stupid, not for the whiny (although I have been known to whine), and definitely not for the unsure. When all else fails, and inevitably everything will fail, we need to be secure in the knowledge that this is what we are supposed to be doing…even if we are the only ones who think so. I’ll be the first to admit that self-confidence is not an easily learned trait, especially when my (and any professional photographer’s) success depends on other people’s opinion of my work.
The good part of what I do is that it’s almost never boring. Photography is mentally and physically challenging. It never allows me to become complacent or satisfied (and I see dissatisfaction as a positive mechanism). The bad part is that when you choose this as a profession, instead of simply a passion, it becomes work. Be prepared for competition, unfairness, and paperwork. Be prepared for disenchantment, but also be prepared for an extremely unique journey that I feel utterly privileged to experience.

Emily Shur is photographer living in Los Angeles.