In a world of disconnection, I want to feel my feet in the sand, I want dirt under my finger nails, I want to smell the soil. Especially in the last few years I have felt this. As someone who works with more and more technology – cameras, social media, emailing clients, I dream of building a garden, playing with flowers and tasting the food I planted weeks earlier. What I have learned since entering college again, is that journalism can be a great tool for asking questions and learning about what you’re interested in. As much as it is seen to be objective, I am drawn, in a selfish pursuit, towards subjects that I want to delve into.
A photojournalist can pretend, for a day, to be a painter, a wood worker, a cook, to remember what it’s like to be a child running through a field. I’ve had this conversation with other photo journalists before. We have a feverous yearning to know what it is like to inhabit bodies and lives that are not ours, to devour life.
I do not find it surprising then, that I am drawn towards those working with their hands and with the earth. I have noticed myself pulled towards florists, gardeners and farmers like a moth to a flame.
There is a communion between all people and nature, but I think that women hold a special kindred relationship to our earth. I want to sit at the fire with an elder and listen to her stories about the seeds she’s taken care of, I want to watch a mother teach her daughter about science through the flowers, plants and worms she finds in the yard, I want to watch a floral artist work in her studio creating artwork with lines, colours, textures and shapes of flowers. And I have.