There’s a part of my soul that has always wished that a magical cloak of invisibility – one that is so masterfully crafted that the spell never wears off and it becomes a treasured family heirloom – could be a real, living thing and not only exist in the world of Harry Potter. Or that I could be Harry’s next of kin and the cloak would someday be passed to me.
The paradox though, is that I have an equally intense longing to be visible in real life. And this is a desire that I’ve been afraid of for a long time – one that I’ve come up with a lot of creative ways of hiding. Somewhere along the way, I learned to be ashamed of my need to be seen, that it caused disconnection from other people and from myself – possibly because it felt like I didn’t (or couldn’t) have a say in how I was seen.
From all of the tidbits I’ve gathered along the way, this doesn’t seem to be something I struggle with alone. I have a sense that there are a lot of artists and creatives (and plenty of other people too – especially those whose identities are marginalized, othered, and politicized) who also feel smushed in between being visible and being invisible. That we want to live as our boldest selves, to be seen for who we are all the way through and create work that is an extension of that version of ourselves, but because it feels unsafe or because we feel unworthy or like we don’t belong or won’t be accepted, we end up silencing or obscuring ourselves instead. It takes incredible courage to continue to be unabashedly yourself when the world tells you that you don’t deserve to be different or free, that your identity needs to fit into a certain box. And on the flip side, it takes tremendous energy to keep your true self contained safely inside of you, where no one else can see it.
I suspect this might be the root of my burnout. To be completely honest, I used my work as a wedding photographer as a type of invisibility cloak. When you work for other people, it is incredibly easy to use them as a shield. Putting the desires and needs of others ahead of your own, sharing their stories rather than yours, prioritizing the work that they need you to do appears selfless and like great customer service. This was backed up by being part of an industry, a way of making art that felt legitimized by playing nicely with capitalism. And yet, one of my most untrue, painful inner voices is that no one wants to pay me for the work I want to make so why should I even try putting it out there?
What I want for myself and for everyone else is to find the places where we feel like we belong. Feeling seen requires a gaze of genuine curiosity and approval, and being willing to ask for and receive it from the places you find it (therapists and coaches are the people most likely to be this space, but I hope you have other intimate relationships in your life that do this for you too). But it’s painful to ask for it and not be held in a way that feels safe, which is why it is so scary to ask in the first place and instead feels easier to just hold it all inside. And yet, I’m beginning to suspect that the most wholehearted way to heal the wound of being invisible is through attention.
Attention is the spell that turns invisible things visible. Noticing is the easiest type of attention, which is why meditations and yoga classes often start with a body scan – bringing your awareness into your body. For art, maybe the place to start is asking: what do you want to bring attention to? What do you need people to see or be aware of? What are you noticing in what you read, in what you see around you, in the conversations you’re having, in the people you live with? Because at the heart of connection, whether it’s being with a person, holding a space, creating or making, is giving and receiving attention.
For a lot of artists, and for anyone who has been socialized as a human giver, it probably feels easier to give attention than to receive it. And when we do start to receive it, sometimes it feels less vulnerable to have it directed at our work rather than on us. While I love this as a way of dipping a toe in to see how it feels, I’m finding that the people who are most open to connection – and that I feel the most drawn to – are willing to allow themselves to be seen alongside their work. Admiration for and envy of humans (and animals – I have pets who teach me daily about asking for attention without shame) who don’t struggle with receiving attention are the compasses that point me toward the way I desire to exist.
This is what has changed in the way I’m working moving forward. For four years, I wore my invisibility cloak while I worked through burnout, grief, and trauma – and I approve that for myself as a form of protection. Invisibility can be a healing practice too. We get to choose how much of ourselves we make visible and to who. These days my visibility practices include writing & sharing the Com*Post, teaching yoga, and making a home for the work I love the most in the Cheerful Print Shop – and these practices also teach me how to bring consciousness to attracting and directing attention. Now that I’m leaning into breaking my invisible spell by practicing being visible, I want to work with other humans who also want to make themselves more visible, who are looking for places and spaces to be seen first by themselves, and then let others discover their magic.
Photos make you and your work visible.