As the stigma around discussing mental health begins to improve, join me in this article to learn about how I have used photography over the years to help with my fight against PTSD and depression. Trigger warning: this article contains references to suicide, which some may find upsetting.

The Beginning

When I was just 14 years old, I went through a traumatic experience that would change my life forever. When walking through a local woodland on my way home from school, I discovered a body of a man who had taken his own life. This experience has left me with severe flashbacks, nightmares, and panic attacks. Once I found the body, I remember running to my house, but my parents weren’t there. My parents were both still at work, and my heart was racing. I called the police and waited anxiously for help and my parents to phone me. I never felt so alone as I did then.

As I grew older throughout my teens and into adulthood, I continued to have a number of experiences that would challenge my mental health, and this left me with severe depression and now multiple trauma PTSD. Experiences in my life have ranged from having my house broken in to while I was inside and being attacked by a group with baseball bats to losing close family and friends.

Over the years, I have always been fortunate to have a good group of friends and family around me. They would understand the challenges I was going through and have always tried their best to pick me back up. However, I would never fully explain my feelings and kept many things bottled up. I preferred to try to fight things my own way, but deep down, I was struggling badly. I would laugh and joke when I was around them, but when I got home, I could easily break down. My life became a facade, and I considered taking my own life several times.

My First Camera

Around 2014, for my birthday, I asked my mum for a camera because I wanted to take photos of the local wildlife and from there my passion for photography grew. I started off with a simple, affordable bridge camera, but quickly grew to my first DSLR, a Nikon D3300. A couple of years later, the Nikon D500 was announced, and this was when I stepped things up a notch. My main focus was wildlife photography, but I thoroughly enjoyed capturing other moments too, such as landscape and astrophotography.

I have travelled to different parts of the UK, Iceland, the USA, and Australia, capturing as much as I could. I remember the first time I photographed the Milky Way in Australia. I’d never seen so many stars and would stare forever at the photo in disbelief that I took the image! The image hasn’t stood the test of time though, as now, I know about the 500 rule and other technical details that can make an even better image.

Back then, I also only shot JPEG and never backed up my files. I still kick myself to this day for that! It’s all a learning curve and will be for the rest of my life.

Progression

As the years progressed, I continued to push myself. I started a YouTube channel and also developed an interest for portraits. As an introvert due to my depression, challenges like portrait photography became welcome distractions. I would contact friends or random people on Instagram and ask if they would like to do a free photoshoot. They were always thrilled with the results, and this led to people reaching out to me on Instagram for a photoshoot and offering to pay me.

Fast-forward to 2023. I now shoot with a Sony a7 IV. I’ve learned from some of the mistakes I made in my early years and now ensure everything is backed up (well, almost, as I deleted some important raw files recently in Iceland, but that’s another story!). 

I’ve worked for some great local companies, and I have also been very privileged to have been hired as a wedding photographer on several occasions. 

Pushing myself in those mid-years to get out of my comfort zone enabled me to progress with photography and to earn money, which usually goes back into my development, equipment, and travelling to new locations.

One thing that always remains in common from the early days and now, is that when I go with the camera to do photography, suddenly all of my problems seem to go away. I feel at one with my camera and the location I am in, and I have this sense of focus and perspective, almost a state full of mindfulness.

I challenge myself with goals and set targets to make my photography better, and every day, I am learning something new and developing new skills.

Photography certainly takes the edge off my depression. These special moments make me realize I can just forget some of the bad memories in my head and focus on creating that perfect image. 

It Wasn’t All Rosy

It has not all been rosy, though. Since I came back from Iceland in October, I felt like I lost my creativity. I hit a huge hurdle and went to rock bottom mentally. I took a month of sick leave from work and couldn’t bear to face anyone or do anything. I realized I needed professional help, so I contacted my local doctor, who referred me to a great therapist. 

I had my first appointment with the therapist in April, and I remember breaking down completely in front of her. I opened up about all the issues I’ve been through in the past and how it’s all come to the surface. It was now or never to try to fight this once and for all. 

The therapist asked me about my passions, and when I discussed photography and mentioned I felt I had lost my love for it, she challenged me. She said: “Greg, start small. Grab your camera bag and start cleaning your gear and prepare for a shoot. Plan where you want to shoot and what you want to shoot. From there, go out and give it another go.”

I felt a sense of rejuvenation, not only from opening up and seeking help, but also I felt energized to pick up my camera again. I took her advice and cleaned my sensor and lenses, charged my batteries, picked a spot I wanted to shoot, and went and got the shot. 

Sure, it wasn’t a perfect shot. I felt rusty, I made a few simple errors, but it was amazing to have the camera in my hand again. My problems disappeared for those moments in time, my mind refocused on what was important to me.

The Challenge

Whether I’m in Iceland photographing the aurora, on a beach on the Isle of Mull photographing Otters, or simply in a studio photographing a whiskey bottle for a client, photography has saved my life. I am indebted to those who have helped me, to my family and friends, to my wife, and to the therapist for getting me back out there.

For anyone reading this who is also suffering from mental health issues or knows someone going through a tough time, having any hobby such as photography can just give your mind that little bit of respite and keep you focused. I challenge you to get out there in the world and put your mind to something positive, no matter how small. It can save your life!

Professional photography is a challenging career choice, taking a wide range of skills and tough skin. If that is something you are considering, check out this fantastic video essay that features an experienced professional photographer discussing what it takes to be a professional and the chances of finding success. 

Coming to you from Scott Choucino of Tin House Studio, this insightful video discusses the chances of making it as a professional photographer. Without a doubt, photography can be a very rewarding career; after all, the chance to make a living doing something you love is a special thing. Nonetheless, there is an appreciable amount of risk, and it can be extraordinarily difficult to make it to the upper levels of the industry. It is particularly difficult nowadays, as the quality of camera equipment and its relatively lowered cost have inundated the industry with a huge amount of photographers. I think, for a lot of people, it is worth considering the middle ground. Making money from photography is not an all or nothing proposition; it is certainly possible to keep it as a side or weekend job that you can make money from without the pressure of deriving all your income from it. Check out the video above for the full rundown from Choucino. 

Four female photographers from the New Brunswick College of Craft and Design are exhibiting a snapshot for their individual lens on life in their photography exhibition, FEM.

“It’s been very empowering,” said Grace Hallewell. “It’s been so nice really to bring our class together to officially go to the world and be like, ‘This is us.’”

“We’ve been doing this altogether for the past two years now, so being able to have an exhibition just for us has been so special,” she said.

The class had a chance to show off their unique perspectives.

“I really got into the mood of realizing where superstitions come from,” said Ivy Grenier.

Her pop-art style photos juxtapose superstitions against bright background colours.

“What their moods are and how we interact with them on a daily basis, and even if you are superstitious or not, you are constantly cautioned throughout your life,” Grenier said.

Each student presented a series of thematic photographs.

“As I’ve been growing up, I’ve realized more and more people around me are dealing with chronic pain,” Hallewell said. “Just things that people don’t understand, but people often say they relate or almost diminish the scale of it by being like, ‘Oh, everyone has that,’” she said.

Hallewell’s work features black and white photographs with pain described in the subject’s own handwriting.

Miriam Torres Lopez works in self portraiture in a variety of styles.

“Photography is a very powerful tool,” said Torres Lopez. “It can be used for a lot of things to express yourself, to dream, to give a message, to protest. Photography is a very powerful tool.”

The show caught the eye of New Brunswick’s Lieutenant Governor, who purchased a piece to hang in her office.

“She’s a champion for female rights and equality,” Torres Lopez said. “I was very happy that she wanted that piece in particular. It’s called ‘Don’t Call me Victim’ and it could not be in a better place.”

Visitors can check out the photography exhibition FEM in the Charlotte Street Art Center until Sunday.

Photo: Rose Marie Cromwell

Becoming a parent brings on a whole new crop of anxieties — about separation, about the future, about time (or lack thereof). After the birth of her daughter, photographer Rose Marie Cromwell felt it all, as she recently told the Cut from her home in Miami. “I started to look at my own mortality. My parents are on their way out, my daughter is on her way in, and I’m at this precipice in the middle,” she says. In her latest project, A Geographical Survey, she examines these anxieties in the wide-open spaces of the American West, merging the places she traveled in her childhood with her newfound perspective as a mother. “I find comfort in these places, where you feel smaller in the landscape,” she says. “When I go to the West, in my soul, I feel at home.”

Cromwell was born in Sacramento and raised largely in Seattle, where her parents divorced and her mother’s new partner, Cromwell’s stepdad, became an influential figure in her upbringing. He was raised in rural Montana, surrounded by cowboys, and, over the course of family road trips, would tell tales of growing up out West. “Seeing the landscapes and learning about indigenous communities’ connection to them was very formative for me,” Cromwell recalls.

She grew up with a speech impediment, but in fifth grade found a new language through photography. “I felt that what I could say through photographs was more articulate than what I could say verbally,” she says. Her mom soon bought her a small point-and-shoot camera of her own, and Cromwell proceeded to photograph everything. In particular, she remembers how, during large family Christmas gatherings, she’d shoot all the trash that accumulated. “I was always drawn to things that weren’t obvious.”

It’s this curiosity that took Cromwell to Cuba in her 20s to observe how other communities organized politically, and to Panama while working on her master’s degree, where she photographed populations living on the edges of the biggest thoroughfare of world trade. Both experiences felt intensely personal to Cromwell, but it was only after her daughter, Simone, was born that she turned the lens around.

Eclipse, an earlier series that documents her first days of motherhood, began after a traumatic birth experience that left Cromwell hemorrhaging after delivery. All of the complicated feelings, physical and emotional, were dampened by an overwhelming joy at welcoming Simone, “who was here and was healthy.” And so Cromwell began photographing the out-of-body experience she was living. At first, she would share iPhone shots on a private Instagram account: her in her hospital underwear, or a big blood clot that she’d expelled, or her placenta pills. The photographs resonated, most notably with her publisher, who urged her to turn them into a book.

That was the work that birthed A Geographical Survey, a project that she considers to still be in its early stages. All throughout her time spent working in South America and the Caribbean, “I did have that question lingering in my head, ‘Why haven’t I been back home?’ I hadn’t looked at my own identity through where I’m from.” With this work, she’s doing just that.

Beginning in March 2022 and continuing over the course of several road trips across the West, Cromwell photographed her mother and her daughter alongside these harsh yet beautiful landscapes. They visited Earthship communities of sustainable homes in New Mexico and off-the-grid locations in Northern California. Cromwell was amazed by her own mother’s willingness and adaptability. “This was the first time she’d used a compost toilet. Afterwards, she was really into it.”

A Geographical Survey juxtaposes the intimacy of familial bonds with the emptiness of the desert landscape. It captures Cromwell where she is now, anxious about what will be but compelled to document her mother and daughter in this moment, in their growing and aging bodies. Through it, she sees a future for Simone. “I want her to be exposed to that feeling of calmness that nature brings, to be able to recognize that that is important,” Cromwell says, reflecting on their travels.

One night, while camping in a desert in Colorado, Cromwell and her daughter sat together and watched the sun set over the sand dunes. “She was just one and a half, but was so mesmerized. We both were. I want her to be able to experience all those kinds of things in her life. That’s the beauty of being alive.”

A Highway Shoulder

“I was looking at the history of western landscapes and how they had been made by white men on expeditions to colonize the West. I want to broaden the definition of what we think of as traditional landscape, which is the horizon line. I’m interested in landscapes where we can immerse ourselves a little bit more, feel more of a connection to the land, and hopefully, maybe then, [heed] a call to action.”

In the Bed

“I feel like image-making is a ritual. It’s a way to become closer to somebody,” Cromwell said. “I like my personal work to go in a more performative direction. I can have more creativity. It’s very reflective of where I’ve been in my life, where I’m living, what I’m doing. Now, as a mom, and as somebody realizing that my time with my mom is also limited, it’s important that I spend time with both of them now. My work needs to be about that. My personal work is a lifestyle choice.”

The Mirror

While staying in a cabin off the grid in Northern California, Cromwell was captivated by the way the light reflected off of a mirror above the outdoor sink, changing with each passing hour. “It created a whole way to see the landscape differently. It was almost like this installation that would change all day long.”

On the Porch (Simone’s Baby)

“Making images with my mom and Simone is bonding. It’s a very creative experience. It also takes some negotiating — making sure that Simone has had her nap, or that my mom feels comfortable taking her shirt off (maybe she’ll feel more comfortable in an hour) — but it’s a way to spend time together in our busy lives.”

The Fallen Redwood

“My mom originally took me to the redwood forest when I was a kid,” Cromwell says. “When you’re around trees that big, it’s hard not to be in awe. Sharing those kinds of feelings with my daughter was special.” This particular fallen tree drew Cromwell in. “There’s something very human about wanting to submit our names into the flesh of a tree in a way to overcome time. It’s a way for people to embed themselves in this larger-than-life tree that’s hundreds of years old. It’s also a very vulgar act.”

Water Tank

“I’m interested in the history of mining in the West and what happens when these old structures are no longer functional. They just sit there and become part of the landscape.”

After the Shower

“Simone calls her ‘oma’ because my brother’s wife is German and they had kids first. So she got the grandma name. She definitely is a doting grandmother.”

In the Springs

“My husband and I did a couple of road trips camping, and for others, we rented a van and slept in it. One thing we would always do was look for natural hot springs. This one was in Colorado. And it’s so soothing for Simone. She goes from being a hyper 2-year-old to very calm and very zen. She gets to experience nature, and that is really special. And to see how it relaxes her. I like how her body fits into the rocks.”

Date Tree

“We went to this desert oasis outside of Death Valley, and I found the drapes on the date trees to protect the fruit felt like the [human] body. They were sagging and worn, and there was a certain care and tenderness to these bags.”

Sunken Mine

“It struck me, all of a sudden, thinking about sustainability of the land for my daughter’s future. It’s sad that it’s harder to contemplate living in some of these locations. The West is suffering.”

The Garden Shed

“My mom and I became closer through my daughter. We are both really strong personalities, but with my daughter being born, we have a different goal together,” Cromwell says. “She’s been very supportive of my whole career, from buying me my first camera to never making me feel like I was making a silly choice by wanting to be an artist. And I think she’s still doing that by posing in my images.”

Self-Portrait in the Dry Bush

“It was this attempt to insert myself into the landscape,” Cromwell reflects. “I know it’s kind of futile, but I wanted to be in the bush, to find some symbiotic way to exist in this specific landscape.”

This is a rare moment in the series where Cromwell herself appears photographed. But hers is a crucial perspective to the story she’s hoping to tell. “You’re at this peak, and you can see both ways. At one point, you are dependent on your mother, and now, you’re the caretaker. It’s this point where you have a fuller grasp of what life is, or what it could be.”

My Mother’s Back

“They had collected a bunch of rocks in the desert and we were painting them as an activity with Simone. I saw how fascinated she was with them,” Cromwell says. “Simone was putting rocks on my mother’s back, which I think really speaks to carrying the weight of generations. You don’t know whether she’s putting on the rocks or taking them off. There’s a certain gentleness and lovingness to the picture.”

Greenhouse Bougainvillea

Because of the way they’re oriented, Earthships, often built of dirt and tires, don’t require heating or cooling. Their humid environments allow tropical plants, like bougainvillea, to thrive.

The Shower

“There was this amazing outdoor shower in the Earthship in California. This one was her idea. I had made her go into some bushes, and she was covered in dirt,” Cromwell says. “I’ve got a very tolerant mother.”

Photographs by Rose Marie Cromwell

A Highway Shoulder

“I was looking at the history of western landscapes and how they had been made by white men on expeditions to colonize the West. I want to broaden the definition of what we think of as traditional landscape, which is the horizon line. I’m interested in landscapes where we can immerse ourselves a little bit more, feel more of a connection to the land, and hopefully, maybe then, [heed] a call to action.”

In the Bed

“I feel like image-making is a ritual. It’s a way to become closer to somebody,” Cromwell said. “I like my personal work to go in a more performative direction. I can have more creativity. It’s very reflective of where I’ve been in my life, where I’m living, what I’m doing. Now, as a mom, and as somebody realizing that my time with my mom is also limited, it’s important that I spend time with both of them now. My work needs to be about that. My personal work is a lifestyle choice.”

The Mirror

While staying in a cabin off the grid in Northern California, Cromwell was captivated by the way the light reflected off of a mirror above the outdoor sink, changing with each passing hour. “It created a whole way to see the landscape differently. It was almost like this installation that would change all day long.”

On the Porch (Simone’s Baby)

“Making images with my mom and Simone is bonding. It’s a very creative experience. It also takes some negotiating — making sure that Simone has had her nap, or that my mom feels comfortable taking her shirt off (maybe she’ll feel more comfortable in an hour) — but it’s a way to spend time together in our busy lives.”

The Fallen Redwood

“My mom originally took me to the redwood forest when I was a kid,” Cromwell says. “When you’re around trees that big, it’s hard not to be in awe. Sharing those kinds of feelings with my daughter was special.” This particular fallen tree drew Cromwell in. “There’s something very human about wanting to submit our names into the flesh of a tree in a way to overcome time. It’s a way for people to embed themselves in this larger-than-life tree that’s hundreds of years old. It’s also a very vulgar act.”

Water Tank

“I’m interested in the history of mining in the West and what happens when these old structures are no longer functional. They just sit there and become part of the landscape.”

After the Shower

“Simone calls her ‘oma’ because my brother’s wife is German and they had kids first. So she got the grandma name. She definitely is a doting grandmother.”

In the Springs

“My husband and I did a couple of road trips camping, and for others, we rented a van and slept in it. One thing we would always do was look for natural hot springs. This one was in Colorado. And it’s so soothing for Simone. She goes from being a hyper 2-year-old to very calm and very zen. She gets to experience nature, and that is really special. And to see how it relaxes her. I like how her body fits into the rocks.”

Date Tree

“We went to this desert oasis outside of Death Valley, and I found the drapes on the date trees to protect the fruit felt like the [human] body. They were sagging and worn, and there was a certain care and tenderness to these bags.”

Sunken Mine

“It struck me, all of a sudden, thinking about sustainability of the land for my daughter’s future. It’s sad that it’s harder to contemplate living in some of these locations. The West is suffering.”

The Garden Shed

“My mom and I became closer through my daughter. We are both really strong personalities, but with my daughter being born, we have a different goal together,” Cromwell says. “She’s been very supportive of my whole career, from buying me my first camera to never making me feel like I was making a silly choice by wanting to be an artist. And I think she’s still doing that by posing in my images.”

Self-Portrait in the Dry Bush

“It was this attempt to insert myself into the landscape,” Cromwell reflects. “I know it’s kind of futile, but I wanted to be in the bush, to find some symbiotic way to exist in this specific landscape.”

This is a rare moment in the series where Cromwell herself appears photographed. But hers is a crucial perspective to the story she’s hoping to tell. “You’re at this peak, and you can see both ways. At one point, you are dependent on your mother, and now, you’re the caretaker. It’s this point where you have a fuller grasp of what life is, or what it could be.”

My Mother’s Back

“They had collected a bunch of rocks in the desert and we were painting them as an activity with Simone. I saw how fascinated she was with them,” Cromwell says. “Simone was putting rocks on my mother’s back, which I think really speaks to carrying the weight of generations. You don’t know whether she’s putting on the rocks or taking them off. There’s a certain gentleness and lovingness to the picture.”

Greenhouse Bougainvillea

Because of the way they’re oriented, Earthships, often built of dirt and tires, don’t require heating or cooling. Their humid environments allow tropical plants, like bougainvillea, to thrive.

The Shower

“There was this amazing outdoor shower in the Earthship in California. This one was her idea. I had made her go into some bushes, and she was covered in dirt,” Cromwell says. “I’ve got a very tolerant mother.”

Photographs by Rose Marie Cromwell

Three Generations of Women Go West

Renowned Associated Press photojournalist Elise Amendola — a determined, joyous and patient journalist who masterfully photographed pivotal global news and sporting events spanning decades — has died. She was 70.

Amendola, who recently retired from the AP, died Thursday at her home in North Andover, Massachusetts, after a 13-year battle with ovarian cancer, her wife and fellow photographer Mary Schwalm said Friday.

Amendola documented many important moments in history, including the fall of the Berlin Wall, the Boston Marathon bombing, the 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Center, U.S. presidential campaigns, and many Super Bowls, Olympics, World Series and other major sporting events.

“I owe the AP for our beautiful life,” Schwalm told the AP Friday. “I first met Elise when I was a photo runner at the Summer Olympics in Sydney, Australia. By Athens in 2004, I was a staff photo editor on the sports desk and we’d become friends. I had the pleasure to edit her photos … It was so easy, she never missed.”

The two worked together for years — Schwalm in New York and Amendola in Boston, often collaborating on assignments.

In the fall of 2006, Schwalm said she left her photo editing position in New York to live with Amendola in North Andover. “Seventeen years of pure joy, 11 of them as her wife,” she said. “I am heart broken.”

Her longtime friend and teammate, fellow Boston photographer Charles Krupa, described one of his favorite photographs that Amendola made when the two were on assignment together covering golf.

Davis Love had just won the PGA championship in 1997.

“After a hard week of work in the rain,” Krupa remembered, “Love tipping his cap to the crowd with a panoramic rainbow tying the moment together as one.”

“I knew she had the angle on it, and when we were done with the day she absolutely nailed that picture. She nailed pictures like that throughout her career,” Krupa said. “(Love) found his pot of gold that day, and Elise did too.”

Amendola started her career with the AP wire service as a freelancer in the early 1980s before being hired onto staff in 1983. She retired in 2021. She was born in New York and was a graduate of Tufts University.

“The word legend is often overused, but in this case, it’s not big enough,” said Associated Press Director of Photography David Ake in a note to staff. “She was a superior photographer but, more importantly, a fabulous person.”

Ake remembered his days “chasing candidates” around New Hampshire with Amendola.

“Her coverage of the first Clinton presidential campaign should be a textbook,” Ake said. “It didn’t matter how cold, hot, wet, or miserable an assignment was; Elise never caved and stuck with it until a picture was made. If I had to describe what drove that determination, I would say ‘joy.’”

AP business photo editor Peter Morgan first met Amendola at the Boston bureau around 1980, when she brought in tennis photos for consideration. Morgan was trying to get started as a stringer at the time, and worked with her on dozens of assignments over the following decades.

“Elise was one of the greats — not just as a photographer, but as a person,” Morgan said. “It was a joy to know you would be working on the same assignment – her presence guaranteed good photos and good company.”

AP photographer Julie Jacobson said she admired Amendola and her work before the two ever met, when she was still working for a newspaper in the 1990s.

“There weren’t a lot of women photographers who shot sports back then,” Jacobson said. “But she did, was good at it and she was one of a few whose bar I looked to when setting my own goals.”

Then Jacobson was hired as a staff photographer at the AP, and said she was “star struck” when she met Amendola.

“Meeting Elise for the first time at the Salt Lake Olympics in 2002 was really exciting for me,” she said. “We would end up working together multiple times at various events through the next 19 years or so, mostly sporting events. And I was always star struck.”

Jacobson said Amendola was the “the epitome of team player, happy to shoot anywhere and share knowledge with the rest of the crew.”

More importantly, she said, Amendola treated everyone with respect. “As good as she was, no one was beneath her,” Jacobson said.

Bill Sikes, a retired Boston AP photo editor, recalled a moment after the Boston Marathon bombings in 2013.

“Elise and her longtime teammate Charlie Krupa slept in the lobby of the Westin Hotel overnight so not to be forced outside the police perimeter that had been set up around the site,” Sikes said. “The next morning, Elise went to the upper floors of the hotel and knocked on doors till she found a room that provided a view of both bombing sites. She rented that room so all AP platforms had that vantage point for the remainder of the week.”

Remembering her dedication to the craft, Sikes said, “There was never a doubt she would deliver compelling photos from every type of assignment, no matter the challenges.”

Amy Sancetta, a fellow retired AP photographer, remembered her friend on Friday.

“She fought her illness with the same tenacity, courage and good nature that she carried in all aspects of her life,” Sancetta said. “Elise never, ever gave up: not climbing the hill on 18 at Augusta, not freezing all day at the base of an Olympic ski mountain, and not with cancer. Working, playing hoops, enjoying her life and her friends and her beloved wife Mary Schwalm, Elise showed her joyous spirit and firm determination.”

Schwalm said Elise, who loved basketball, preferred to not have a service or flowers.

“She’d love for you to go to the courts, and shoot a basketball from the baseline, her best midrange jump shot,” Shwalm said in an email to the AP. “Or make an assist in some way, Elise loved to make a good pass.”