I think anyone working in a creative field knows that making new work is never a straight line. It comes with incredible highs and deep lows. Moments of self-doubt, creative paralysis, overthinking, questioning your purpose, and even wondering whether it all makes sense.
Lately, I’ve found myself in one of those dips.
My project in Alaska started off with great energy and momentum. You’ve been able to read about breathtaking landscapes, unexpected encounters, and unforgettable adventures. It felt like I was exactly where I needed to be, doing exactly what I was meant to do.
But now, the doubt has started to creep in.
Are the photographs good enough? Did I stay long enough in each place?
Should I have returned under different weather or light conditions?
Did I even make enough work? These kinds of thoughts are not new to me. I’ve been through similar cycles in past projects, and I knew this phase would eventually come. But no matter how much experience you gain, you’re never really immune to it. The insecurity still hits.
At the same time, I feel incredibly grateful to be here. Grateful that the Mondriaan Fund believed in this project and gave me the financial freedom to pursue it. Their trust means the world to me. But with that trust also comes a sense of responsibility. I set the bar high for myself, maybe sometimes too high.
There’s so much that happens behind the scenes that never gets shared.
Throughout the day, I’m constantly alert, observing, noticing, paying attention to what stands out, who I meet, what might become part of the story. Some conversations grow into something meaningful, others fade out. Certain encounters have a big impact on the project, while others fall through completely. Meetings get cancelled, people don’t show up, or the timing just isn’t right. These are all part of the process, but they can be difficult when they pile up.
Still, I knew the struggles would come. And I also know, from experience, that I’ll find my way through. Sometimes, the only solution is to pause.
To take a deep breath, step away for a moment, and trust that it’s all part of the process. That’s what I did, taking a day or two to simply exist without chasing anything. Of course, I still carried my camera with me everywhere. It’s second nature. Even in the quiet moments, I’m looking, observing, just in a softer, more open way.
And interestingly enough, as I sit here writing this, it feels like some things begin to shift again. My final days in Alaska are approaching. I don’t know what they’ll bring but I know that there is still something that this place wants to show me.
