Category Inspirational

The Messy Art of Connection

Photo studio
Before the storm © Brian Fitzgerald

 

Yesterday afternoon, I found myself randomly picking up photographic gear—a power cord here, a light meter there, a reflector, stowing a canvas backdrop—and I realized I was way too tired to finish.

I’d spent the last three hours photographing and interviewing a man I barely knew, diving into one of the most traumatic events of his life: his diagnosis and treatment for kidney cancer. It left him with a body carved by deep scars and other, less visible wounds. Every detail of his experience so firmly etched into his mind that he’ll never forget them—down to the type and order of food he had each time he was in the hospital. “It kind of feels like PTSD,” he said, with what could have been a smile—or maybe a wince. “That’s exactly what it is,” I replied.

Later as I packed up my gear, my studio looked like a camera shop after a direct hit by a tornado. I reflected on how fortunate I am each time I’m allowed, with my microphone and lens, into someone’s most private inner world. It’s a trust that’s both shocking and deeply humbling. Once you hear someone’s story, you become the keeper of a sacred trust. It’s now part of your story, and what you choose to do with it matters. When you connect with someone in this way, you’re left a bit raw and exposed. It’s messy, just like the chaos of my studio, filled with reminders of the session that just was. When you connect in this way—exchanging stories of truth—you’re both fully involved in creating a new story, a new understanding. I’m grateful to be connected in this way, both through the camera and in spite of it. What emerges, whatever else, is a truth.

This discipline, this art, this field is unlike any other. That’s why I still do it, day after day, decades after buying my first camera–a Pentax K1000, at K-Mart. The tools change, but the parts that matter still matter. 

Lessons from the Trail: Iceland’s Laugavegur Trail

Laugavegur Trail Iceland
Overlooking Aftlavtn Lake, Laugavegur Trail, Iceland. © Brian Fitzgerald

This week, I returned from hiking the Laugavegur Trail in Iceland. The 34-mile (55 km) trail winds from Landmannalaugar through the Fjallabak Nature Preserve to Thorsmork (Þórsmörk).

The landscape is otherworldly: high-altitude snowfields, boiling geothermal vents, emerald-green mossy slopes, and a miles-long highland desert coated in black ash and volcanic rock. After two years of planning with my friends—two from Washington State, one from Southern Maine—I thought I knew what to expect.

Yet, Iceland blew my mind. The trail was more demanding than I’d imagined, and the scenery more beautiful and extreme. I took a single camera and lens to document the journey. Though I’m no landscape photographer, Iceland made me feel like I could be.

We spent four days hiking, fording rivers, crossing snowfields, and scaling over 5,500 feet of elevation. We met Icelandic folks, hikers from around the world, and stayed in a hut with a group calling themselves Viking Women.

Trail to Hrafntinnusker. © Brian Fitzgerald

Three takeaways from this trip—my first significant international adventure in 20 years:

The Value of Attempting Hard Things
Hiking 5-8 hours for four days straight was a challenge, and it felt great to finish. Just getting there—lining up transportation, reserving huts a year in advance, packing and repacking—was also a challenge. In the end, the effort made for a truly satisfying experience, unlike any other I’ve ever had.

The Importance of Maintaining Relationships 
Many men I know have strong family ties but have let longstanding male friendships go. For over ten years, I’ve gathered annually with a small group of friends from both coasts. Some of this group went together to Iceland. Long-distance relationships can be maintained via text or Facebook, but getting together in person keeps them growing. Spend four days backpacking with someone, and you get to really know who they are.  I wouldn’t trade that time for anything.

Preparation Is Everything
A year ago, I was physically unprepared for a hike like the Laugavegur. It had been decades since my last multi-day backpacking trip. In my 20s, I would have winged it. Now, I wanted to enjoy the trip. I started walking daily over a year ago, racking up more than 2,400 miles in 2023, often with a 20-lb pack. I joined a Facebook group for trail hikers, researched, and asked my Icelandic neighbor for advice. Preparation made the trip smooth and enjoyable instead of painful and anxiety-filled.

So I’ve gotten my feet wet, and I plan to keep it up.  Not just with big, multi-day hikes in exotic places but also hikes here in Maine and New England.  Being outside is medicine for my soul.  To me there’s no more apt advice than this, attributed to Pythagoras: “Leave the roads; take the trails.” 

 

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Laugavegur Trail, Iceland. © Brian Fitzgerald

 

Laugavegur Trail Iceland
Laugavegur Trail, Iceland. © Brian Fitzgerald

 

Laugavegur Trail, Iceland
Ash Desert, Laugavegur Trail, Iceland. © Brian Fitzgerald

 

Laugavegur Trail Iceland
Markarfljótsgljúfur Canyon, near Emstrur, Laugavegur Trail, Iceland. © Brian Fitzgerald

 

Laugavegur Trail, Iceland
Rhyolite ridges, Hrafntinnusker, Laugavegur Trail, Iceland. © Brian Fitzgerald

 

 

Laugavegur Trail, Iceland
Greg Rec navigates along the Slyppugilshryggur Ridge, high above the Krossa River in Thorsmork. © Brian Fitzgerald

 

 

 

 

2023: A Year On My Feet

Lone Hiker on rocky cliff
Quoddy Head State Park, Maine. Photo by Max Fitzgerald

Last year, I set a personal goal to walk or hike 2023 miles. It was a last-minute decision, sparked by a desire to shape up before a five-day backpacking trip in Iceland. I didn’t want to be the guy holding everyone back. Despite the cold and snow, I was consistently clocking 5-6 miles daily by mid-February. My routine involved pitch-dark stumbles through our nearby woods, causing my wife concern for my sanity but keeping me on track even as many other goals slipped away.

The journey taught me several lessons. First, success often hinges on factors being within our control. Unlike some of my other goals last year, choosing to go hiking was entirely up to me. Second, embracing an identity rather than just a goal makes success more likely. I wasn’t just trying to hike; I was a hiker.

Flexibility was my third lesson. Breaking up walks into smaller segments allowed me to meet daily targets without being rigid. It didn’t have to be perfect, just done. The fourth lesson hit home as I saw others around me battle health issues. Staying healthy became a powerful motivator, pushing me forward even on tough days.

By year’s end, I logged 2356 miles – equivalent to 90 marathons or the distance from Portland, Maine, to Reykjavik, Iceland – underscoring my final lesson: the cumulative power of small, consistent actions. Not every day felt significant, but every step counted.

As 2024 rolls in, I’m ready for new challenges. Iceland, here I come.

Down East Maine forest

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Brick by Brick

Seattle Shadows
© Brian Fitzgerald

Sometimes random events converge, seemingly by accident, and reveal a greater truth.

This week I jumped on a plane and flew some 3,000 miles to visit an ailing uncle—my father’s brother—at his home on Vashon Island near Seattle.  Along with my brother and two of my sisters, we spent time with him, sharing family stories, filling in gaps in our collective memories and laughing, a lot.  It was an impromptu visit, borne of a desire to connect with those who matter to me at a time of my choosing and not pulled by the usual forces of union and demise: marriage and death.  I didn’t even tell my friends living in the state because I wanted—needed—to focus on some family relationships long neglected. 

We, and I, had a great time. On the return flight, I came across a quote by New Zealander and writer Frank W. Boreham: “We make our decisions, and then our decisions turn around and make us.”  My trip made even more sense then.  

It’s a beautiful thought that our daily decisions—like that which led to me being on this very plane—are the very things that, over time, make us who we are. It’s easy to imagine that with each small decision, we are choosing to build our future selves, much like a building is built.  One brick at a time.

Cut it Out: When Less is More

 

Maine Cops
Pete Herring, District Game Warden with the Maine Dept. of Inland Fisheries & Wildlife, © Brian Fitzgerald

 

My default mode seems set to Acquire: Get more gear, more software, more skills, new stuff. But more isn’t better. It’s often a trap. Over time, the act of acquiring can become the goal itself.

That’s why the skill of subtraction is so important.

Subtractive lighting is critical in portrait photography. Blanket a subject with light, and then step by step, remove or block light to reveal shadow, shape and negative space. Stop when things get interesting. Light makes images possible, but shadow is what gives images definition, mood and impact.

The same concept applies elsewhere in life. Pruning makes plants stronger. Editing is critical for impactful writing. Decluttering homes make it easier to live in them. Cutting away the old and extraneous gives space for other things to grow.

Adding new things to life is fun and essential, but so is regular culling. I try to carve out time regularly, ideally at least twice a year, to evaluate and to subtract things that no longer work for me or are preventing progress on meaningful work. Embrace the process of subtraction by regularly and systematically clearing out the overgrowth in your life. You might be surprised by the things you learn and discover along the way.

 

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Bridging the Gap

© Brian Fitzgerald

In the classic “South Park” episode featuring the Underpants Gnomes, a straightforward but fundamentally flawed business plan is unveiled: Phase 1, collect underpants.  Phase 3, reap the profits. This presentation humorously omits a crucial element — Phase 2.

Aspiring artists watching YouTube might hear similar-sounding plans: “Step one, buy this camera; watch this course. Step 3, get clients,  fame, and financial freedom.”   So simple, anyone can do it.  

So why don’t they?

As with the gnomes’ plan, several vital steps are missing.  True success as a creative requires identifying and filling these gaps.

For creatives, learning doesn’t follow a neat linear path — mastering one skill thoroughly before progressing to the next. It’s a more chaotic, but rewarding, journey: gain a foundational understanding, move forward, stumble, recognize a gap in knowledge or skill, then return to deepen your understanding. It is an ongoing cycle of growth where mistakes aren’t setbacks but signals, guiding you toward the gaps begging for attention.

The goal isn’t to avoid errors; it’s to engage actively and learn from them. It’s about embracing a dynamic learning process where missteps aren’t failures but opportunities to go deeper.

If you think you’ve addressed the gap but issues persist, you’ve dealt with a surface-level gap but not the true, core gap at the root of your problems. In other words, maybe the issue isn’t that the gnomes don’t know how to make stolen underpants profitable. Maybe the real gap is their decision to venture into the underpants business in the first place.

Gaps are the elusive Phase 2 on the path to genuine, sustainable success as a creative. Look for the gaps and let them lead you in the right direction.

 

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From Cartoons to Glass: A Creative Maine Journey

 

Maine Glassblower David Jacobson
David Jacobson, Glassblower, Belfast, Maine. © Brian Fitzgerald

David Jacobson was a freshman majoring in telecommunications at Kent State University in Ohio when he happened upon an outdoor glassblowing demonstration. “I knew at that moment that was something I needed to do,” he said.

It took a few years—and a few colleges—but Jacobson did end up studying for an MFA in glassblowing. He also became a professional editorial cartoonist for a Gannett newspaper in New York, where he is from, spending his career cartooning for various publications and with a full-time syndicated cartoon with United Media. Still, he found himself taking more glassblowing classes on the side. “Things were going well there. Yet it turned out that my cartooning supported my glass habit,” said Jacobson.

By 2003, Jacobson’s glass art was selling in galleries. He relocated to Montville, Maine that same year and did what Mainers do: cobbled together an income,  by running a glass studio and a house-painting business.

Maine Glassblower David Jacobson
David Jacobson, Glassblower, Belfast, Maine. © Brian Fitzgerald

He rebuilt his 200-year-old barn into a glass studio. “There was a lot of hard work, a lot of doubt, and a lot of moments thinking, ‘I’m the biggest idiot in the world.’ But the passion was always there and fortunately, the talent was always there too. I just kept meeting the right people and kept saying yes.”

Saying yes is what led Jacobson to co-found a studio with artist Carmi Katsir as part of the Waterfall Arts in Belfast. They built out the studio using much of Jacobson’s equipment from his old studio, adapting it to run off of vegetable oil and electricity—one of just a handful in the US. Now, Jacobson produces his own work and, together with Katsir and others, teaches hot glass classes to the public and to Belfast high school students.

David Jacobson, Glassblower, Belfast, Maine. © Brian Fitzgerald

 

David Jacobson, Glassblower, Belfast, Maine. © Brian Fitzgerald

Of the studio, owned by Waterfall Arts, Jacobson says that he’s grateful. “It allows me to do work that makes me the happiest I’ve ever been.”

As a creative business owner, Jacobson was used to being a lone wolf but is excited by the community aspect of the Waterfall Arts Glassworks. “One of the greatest assets of glassblowing is that it is community-oriented. People are trained to work with someone. So to come into this community situation is thrilling. It’s affected my work in that it’s given me great enthusiasm to try new things,” Jacobson said.

“It’s beyond any kind of vision that I ever had.”

David Jacobson, Belfast, Maine ©Brian Fitzgerald

 

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Find out more about the Waterfall Arts Glassworks or to sign up for a class at the only public-access glassblowing studio in Maine. 

Creating Spaces is a project that explores the connection between Maine artists and craftsmen and their physical workspaces—places that are often hallowed grounds of creativity and solitude, far from the public eye or the gallery.

Triumph Over Trauma: Isaac’s Journey

 

Male Cancer Survivor
Isaac, testicular cancer survivor. © Brian Fitzgerald

 

A recurring theme in my work has been narrating the stories of those who battle adversity, survive and even thrive despite the trauma or disease they’ve encountered. This piece is part of an ongoing series featuring men who bear the physical scars of their trauma.

Isaac, a native of Auburn, Maine, recalls experiencing a persistent dull ache in his lower abdomen during his teenage years and early twenties. As he attempted, yet failed, to complete a thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail at 20, the discomfort continued. But he kept his pain hidden. “In my childhood, if you weren’t seen, you weren’t getting beaten,” he said. “So you never voiced any concerns.”

At 22, Isaac received a diagnosis of testicular cancer, a disease often affecting younger and middle-aged men. The prospects for recovery can be favorable if the cancer is detected early.

The following years were a blur of chemotherapy sessions, numerous surgeries, including a retroperitoneal lymph node dissection in Boston requiring an incision along his entire abdomen. His weight plummeted from 180 to 110 pounds, his body branded with two feet of surgical scars. Faced with an uncertain future, the 23-year-old grappled with the harsh reality of potential permanent disability.

But for Isaac, resigning to such a fate wasn’t an option. “I could have been milking the system like some people, but what kind of life is that? There are people who legitimately can’t care for themselves, but I’m too stubborn,” he said. Instead he returned to school to became a certified nursing assistant, a role he maintained for the next eight years.

A decade after his initial attempt, Isaac made his way back to the Appalachian Trail. This time, he embarked on his journey from Maine, and after eight months of backtracking, pausing, and restarting, he finally completed the hike.

“Things have happened to me that I didn’t choose,” he reflected, “but I tried to find my own way.”

First, Give Value

Dairy farmer with cow and son
© Brian Fitzgerald

 

I was raised by Irish Catholics, which might explain why I have a deep-seated belief that anything good in my life must be accompanied by an equal-or-greater amount of suffering.

Not a great belief, as beliefs go.  But here’s one that I’ve found is completely true: if you want to receive  good value or get good results—satisfying assignments, great clients, a good paycheck—then you have to first give great value.

What does ‘value’ mean?  It means doing your best to be remarkable in your work, your attitude, your professionalism. It means that before you offer help, you ask how you can help.  It often means giving more value than others expect.  For photographers, it means going that extra mile on a shoot: looking for an extra angle, taking creative risks and pushing for something different once you’ve satisfied your client’s stated needs.  Sometimes you’ll end up with images that surprise you and delight your client.

If you consistently do this and have the attitude of giving more than you are getting, you’ll find—like I have—that you get an amazing amount of value in return.

It starts with you.

The Decisive Portrait Moment

Maine Deputy

 

Photography is all about light, of course—the literal meaning of the word in Greek is ‘drawing with light’.  Without light, there can be no photography.

But what makes photography remarkable and powerful is something else. While video and film are all about the story—how all the individual parts contribute to the narrative, the still image is all about moment.

Of the thousands of images you’ve seen or created in your lifetime, what makes the relatively few images stand out as special?

I’d bet it’s that these images capture a fleeting, authentic, remarkable moment. Moments can be a shared interaction between mother and daughter; they can be a simple expression in the eyes or on the lips. A moment can be a gesture, but it can also be a ray of sunlight hitting the perfect spot. It’s a person caught in mid-leap over a puddle, ala Bresson. It’s that peak moment of joy, of anguish, or of maximum exertion during a sporting event.

It can be hard to define in words what a photographic moment is, but you undoubtedly know it when you see it. Moments can be momentous or quiet and subtle. The impact of a true visual moment, however, is immediate and profound. It connects with the viewer and pulls them in.

If you want your images to be remembered, be attuned to what photography great Henri Cartier-Bresson termed the ‘Decisive Moment’. Don’t take photos: capture moments.