Last year, I moved within my school jurisdiction to a role as a photographer. Previously, I had been a teacher, an educational assistant, a teacher, an administrator, a teacher again, a home education facilitator, an administrator again, a teacher again, and an inclusive education coordinator — in that order. By June, last year, I was completing my first year as a photographer, where I was responsible for taking students’ school photos using a portable studio, establishing a volume photography platform with the school authority, and teaching Communication Technology courses to senior high students. Much of the studio lighting work was unfamiliar territory for me to master.

I had developed the technical skills. I could manage lighting, composition, editing, and the logistical demands of volume photography. However, as the only staff member in the jurisdiction working with photography, I lacked a collegial base for creative or technical problem-solving. The camaraderie of fellow portrait photographers was absent, and with it, the chance to develop beyond mere technical competence.

When I signed up for a workshop with master photographers Dave Brosha and Wayne Simpson, I was seeking something specific: a path to authenticity. I aimed to learn how to create portraits that revealed the true person in front of my lens, not just a well-composed photograph. What I didn’t anticipate was that the workshop would challenge not only my technical approach but also my entire understanding of what portraiture—and creative work itself—could mean.

Writing this six months later, I see how the workshop sowed seeds that only fully blossomed through subsequent practice. At the time, I understood these concepts intellectually, but their true depth revealed itself through months of doing and learning, learning and doing. Here are the three most meaningful insights that have genuinely transformed my understanding of what it means to be a portrait photographer. I am truly grateful to the inspiring instructors, Wayne and Dave, as well as all the enthusiastic workshop participants who helped me grow.

Your Most Impactful Work Is Personal

A key discovery from the workshop was that 80% of the content on Dave and Wayne’s professional websites is personal work. This isn’t client work; it’s the work they do for themselves, driven by their curiosity and passion, without the stress of money or payment.

Why does personal work resonate so strongly? Because authenticity is unmistakable. When we create from genuine curiosity rather than client requirements, we connect to something universal through the specific. Wayne Simpson’s Miziwezi project exemplifies this principle beautifully.

Miziwezi is an Ojibwe word meaning ‘he is whole,’ a concept that became central to Wayne’s journey. The project started as a personal quest to reconnect with his family and Ojibwe culture, from which he had been separated. Through his aunt, he learnt about his mother, and through community members, including another aunt and the Chief of the Ojiinun First Nation, he began to piece together his heritage.

This journey introduced him to the stories of survivors of the ’60s Scoop, a dark chapter in Canadian history when Indigenous children were forcibly removed from their families, fostering a culture marked by brokenness. By listening to and photographing these accounts of trauma, Wayne created a body of work with a powerful, unmistakable voice—one earned through the complex yet healing process of confronting a deep cultural wound.

Art is a Wound Turned into Light

A key insight from the workshop was conveyed in a quotation by the French painter Georges Braque:

“L’art est une blessure qui devient lumière”—”Art is a wound turned into light.”

This was not presented as mere philosophy but as a practical truth: our most profound creative work often arises from confronting pain and transforming it into something illuminating and universal.

Wayne Simpson’s Miziwezi project exemplifies this, transforming the deep wound of the ’60s Scoop into a testament to resilience and wholeness. This sentiment was echoed in the workshop’s philosophy, which holds that a portrait is an artful reflection of both wounds and wonder, as well as the full spectrum of human emotion. It isn’t about concealing our struggles but about recognizing the beauty, strength, and humanity within them.

Talking to Strangers

Since childhood, we’ve been advised to be cautious around strangers. Although this advice stems from love and a desire to keep us safe, the workshop presented a compelling counterpoint for creatives: engaging with unfamiliar people, learning about them, and making connections can often lead to some of the most rewarding experiences. During the workshop, we worked with local individuals as portrait subjects and created environmental portraits of them.

I realised that developing comfort with strangers isn’t just a pleasant skill—it’s the foundation of portraiture. Each encounter with an unfamiliar subject becomes an opportunity: to move beyond discomfort, to establish genuine connection, to uncover new stories and facets of myself.

Conclusion: Which story will you share?

These lessons go beyond photography. Whether we’re behind a camera, at a keyboard, or pursuing any creative calling, meaningful work comes from the same foundation: the courage to pursue what truly moves us, the vulnerability to turn our wounds into light, and the openness to forge genuine connections—even with strangers.

The technical skills matter, yes. But they’re simply tools for telling the stories that matter. So ask yourself: What story are you avoiding because you’re fixated on the perfect shot? Which wound will you transform into light?