“Chin down and look over my shoulder,” she said, as I dutifully followed the instructions. By the time I was 5 years old, I was practically a pro at modeling for my Nana. She had been a photographer longer than I’d been alive, and even for most of my mom’s life. Her house’s walls are lined with bookshelves stuffed with photo albums and boxes of her photographs. My mom and I lived with my grandparents until I was five, and during that time, I was constantly in front of her camera.

Even from an early age, I have never doubted that I would one day be an artist. My family on my mom’s side is filled with many people who call themselves artists. My mom has always called herself an artist and encouraged me to be one as well, although not always in the best of ways. My mom has created many beautiful art pieces, from charcoal drawings to large murals and many other art forms. And when I was little, I wanted to be just like her. Every time I was asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I would enthusiastically answer, “An artist!” Little did I know at the time that many things would prevent me from truly reaching this goal for many years.

I was raised to be one of Jehovah’s Witnesses in a family that enthusiastically believes the religion to be “The Truth.” I was always ready and willing to accept anything that the adults in my life told me to believe. Consequently, I believed in the Jehovah’s Witness organization for many years. This became a problem for me in my senior year of high school. I had been sewing and designing clothes since I was 12 and had amassed hundreds of design sketches. I also used my fashion sketches as an opportunity to improve my drawing skills, both in human anatomy and in different types of fabrics. By the time I was a senior in high school, all I wanted to do with my life was to become a fashion designer. I was looking into all the top fashion design schools, including The Academy of Art University, and I had several schools reach out to me once they learned that I already knew how to sew. I was devastated when my parents said that I would not be allowed to go to school for fashion design. “Fashion design isn’t appropriate. The time, energy, and lifestyle will take you away from Jehovah,” my parents told me. So, I reluctantly gave up on the pursuit of fashion design. I would still do some sewing on occasion, but my parents had crushed all the joy I used to find in it, and, at that point, it was just a reminder of something I wasn’t allowed to do.

I didn’t have a backup plan in mind because fashion design was the only thing I was truly passionate about at that time, and I was determined that I would not pursue something unless I was passionate about it. So instead of going to school, I got a job at Starbucks. For the next 3 years, my mom wouldn’t leave me alone about picking something to go to school for. “You should study something in the medical field. You could be an ultrasound technician. That’s mainly happy, meeting pregnant women and getting to show them their babies. Why don’t you do that?” My mom wouldn’t let the subject go. She was determined that she was going to persuade me to work in a hospital, even though I repeatedly told her that I did not want to do that. She has never given up on trying to get at least one of her kids to work in a hospital like she had done for a brief time.

During this time after high school, I was expanding my artistic interests and trying my hand at anything I could get the supplies for. I painted characters on canvas shoes. I made popsicle stick bracelets. I made greeting cards. I drew realistic sketches. I drew abstract pictures. I crocheted a scarf. If I thought it looked fun and creative, I wanted to try my hand at it. I was enamored with finding new and interesting ways to create art. And every time I tried something new, my mom would push me to sell it and create a business around it. She was always exorbitantly critical of my art, trying to get me to make it more “sellable.” She would tell me, “If you’re going to create things, you need to sell them. But people won’t want to buy something abstract or avant-garde. You need to make things that people will want to have hanging on their wall.” She would look at each item I created and would tell me how to improve its “sellability.” Because she had successfully owned her own creative business, painting house interiors with faux finishes and murals, I took her words to heart and tried to follow everything she said. After all, she was an artist who had turned her art into a somewhat successful business, and she was also my mom, which meant that I always cared about her opinions and wanted her feedback. I was desperate to please her, and nothing I ever did seemed to be enough for her. This had the unfortunate side effect of stifling my creativity and making sure I limited myself to only what she deemed acceptable and profitable.

After three years of this, I decided that I would settle for cosmetology school. I wasn’t as passionate about hair and makeup as I was about fashion design, but it was the best alternative I could think of. So, I presented the idea to my parents. They were not happy with this idea. They tried to dissuade me from this decision, telling me that it would be a difficult career because “it’s entirely client appointment-based, and if you can’t find clients, then you won’t make any money. And if you can’t make money, then you won’t be able to support yourself.”

The timing of this also coincided with my parents deciding they didn’t like the boy I was dating and giving me an ultimatum. If I continued to live in their house, I would only be allowed to have one monitored one-hour phone call with him a week, and he would be allowed to come over once a month for dinner to discuss how he was preparing for marriage. If I didn’t agree with this, I would have to move out.

I’ve always had a stubborn streak and thought my parents’ new rules were outrageous, so, even though I wasn’t ready to move out and didn’t actually want to marry him, I did. This turned out to be the worst decision I could have made, and it changed my path for the rest of my life. I moved into the storage closet in my stepsister’s apartment. It was just big enough to fit my twin-sized bed in it with enough space at the end for my dresser. The rest of my things went into my boyfriend’s parents’ garage. While I was living in that closet, I was still working at Starbucks, and my boyfriend and I started planning our wedding. At some point over the next few years, my father-in-law and boyfriend-turned-husband threw away my sewing machine and most of my sewing supplies, and that was the end of my sewing and my desire to be a fashion designer.

During that time, my boyfriend persuaded me to drop the idea of going to cosmetology school because, “with your work schedule, and everything you’re going to need to do at home for us, you won’t have time for it.” So, I reluctantly gave up the idea. Later, I found a makeup school that’s entirely online. I thought this would be a suitable alternative because I could do it on my own schedule, and I wouldn’t have to go anywhere for classes. Once I started, I quickly realized that I was going to need a better camera to show my work. So, I bought a used Nikon D50 and started to play with it. I was excited because Nikon was the brand my Nana used, and having a Nikon myself felt like I had a special connection to her. Eventually, I dropped out of the makeup school because I couldn’t afford the monthly payments, and I wasn’t enjoying it as much as I thought I would.

Shortly after that, my then-husband convinced me to enroll in community college to study graphic design. I was enrolled at Sierra Community College, but I was struggling to find joy in my classes. I couldn’t follow the graphic design class I was taking and fell far behind, and the other classes all felt superfluous. A few weeks into the start of the semester, I found out I was pregnant. This took a huge toll on me physically, and I was having a tough time making it to classes. I was especially deterred because the campus was all uphill and downhill between buildings, and it was exceedingly difficult for me to get around. After a few months, I dropped out.

I was unsure of what to do next. By this point, I was working in a mall portrait studio, and I had managers left and right telling me how talented I was, and several locations were vying to have me on their team. For the first time, I was thriving at something I enjoyed. But when I was about 6 months pregnant, I was physically unable to continue working. My being forced to stop working put a strain on my marriage, as my husband was unemployed and was not trying to find a new job. We lived with his parents, and we managed to get by with his unemployment money, but I was far from happy there. His family was very controlling and demeaning, and his father had many outbursts of anger toward me with threats of violence. At that point, I was lost, creatively. I stopped doing all the artistic hobbies I had previously loved, and I was deeply depressed. I felt like I would never be happy. After all, in the Jehovah’s Witness organization, the only way to get divorced was if your spouse was unfaithful, and I didn’t see that happening anytime soon. I was still playing with my Nikon D50 and trying to learn how to take better photos, but this was the only thing I found any joy in, and even that was sporadic.

When my son, Warren, was born, I was filled with a new sense of purpose. I had someone who relied on me for everything. And creatively, I had a new subject to photograph. I had so much fun setting up little photoshoots of him and practicing with lighting, angles, and different styles. I would spend whole days picking props to use, deciding which outfits he would wear, and trying all the techniques I was reading about online. I loved watching him grow, learn, and discover the world around him. And it offered many opportunities to pull out my camera and point it at him. I was still very unhappy with my home life and my marriage, but my son gave me more joy than I had known for many years. My husband was not helping me with our son in any way, and he would complain any time I asked for his assistance, which made me wish even more that I could leave him. I thought to myself, “At least if I’m on my own, I won’t be disappointed by anyone else. I wouldn’t have anyone to help, but I also wouldn’t be expecting and hoping someone would help. I wouldn’t be let down every day.”

Creatively, I was determined that I was going to pursue photography, but I was struggling to figure out which photographic avenue I wanted to explore. I was fond of photographing newborns when I worked at the mall studio, and especially in love with photographing my son, so I thought I would like to become a professional newborn photographer. The biggest problem with this was that I only had my son to practice with, and he wasn’t a newborn anymore. I held onto this notion of being a newborn photographer for quite some time, even though I had no idea how to make it a reality.

When Warren was 15 months old, my husband and I had a fight where he said many horrible things and made many threats. So, I finally got Warren and me out of the abusive environment we were in. We moved in with my parents and my two younger brothers. I was also put in the position of needing to talk to the religious leaders about my situation. I was told that even though my husband had threatened to kill me and pulled a knife on me, I was still expected to go back to him because he had not cheated on me. I was dead set against it, though. I was never going to return to the person who made me the most miserable I had ever been and had put my life in danger. Instead, I filed for a restraining order and looked into getting a divorce. I was happy to discover our marriage had never been filed properly, and we were not legally married. I felt a massive weight lifted from my shoulders when I learned that I wasn’t tied to him in that way. The religious leaders tried to convince me I would need to rectify this situation and marry him, but I refused. I was free of him as a husband, and I would never return.

During this time, my creativity again took a back seat. But once the situation settled, I was back to my camera. I was still trying to pursue portraiture of some variety because that was the only photographic avenue I could see that could be turned into a career, and I knew that I could only go back to work doing something I was passionate about. I had no clue that photography could be profitable unless I was hired to take photos of someone or something. I continued to pursue this, setting up a website and doing everything I could to put my name out there. I was voraciously scouring the internet for any help or ideas I could find that I could implement that would help me become a successful portrait photographer.

My parents had moved from Sacramento to a small town in the Bay Area named Rodeo a few years before I ended up back with them. So, when I moved there, I started exploring a whole new town. I started going on walks up and down the main street, or on the creek trail, photographing anything I thought was interesting. And, again, my mom was trying to get me to turn my creativity into something marketable. She suggested that I create a photo book about the town. I liked this idea and decided to pursue it, despite not knowing how to turn my photos into a book. I figured I’d worry about how to make the actual book once I was ready to do that, and until then, I would just focus on the photography. This gave me the opportunity to practice street photography and find my own style. I spent days upon days walking up and down the main street trying to find every bit of personality that was there, and there was so much more than I could have dreamed of. I photographed the small diner, the family-owned hardware store, the stray cats, and the strange statue of a man wearing a sombrero and riding a donkey. I was having so much fun.

I was learning how to be a better photographer in a hands-on way, finding what worked and what didn’t. I loved finding something that I thought was unique or intriguing and playing with angles and lighting to achieve the photos I saw in my mind. I wouldn’t have a full and clear idea of what I wanted the photos to look like until I took the shot and looked at the image on the screen, but I always knew the feeling that I wanted to capture. I would find something of interest, pick an angle, photograph it, review the image, adjust my angle and lighting, and then take the shot again. I would continue this process until I achieved an image I was happy with, all the while learning more and more about how to make each photo the best it could be. As time went on, I became more confident in my photography, and I was spending less time figuring out how to take each photo. It was starting to feel natural to me. Almost like my camera was an extension of myself, I could finally show the world my way of seeing things. I started to feel seen and heard through my photography for the first time in my life.

After about two years of living with my parents, my elder brother was 18, had just graduated from high school, and had started working at Safeway. He and I have always been very close, and we both shared the opinion that we did not want to be in the Jehovah’s Witness organization, so we decided to move out together. Our parents were not happy about this decision because he had been much more vocal about his distaste for the religion, and they were sure that he would convince me to leave as well. They were unaware that I was already determined to leave the religion, so they protested our leaving and did everything they could to stop us. We were both determined to make this move, and we put in a lot of effort to make it happen, despite every setback we came up against.

After several months of searching, we found an apartment in Sacramento. We were both excited to finally be free and to have a place of our own. After moving, it took me some time to deprogram myself from the thinking of the religion, and different aspects were easier to drop than others. Over the next two years, I worked on truly finding myself. I had never really taken the time to fully get to know myself because I knew that so much of who I am and what I believe would not be acceptable to the religion. But now that I was free of those constraints, I was free to be fully myself. I came out as bisexual, I began pursuing Norse polytheistic Heathenry and Witchcraft, and I had a new relationship with a man I had previously known when I was working at Starbucks.

I was also back to exploring every avenue of creative interest. I tried painting with watercolors and acrylics. I tried calligraphy. I tried making jewelry holders. And my favorite was still-life photography. I was buying props left and right, my Nana had given me her studio lights, and I was experimenting with many assorted styles. I was overjoyed to be expanding my photography skills. I was particularly interested in this type of photography because I could see a market for it in food and product photography, and I didn’t have to direct and pose clients or make awkward small talk.

Then I started having problems with my health. I was in constant widespread pain, my joints were aching all the time, and my migraines were becoming more frequent and severe. I was diagnosed with Carpal Tunnel, Fibromyalgia, Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, GERD, stomach ulcers, and several other chronic health conditions. I spent the next year primarily focused on my health with frequent hospital visits, trips to the emergency room, test after test, appointment after appointment, and daily pain that made it hard for me to function. In less than a year, I had gone from physically healthy to barely able to walk. I had to start using a cane to walk, and I had to learn how to adjust my lifestyle and movements in a way that would be easier on my body.

This was a huge adjustment, and I was struggling emotionally with it. My first and foremost concern was how I would be able to be a good mom to my son. How would I be able to play with him, or go on adventures with him, or even just keep up with him if I can barely walk? Secondly, I was worried that I would no longer be able to pursue my love of photography. I had to step away from it for some time to focus on my health, and I was devastated at the thought that I may never be able to go back to it. I fell into another bout of severe depression as things continued to get worse and worse. If I couldn’t take photos anymore, how would I find something else I could express myself through? Every time I looked at my camera, a wave of depression would wash over me, enveloping me in sadness and the thought that I may never be able to go back to the thing I loved so much.

Thankfully, over time, my health stabilized, and I learned my limitations and how to best accommodate them, and I was able to pick up my camera again. I was so thrilled to be able to get back to my photography. I took it slow and focused on listening to my body so I didn’t overdo it. I also decided that I would only focus on the types of photography I loved doing. I thought that if I could only do so much, I had better make sure that what I did was what brought me the most joy.

One night, I was scrolling on Pinterest, and I found a photo of an art piece where the artist had sewn string onto a canvas and let it hang in such a way that it looked like an abstract version of a waterfall. I had never thought of mixing media in such a way, and I was immediately intrigued. I looked through similar art pieces and branched into many different styles where the artist used mixed media and made wildly creative art. As I was looking at all these highly creative things, I had a sudden realization. Art can be whatever you want it to be. You don’t have to tone it down and make it marketable to the masses. You can just create. I felt like I had uncovered some sort of secret knowledge that my mom had been hiding from me. I felt like a massive weight had been lifted from my shoulders, and the lock on the chains my mom had wrapped me in was finally opened, letting the chains fall off. I felt like I was finally able to be 100% myself in every aspect of my life, especially artistically.

Then I started thinking about the idea of going to school for photography. My health was becoming more stable, and even though I knew it would be a lot of demanding work, I was determined that I was going to pursue this path and make it into everything it could be for me. Then I started to think back to when I was 18 and was told that I couldn’t go to fashion design 11 / 11 school. I decided that I would apply to the school I had wanted to go to back then. I had heard that the school had a marvelous photography program, and I was eager to learn.

Now, I’m a full-time student at The Academy of Art University. It has been a big adjustment learning how to manage my time and get all my schoolwork done while also being a full-time mom and having to juggle my health limitations, but I’m so excited to continue this journey. I finally feel happy and fulfilled.

This photo is not only the best photo I’ve made (so far). It’s also a very special photo to me, for several reasons.

In the fall semester of 2023, I was taking several photo classes (as that’s my major). For one of those classes, I was struggling with the execution of some ideas for my final. Nothing was working out the way I wanted, and I didn’t have time to figure it out before it was due.

Then disaster struck. My Nana died. She had been one of my best friends and was the biggest influence on my love for photography. She had taken care of me and always supported me. She had been a photographer, and I grew up in front of her lens. And she was so excited to share her passion with me. This was and is the worst loss I’ve ever had to live with. To say that I was devastated would be a massive understatement.

But, I still had to get my final done and turned in. So, two days after her death, I rounded up my fake flowers and duct taped them to my patio glass door, sprayed some water on the outside of the glass, and managed to capture this incredible photo.

Not only did I get a perfect grade, but this photo was then included in the blind juried show of the best student work at the school, which is a huge honor.

I’m just sad that my Nana will never get to see it.

What are the TWO most impactful features that make your image a good photograph? Don’t be shy!

I think the two most impactful features of this image are the colors and the smoke and mist. This photo would not work nearly as well if it had been in black and white or if it had neutral colors. And the smoke and mist really give it a mysterious feel.

If you could make this photo again, what would be the ONE thing you would like to do better or differently?

I would take out my lip rings. They are the one thing that feels out of place and throws off the vibes.

Mariah Adams shared this photograph with the FRAMES Facebook Group.

Photographer

Mariah Adams, Sacramento, CA, USA

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Equipment and settings

Canon EOS RP, RF 85 mm F2
1/100 sec., f/8.0, ISO 100