Reflecting Upon Six Years of the Creative Life

For twenty-six years, I was hiding. I let the world see only half of me. I didn’t want anyone to know how weak and vulnerable I was at my core, so I would reveal only what I wanted them to see. Behind the mask, I was deeply sensitive and fragile. My heart had been broken upon birth and it proceeded to break many times over as I grew.

Certain people throughout my school life could sense that I was wearing a mask, and they would do all that they could to tear it off so that I would stand exposed in all my fragility and vulnerability. I felt lost and lonely around such people for so many years. None of my friends truly knew me. How could they when I didn’t really know myself? I had not allowed myself to explore the depths of my own ocean, and I paddled around at the shore trying desperately to be noticed by loungers on the beach.

I sometimes feel a little sad that I never found an outlet for the pain of my many heartbreaks as a child. I find myself wondering what further pain I might have avoided had I understood the powers of art back in my youth. Pain, however, as I have now learnt firsthand, is necessary training as we aim to become warriors of the light, and we find our own means to deal with it when the time is right.

It has now been six years since I picked up a camera and began creating for the first time to deal with my pain. To say that my life has changed would be an understatement.

It is as though the camera has given my deeper self a voice. That part of me that, for as long as my memory serves, has been so desperate to be seen and heard is now making himself known to the world. No longer do I feel as though I am having to act as a means of gaining acceptance and approval from the people around me. No longer do I need to hide the rawest and most beautiful parts of myself. I seek not for anything from anyone because I have everything that I will ever need here within. Instead of waving my arms, desperately trying to be seen, I have been swimming alone, choosing instead to see myself, and now, paradoxically, the world appears to be noticing.

My work stands as a beacon in the icy landscape at dawn, and those who recognise truth have been finding their way to me and warming their hands and hearts on my flame. For other people, when looking at my photographs, they might see only pretty photographs of trees in mist. What isn’t evident immediately are the depths to which I have been swimming to find these parts of myself that have made creativity possible.

For six years now, I have been healing my wounds and taking tentative footsteps from behind the stage curtain, revealing my true self as the fragile and wounded being that I am. This creative journey has forced me to strip back the layers of masks that I spent the first chapter of my life wearing as a means to survive this often cruel and volatile world.

My trust with this world is being rebuilt with every click of my cameras’ shutter, and with each photograph that I create, I get a step closer to reconstructing the bridge that was severed between my inner world and the outer world during my broken youth.

The more that I open my heart to the world, the more the world opens to me. No longer do I feel the need to hide. No longer am I ashamed of my wounds. I wear them now as a badge of honour. It is because of my wounds that I am strong. My broken heart is on display like a piece of Japanese kintsugi, and I welcome visitors from all walks of life to admire my exhibition piece.

This has been a truly beautiful process. In going out to get lost in the natural world, I have found myself, and now, six years on, I somehow find that Self in a position to help others with their own journey’s of self-discovery. Now that I am here, I can’t help but beg the question, ‘what else might be possible in this life of mine?’

The Power of Creativity to Transform and Transcend

I held onto a great deal of fear throughout much of my early life. My deepest fear was that of men throughout my younger years. The three beasts that raised me broke me down and shamed me, and they inflicted a great deal of further pain onto everyone else around them. Through these men, I learnt to fear my own masculinity. My greatest fear, therefore, was myself, or rather, the fear of what I might become. As a result, I spent a long time hiding from the world and harboured a deep fear of being seen in the light of who I was.

By going out in search of photographs, I embarked upon the quest to find my own truth. En route towards that, I have been finding many of the missing parts of my own psyche and soul. Like a gigantic jigsaw puzzle, I have been piecing myself together over the past few years, adopting new parts and cutting away the old. Creating from my own place of pain has eased much of my own suffering. By exposing my wounds to the light and revealing my own darkness to myself and the world through my creative works, I have been busy disarming my demons and learning how to dance with them in the moonlight.

The camera came to me at a point in my life when I was struggling to navigate through the darkness of night. I had found myself drifting without purpose or direction. In fact, bar the childhood dream that I had of playing football professionally, I never did have much of an idea of where I wanted my life to lead.

Those who don’t determine a course of their own end up getting caught in the wake of those who do, and that is what was happening to me until I picked up the camera and pen almost six years ago. The practices of photography and writing helped me to find new direction, and access the very depths of my own soul; some of which I was always aware of, others, even still, are unknown to me.

Though I often walked with a heaviness and lingering sense of listlessness throughout most of my early years, I had no idea of the heavy emotional baggage that I had buried down in the unconscious valleys of my mind. That is, until I began exploring my own creativity with the camera and reflecting upon the things that I had created with my pen. Through creativity, we are able express our truest and most authentic selves. For many of us in the world, that ‘Self’ is the one that we are so desperate to reveal, having spent such a long time trying to hide it through fear of judgment, rejection, or shame.

Creativity, I believe, is the most powerful instrument for healing that we have in our inventory. Creativity has an unseen power to transform and transmute our greatest pain and suffering. By creating something beautiful from the place of our deepest struggles, we disarm our most frightening demons. By walking fearlessly into our darkest caves, and shining our light from within, we can face these ugly forces head on and learn how to tame them.

When we find enough courage to create from the deepest depths of our hearts, we can take our demons by the hand, blind them with our radiant light, and lead them to an eternal dance beneath the glowing moon.

It is in this very darkness, that we find the truest and most potent of all powers here on earth. To create from the source of our greatest pain brings the ultimate liberation. By visiting these frightening places within ourselves, we learn to wield the sword of darkness and bring it forth into the light of day, forcing our demons to yield before us.

This eternal dance between the threshold of darkness and light is one of pure beauty. By mastering the steps, we can integrate the lost parts of ourselves, heal our deepest wounds, and become more whole human beings. One force cannot exist without the other, and to become aware that both darkness and light exist inside of oneself, to know both intimately and to know how to make one yield whenever necessary, to grasp a firm hold on the darkness and expose it to the light; that is our ultimate superpower.

By harnessing the power of our creativity and creating from this place of truth, we become alchemists of the modern world; transmuting our own emotional pain and suffering. The ability to perform such inner magic brings the ultimate sense of freedom and the very healing that we need to exist fully as our soulful selves here on earth. It gives us the ability to create light from our darkness, and pure beauty out of the ugliness that we all have within ourselves.

‘Seeking Bliss’ - A photograph by Brad Carr.

People are often shocked when I tell them that many of my photographs contain anger in them. There seems to be a general surprise that something so beautiful can contain such a dark and ‘ugly’ emotion. We are led to believe that we should fear the darkness, and, in turn, the darker emotions like anger that exist within ourselves. I can’t help but wonder why. Isn’t it within the purity of darkness that we are all formed? Anger, as far as I am now aware, is the greatest catalyst for growth and a fuel for change. Anger, when harnessed, is the most potent of emotions, and can quickly be transmuted into love. Without the feelings of anger from my childhood, I don’t believe that my creativity would exist in it’s current form.

Nothing has been more cathartic to me than finding my own way to express these emotions through creativity, therefore, revealing a more pure, whole, and authentic version of myself to the world. In doing so, I have found a light within my own darkness. I have attributed meaning and purpose to my most painful experiences and memories, and, therefore, made peace with them. By accessing my own creativity, my pain has become my power.

I feel with such strength that all of us could benefit from finding our own method to release emotional baggage, particularly the darker emotions that are buried down in the unconscious depths of our psyche. For me, there is no better way to do so than by transmuting them into something beautiful that adds value to the world; be it via a photograph, book, video, poem, dance, song, or any other method that you care to imagine.

When we increase our own awareness of our abilities to imagine, to seek inspiration, and to create, we can break down the barriers and move beyond the limiting beliefs that we have chosen to adopt throughout our lives so far. By doing so, we regain control of our own destiny, take over the helm and decide which port we are sailing towards.

Not only do we create the work itself, but we, in turn, become the creators of ourselves and our own individual futures, as well as the future of our species as a collective. That future is, no doubt, a brighter one, should we all learn how to better navigate our complex emotional landscapes by further understanding and utilising the power of creativity to dance with our own demons underneath the moonlight and tame our own darkness with light.

The Art of Curiosity

Life as I know it could be entirely different right now if it wasn’t for one simple act of curiosity; of listening to an impulsive thought that came from beyond the ego.

It came back on a morning in the summer of 2018. A friend of mine had asked me to go out to visit one of our local beauty spots; a waterfall called Pistyll Rhaeadr set in the heart of the Berwyn mountains here in mid Wales.

I was going through a stage of transition in my life; the end of a relationship had created a domino effect of change. I changed my job, began coaching an Under 16’s football team for the first time, made new friends, and committed to transforming my body and mindset through long and arduous gym workouts.

My new path was clear; I would become a bodybuilder and personal trainer and spend the rest of my life teaching others what I had learnt. That was until I walked past my sister’s bedroom that morning and caught sight of something glistening on her shelf.

I had spent the last 18 months posting photographs and videos of myself in the gym to the Internet. I would share my dumbbell presses, squats and before vs after photographs; me at 19 years of age weighing 8 and a half stone vs me at 26 years of age weighing 12 and a half stone. The art of bodybuilding had me feeling curious about the human body; our potential for growth, change and transformation.

Through the bodybuilding process, I learnt the power of discipline, grit, resilience, and, most importantly, of listening to the voice that exists inside of all of us, behind our egos; the voice that Carl Jung would call ‘The Self’. There was something beyond ‘me’ that was pulling me to post these photographs and videos to the Internet. The same thing pulled me towards the glistening object that was sitting on my sisters shelf that morning. That object was a camera.

As far as I remember, I’ve had a mindset that has been focused on growth and improvement. When I was a child and into my teens, I would spend most of my days playing computer games. I became obsessed with role-player games, and the idea that I could level up the characters that I had adopted in-game. I carried this mentality into my adulthood, albeit, at times, it lay dormant. My ventures into the gym brought it back to life and I remember thinking that the camera would be the perfect tool to level up the photographs that I was taking to tell the story of my transformation.

Little did I know at the time that answering the call of curiosity inside of me, and picking up that camera would change the course of my life forever.

On that first visit to Pistyll Rhaeadr, I encountered plenty of what Steven Pressfield, in his book ‘The War of Art’, calls ‘resistance’. As with all of us, I have my fair share of demons trying to hold me back; one of which comes in the form of a step father who would abuse me whenever I expressed my feelings or emotions. Photography would never have been encouraged by such a man when I was young, so there was always this idea that it wasn’t the kind of thing that a ‘man’ did in this world. I’d also never worked a camera before, I had nobody to show me how to use it, and no manual to guide me either. All of the settings were foreign to me, and it would have been easy for me to give up trying to figure out the formula for a successful photograph, but ever since I was young, I had a knack of picking things up and making them work.

With the camera set in its’ ‘manual’ mode, I went about pointing it at everything; indoor plants, my friends tuna sandwich from the café at Pistyll Rhaeadr, my friend himself, and the waterfall. I also did what every ‘Instagrammer’ would do and took a photograph of my feet dangling over the edge of the 240ft drop.

It wasn’t until I got home that night, that I realised most of my mistakes. The photograph of my feet was out of focus, and most of the others were completely black or white because I didn’t understand how to make use of different shutter speeds.

I put one toe into the Internet rabbit hole by asking the simple question, ‘how can I take better photographs’. A huge rabbit came and pulled me under. I haven’t been able to escape since.

‘The more you know, the more you know you don’t know.’ 

— Aristotle

My personal trainer studies were placed on hold because I couldn’t resist the urge to go out into the world to put what I’d learnt into practice. One adventure outdoors would lead to ten questions, each one of them to ten more. What initially started out as me learning about how to work the camera led to me learning about the landscape that I found myself in. Learning about the landscape posed new questions about myself.

The camera quickly became a tool for self study and a vehicle to share what I was learning with the world.

Five years on, and I am here. I don’t know exactly where that is in comparison to where that may have been, had I ignored that little urge inside of myself to pick up the camera back then.

I guess that the inner voice is something that we all ought to try to tune into a little more often. I believe that it speaks to us in the form of our emotions and feelings. I retreat to nature so often to get a better idea of what it is trying to tell me. If we listen to society, perhaps we may find ourselves being discouraged from doing so. Humans are natural conformists. We tend to walk in the direction of the crowd, through fear of being rejected from the tribe, or worse, being made fun of for being ‘different’. We crave acceptance. The child that puts his/ her hand up to often in school is often shamed for asking too many questions by the ‘cool kids’ who want to hurry up and get out of the class to go and play.

Humans are also naturally curious. We all want to understand things, learn about new topics and acquire new skills. I remember picking encyclopaedias up off the shelf at the age of three or four years old and scanning them cover to cover to learn about this world and everything within it. I often wonder, at what age did I begin to lose my curiosity? Well, I guess that the emotional abuse that I received from my stepfather didn’t help. He was a man who never could accept me as I was and tried to mould me into something else. I also remember receiving some criticism from a friend in school when I sang a song, and so I stopped because I believed more in what he said than what was on my own heart.

Curiosity is something that needs to be nurtured and trained, like a muscle. It is particularly important that we encourage it in children. Leonardo Da Vinci, a man known for his multitude of talents that stretched far beyond the artwork that most people know him for, would use his journal to nurture his own curiosity; regularly sketching, drawing, recording observations that he made on the street that day, and asking himself all sorts of questions that he would then go on to answer. He famously prompted himself to ‘describe the tongue of a woodpecker’, before proceeding to dissect a woodpecker later on in his life to scratch his own curious itch.

Exercising my own curiosity muscle as an adult has led me to some of the most beautiful places that Wales has to offer. I found the location of ‘Eden’ by stepping foot off a dusty track that appeared to have been walked by herds of sheep for centuries and into an overgrown and, as far as I know, unknown paradise.

“The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing. One cannot help but be in awe when one contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvellous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries to comprehend only a little of this mystery every day.”

— Albert Einstein

Training curiosity requires discipline, and we can all find our own ways to exercise it. I find myself intentionally practicing being curious throughout my days now. I believe that my photographs of tomorrow are a result of what I subject my mind to today. I want to learn about the world, and the people within it; therefore I make a point of finding out about all kinds of weird and wonderful topics, and I’ve trained myself to find out more about people, too. I was once a kid who hid from the world behind his mother when out in public, but I make sure that I do all I can to be the opposite of that child now because I’ve seen how important it is to learn about everything and anything.

Thankfully, I picked up a dumbbell a few years ago out of curiosity, transformed my physique, and developed self-confidence and self-belief. This led me to pick up a camera and gave me the confidence to release my work into the world. Now I feel that the same force is pulling me to write.

Resistance still regularly tells me to ‘stop! Because you don’t know who is watching and judging.’ But, I was always curious to see where this path might lead. Now I am here, and I don’t ever want to go back. I just want to see what’s waiting for me around the next corner.

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