[KELP JOURNAL] Patricia! These photos are so beautiful and they all have such a sense of place but also this sense of … the best that I can describe it is a sense of looking, like mediating on place and moment. Was that something intentional that you were trying to capture?
[PATRICIA CANNON] Thank you so much! Some pictures are taken with intention, while others are inspired by a visceral response to the scene. The photo of the window at Fort Point was intentional. I wanted to convey the feeling of the past intersecting with the present. I reflected on how many people had walked by that same window, some of whom were no longer with us—their lives were fleeting glimpses of passersby. Lately, the transience of life feels more poignant than ever because my dear friend of 45 years, Marsha, suffered a massive stroke. Soon, she will fade from my view and pass by my "frame" when she dies, but the memories of our enduring friendship will remain with me. The photo “Ocean in the Sky for Renae" came to me when I looked up at the sky and felt inspired to take a picture. Later, while editing it, I noticed an ocean in the clouds that reminded me of my friend Renae, who loves the ocean. I often dedicate photos to different friends and to my cousin, Jo, because I see connections in them. In Renae's case, she embodies deep loyalty, whether to her faith, family, or friends. In a sense, the ocean is also loyal; it is a constant presence in our lives.
[KJ] You use perspective as a key element of these photos whether that’s looking up, looking through, or looking from a distance. It seems like that would be a hard element to capture, the correct perspective. When I was learning photography, my teacher had us take many photos and then we would edit them down, choosing to develop only the best ones. Do you do a similar process when you are shooting or do you get it right on the first try?
[PC] Thank you! It sounds like you had very supportive teachers. I only began taking photography seriously a couple of years ago. Many of my photos were taken in auto mode, and I relied on editing tools to refine them according to my growing creative vision. I rarely captured the shot perfectly on the first try! When some of my photographs started gaining attention, I was thrilled but realized I needed more than intuition to improve. This realization prompted me to seek formal training, so I recently enrolled in a photography class at Stanford taught by Joel Stewart Simon and John Lambert. Their expertise and kindness have greatly encouraged me to learn more about the craft.
[KJ] There is such a feeling of scaredness about these pictures. I think its interesting that they create a feeling of intimacy despite being landscapes. And that made me wonder what drew you to photography? What is your origin story so to speak?
[PC] I started writing poetry as a means of exploring spirituality and as a way of facing deep psychological and emotional pain. The first poems I ever wrote were published in the 33 Review, edited by Nancy Keane. This particular publication had some women poets known to have been involved with the cultural phenomenon of the Beat Generation, such as Jan Kerouac, Ruth Weiss, and Diana DiPrima. However, I later realized that photography possesses a profound, wordless power. I remember looking at a few images that made me burst into tears. Those pictures acted as a key that unlocked a door in my mind—a door that lies beyond words.
[KJ] I know that you have a day job in the medical field and have previously worked as an RN in specialty units like cardiac care or the ICU. Do you feel like photography and the arts give you an outlet from the pressures of your day job?
[PC] Absolutely. On my lunch break I often walk around the streets of San Francisco, take pictures, and then come back and feel ready to continue my shift with patients.
[KJ] I used to work for a literary magazine, Please See Me, that features health-related stories and narratives in order to elevate the voices and stories of vulnerable populations and those who care for them. I saw firsthand how the stories and media there changed perspectives and opened minds, and I was wondering what your take as an artist and an RN is on arts is as a vehicle to foster empathy and understanding.
[PC] Indeed. I want to share one such experience. I documented it first for the National Women’s History Museum, and then it appeared in other forms elsewhere.
The Homeless Man and the Baby Shoe or Two Mothers
During my afternoon walk, I see a homeless man in what appears to be a deep slumber, most likely induced by some addictive substance. His white T-shirt is pulled halfway up his chest, revealing a black circle made of a permanent marker on the side of his lower back. I realize that he must have been in the hospital, and one of the doctors noticed a rash, so they circled the area to monitor for shingles.
I feel as if I’m walking by a crime scene, like the two “religious people” who passed by the injured man in Jesus’ parable about the “Good Samaritan.” I check that he’s breathing by observing his chest rise and fall before I continue down the street. Guilt and helplessness weigh heavy upon my shoulders as I turn the corner. Then, I find a little blue-knit baby shoe on the ground.
A man waiting at a bus stop glances at my scrubs and says through his mask, “Thank you for your service.” I meet his eyes and thank him for his sentiments. His kind words are still fresh in my mind as I return to work, but I can’t help but think of how I stepped around that man without shelter. His body lay sprawled on the cement. I wonder what led him to such a solitary and desperate place. I also think of two mothers: One who lost a shoe and the other who lost her son.
Patricia Cannon has been a Registered Nurse at UCSF since 2001. She has worked in cardiac critical care, neuro intensive care, hemeoncology, school nursing, and currently, in research. Her passion is her faith, photography, and the written word in all its forms.