Seeing the Southern Lights
EJ Hassan on photographing the Aurora Borealis
“It is the responsibility of artists to pay attention to the world, pleasant or otherwise, and to help us live respectfully in it.” Robert Adams
Like many of you, I was delighted to hear about the Aurora Borealis last weekend. I’d just flown home from a week-long trip in Philadelphia, so we spent Friday night vegging out and watching television. I was beat, and Kristen and I turned in before ten o’clock. Since I’m connected to so many photographers, I started seeing images from around the world appear in my Instagram timeline when I woke up on Saturday morning. I was immediately kicking myself for having missed the Northern Lights. But I was happy, too, because it always tickles me to see communal creativity on display like this.
I invited the folks in the FlakPhoto HQ channel to share their Northern Lights pictures and was charmed by the snapshots EJ Hassan sent on Saturday. I asked if we could show them in the newsletter and if she would tell me more about the pictures and her work. She emailed on Sunday with a touching note about what inspired her photographs, and, to be honest, she caught me by surprise.
Photography contains multitudes, and there is frequently more than meets the eye. EJ graciously agreed to publish her story here, and I know many of you will appreciate her sentiments. I’ll let her take it from here.
Hey, Andy, I appreciate your interest in my photography. It means so much to have others like yourself connect with something I have captured in an image. I love your newsletter and love seeing what captures your eye and heart.
Saturday night here in Melbourne, Australia, was extraordinary. It was special because we witnessed this remarkable phenomenon, Aurora Australis, in the sky. After a friend sent me a message, I quickly piled my family into the car, knowing I would be in awe seeing this. I immediately knew we needed this etched into our Mother’s Day memories forever.
You see, I was diagnosed with early onset stage IV bowel cancer last November at just 41 years of age. It was a shock, and it has been a brutal six months of treatment and a lot of unknowns. I was in perfectly good health and had no family history. Reading my caption along with these photos on my Instagram might help make a little more sense having this context. Those touched by cancer, either personally or by someone close to them, will know what a Stage IV diagnosis and prognosis means. It's a scary and challenging conversation, and we are still navigating with 14-year-old twin boys. Life becomes very fragile; there are big, vulnerable emotions and a sense of living life just for now.
For the past six months, I have been searching high and low for signs, signs that there is something greater happening in the invisible layers we live and breathe in this very confusing world, and there have been many, many that have gotten me through some of the hardest days I could have imagined but am sadly living. I told my husband I wanted our Mother's Day weekend to be memorable for my boys this year. We went on a star-gazing adventure with my sister and her husband. It was unforgettable — a magical feast of colors in our sky! Our world and universe are etched in our hearts forever.
I have been a photographer forever but decided to pursue it seriously in the last five years. I returned to university, studied photography, and decided art would be my focus. Since my diagnosis, I have had to stop working — but not the art. I’m intuitive in my approach, attracted to the process, and celebrate imperfections and experimentation. Photography has become necessary; it has always been about how I see and experience the world, a chance to learn something new and gain a different perspective.
Now, it is a much-needed escape, a way to connect with the natural world, collaborate with those who see the world and photography in a multi-layered and deep experience, and most importantly, a way for me to make sure memories and legacies are made for my sons, husband, sisters, mother and those who share in their own experience of loss, grief, love, and hope. This means piling into the car close to midnight the night before Mother's Day because I want these pictures to mean more than just the photograph; I want my sons to feel and remember those moments of us looking into the sky together every single Mother's Day.
Thank you again, Andy. I hope these words are okay. This connection with you tonight has finished off a beautiful weekend of meaningful memories, ones that have taken my attention away from the physical and emotional effects of cancer and treatment. I am forever grateful.
Thank you, EJ, for being so open and generous with your experience. What a beautiful point of view. Art really can help.
I experienced something similar twenty years ago when I was 26 years old, a months-long cancer experience. That summer, I started dabbling on the internet and learned how to blog. Not long after, I launched FlakPhoto. The two are intertwined.
Everyone is different, but I think I can identify with EJ in some ways. I always say photography is good for you. Her story is inspiring because it reminds us to focus on putting art-making at the center of life's challenges. It’s a practice we can share with the people we love.
I hope you appreciated EJ’s story as much as I did. If it moved you, please leave us a comment. I know she would love to hear from you.
About the photographer
EJ Hassan is based in Naarm (Melbourne), Australia. She lives and works on the land of the Bunurong/Boonwurrung people and brings over two decades of teaching experience to her exploration of identity, memory, and the complexities of womanhood, motherhood, and youth.
Through her lens, EJ delves into themes of lineage, legacy, and diverse perspectives, intricately intertwining personal and collective histories. Her work captures intimate moments and relational encounters with compassion and empathy, reflecting on the enduring impact of history and heritage while celebrating the richness of human perceptions and understanding of the world.
Collaborative in her approach, she draws inspiration from lived experiences and fosters mutual respect with her subjects. Her art bridges disparate vantages, highlighting the beauty of embracing multiplicity and the profound impact of individual and collective narratives on shaping our shared humanity.
EJ reminded me that all we have is the present moment and that photography is a way to connect with our awareness and the people we love. She emailed again today:
Photography has always been about the process for me, way before cancer. Now, it is heightened in a new way because overthinking is ultimately removed when dealing with such a harsh reality of illness, death, family, and children. Of course, I want a beautiful and thoughtful photograph at the end. Still, I want something more out of this, especially when sharing an image with the world — the relational encounter is of utmost importance, along with creating memories and a legacy. These are all closely tied to what I photograph, and the threads are throughout my work.
I would love more people to read her story and see her photography. Please share this post if it resonates with you. Take care of yourselves, friends. Be well.
I cried. Now I’m praying for EJ and Andy both. God sees us. He’s the Ultimate Creator whose art is above all others. Just look at the lights in the sky—even they praise His majesty and show his glory.
Thanks for your openness about your story and process. Your authenticity is inspiring.