Amy Friend studied photography at York University in Toronto, and then received her MFA at the University of Windsor. This is where she learned the rules of photography—and then she learned to break them. Her work is quite unconventional, and, clearly, she loves exploring photography in new and different ways. Her series Daré alla Lucé (select pieces shown here) are deliberate interventions—vintage images that she pierced, allowing light to pass through. (After all, photographs are made possible with light.) She then re-photographed them with the light streaming through—like a thousand stars twinkling back at the viewer. In a literal and somewhat playful manner, she aimed to give the photographs back to the light, hence the title of the series, which is an Italian phrase that literally means “to give to the light,” used to describe the moment of birth. Beautiful.
JC—When did you know that you were an artist?
AF—I think I had this moment a few times in my life, and it held specific significance each time I recognized that “moment.” When I was eleven, I was obsessed with mermaids (slightly embarrassing to admit now), but I drew them over and over. One day I decided to paint them in watercolor and had a “preteen” breakthrough. I painted a mermaid holding her bloody heart above the water (again embarrassing). That felt like my first “real” piece of art. In fact, I think I still have it.
JC—Why have you chosen this artistic path?
AF—It may sound clichéd but I don’t think I had much of a choice. Being an artist chose me. I always gravitated toward the arts. There is a level of infiniteness to the arts that always impressed me—the possibilities are endless, and I love that. I also want people to have those “chills” when they experience art that resonates for them. Hopefully, my work will do that one day!
The arts are also in my blood; my Nonno [grandfather] was a creative fella, building an incredibly odd and wonderful round house that I spent many years in. He invented new ways to build all sorts of things.
JC—If you were feeling blocked, what kind of advice do you think your Nonno might give you?
AF—He would say just try, try, try, and work, work, work, and work some more. My Nonno was a workaholic who loved “doing.”
JC—And so how do you push through creative blocks?
AF—When I have my creative blocks, I try to accept them as “break time.” I step back and get to the basics, back to what I love and what continues to grab my attention. These “empty times,” as I call them, are invaluable. To me they are a time to clean the slate and relook at all the things I have interest in. Which road I take will open itself. I love the journey of this process.
JC—Which artist(s) are you most jealous of, and why?
AF—Well, this could potentially be a huge list.
There are many artists I am jealous of, but more often I am struck by a specific piece of work. I remember being in Paris and encountering Giuseppe Penone’s work To Breathe the Shadow, at the Centre Pompidou. The large room’s walls were lined with bay leaves in wire cages. They cocooned the space and softened the sounds. The scent from the leaves was incredibly acrid; it took your breath away. At the center of one wall was a small pair of brass lungs. It was an incredible piece, as it stimulated your senses and established an atmosphere of hushed reverence.
While I do not envy the suffering Frida Kahlo endured, I greatly admire her tenacity, passion, talent, and verve for life! I love the visceral quality of her work. It breathes! Sally Mann is also close to the top of my list. She has been a force in contemporary photography for many years and, in my opinion, maintained a steadfast approach to her image-making. Her work is personal, universal, and utterly haunting.
JC—How do you find inspiration?
AF—I am a bit of a scavenger, a magpie if you wish; I love the scraps left over from memory and our personal histories, our stories, and the artifacts of life.
JC—Have you discovered the best place to find those “scraps of memory”?
AF—Yes—vintage shops, antique stores, attics, people’s stories, and, most importantly, all that is mysterious . . . all that shines in the dark a little.
JC—Would you ever toss out one of your photographs?
AF—I would toss it, no, keep it, no, toss it. Sometimes both.
JC—Do you ever feel overwhelmed by being a creative person?
AF—Yes, there are times when art overwhelms my life. It invades my thoughts and my sleep. A part of me loves this, while it can be stifling when you hit roadblocks. I remind myself that there are ups and downs with anything. There are moments of success and failure. You keep your eye on your goals and once in a while allow yourself a break. Remove yourself from self-induced stress.
JC—How do you handle criticism?
AF—I would love to say I handle it perfectly, but there are times when it is discouraging. After I “lick my wounds” I move on and regard it as a challenge. This pushes me and makes me take a second look at my work, my processes, and my results. This can be a blessing; as an artist you are often working alone with little feedback, so any feedback can be taken and used as a stimulus.
JC—Is your inner critic a friend or foe?
AF—Maybe I am lucky, but I love my inner critic. I became friends over the years with this spunky little voice. It keeps me in check, even though we argue once in a while (I usually win).
There is a level of infiniteness to the arts that always impressed me—the possibilities are endless, and I love that.
I love my inner critic. I became friends over the years with this spunky little voice. It keeps me in check, even though we argue once in a while (I usually win).
