I left the studio with a voice in my head saying,

“Don’t act so surprised. Things always turn out different than you think they will.”

For all the ways I lack this ability in my personal life, I picked up a vital lesson in creativity through photography: let go.

It sounds so stupid when I write it out, but it’s how I feel.

Photography taught me that no matter how you plan, or produce, organize, or draw out the images, there will inevitably be a moment that arrives when what you’re looking at is more different, exciting, and newer than you could have ever imagined, and suddenly you’re

H I G H.

You want to chase the feeling so you plan another project. Book another job. “I’ll do it for less,” you say, just to feel like you’re making something again. To get another rush of surprise.

You train your body and eyes to be ready for the unexpected, because the times you missed it still haunt you.

Fear dissolves more and more each time you show up and practice expecting something unexpected. And you learn that the more open to it you can be, the greater the high.

But obviously, to tell yourself, “stop thinking about it” never works.

So you think about how to trick yourself into not thinking. Turn on a podcast, a song, open the window. Do dishes. Stare for a long time. But you’re still thinking, and time is running out, so you’d better start making something.

And so you start, even though your mind hasn’t let go, but you tell yourself, “It’s okay. I’m going to do this anyway.” And because having a plan and knowing it will fail have always been trying to stop you from starting, once you start, they lose.

And simply by starting, the doubts become quiet. So quiet, in fact, that you realize all it took was to just start painting.

This hope evolved after submitting a short film treatment to the SC Indie Film Grant (2025). The story I’d written as a screenplay had found its way out during a season of utter boredom and slight depression. I was down on work, the business I was running with my husband was flailing, and there wasn’t an end in sight. I wrote to give myself something to do. What came out was nine pages of script for a short film I titled “Youth Group.” Undeniably, another hope formed that the following steps would happen exactly:

1. Be awarded 45k from the grant process and begin production for “Youth Group” (short).

2. Make the short film.

3. Submit to festivals.

4. Get into the festival circuit, create buzz.

5. Gain the recognition of multiple production companies.

6. Start the bidding process for a feature-length film with my “proof of concept” short film.

7. Write the feature-length version while finding funding and tee-ing up a production company (chill).

8. Secure a production company and funding within 1 year of the short film release.

9. Begin production for the feature.

10. Make the feature film.

11. Star on The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon.

None of those happened. I didn’t make it to step 1.

But I wrote something, and I have enough self-worth to say that something is more than nothing.

I left it alone. I figured I’d pick up the screenplay again, but I’d built up so much expectation on the way I thought it’d all play out that when I didn’t win the grant funds, I needed a break.

We moved to Brooklyn.

My husband and I moved to seek new work + better opportunities. We’d reached a personal + occupational ceiling in Charleston, SC, and once that became obvious to us, we both knew it was time to leave. We had to find a higher ceiling, or better yet, an open-air space.

He found a job right off the bat, which thankfully put us in a position where, if it took a couple of months for me to find something steady, we would still be able to make ends meet. I still need to find something, but we are okay for the time being.

With my accidental downtime, I went searching. I’m still searching. I’m writing and drawing. I picked up paints and canvas stretcher bars from the art supply store the other day. I’m not a “painter,” but when I think about the things I’m writing in my journal, paintings come to mind. Not paintings I’ve seen, but paintings I want to make. And when I think about these paintings, I see tiny churches with doors engulfed in flames. Themes from the screenplay, “Youth Group,” are there. Bits and pieces of that story are kicking around in my mind and taking on new form. They haven’t fully escaped yet, but they want to.

After watching a stand-up routine on YouTube one evening, I jotted down a bit about Jesus being the kind of guy who would host a party and forget to order the pizza. Another idea Youth Group dances with: Jesus being someone who comes across as more narcissistic than Christ-like.

I’ve never been inclined to street photography, but all of a sudden, I’m finding myself in the city that made street photography what it is, and I’m walking 10, 12, 14 miles to make a photo that interests me. Then, when I see the images I’ve made, the themes that stand out are people with hands raised like they’re praising something, other people bearing gifts of food like the Magi, humans touching like they’re laying hands on one another… It’s Youth Group, again.

There are stories we mean to tell, and the ones we don’t, but they come out anyway. Those are the ones that fascinate me. They’re the kind of thing one typically finds over-illustrated in a retrospective of an artist’s life…

“On the surface, he painted the strife and toils of the working man, but in reality, he painted about the pains of his childhood” (Philip Guston).

Or…

“As the daughter of a wealthy Jewish department store owner, it’s hard to ignore the yearning and near kinship Diane Arbus felt towards the ‘freaks’ she photographed.”

It gets tricky when an artist knows their theme, and they become it. A whole life can be spent trying to discover a new theme or dodging the instinct to fall back on “what works.”

Themes are obviously a reflection of oneself in the art-making (+ writing) process. I distinctly recall a time in college when I noticed a theme and stopped working on the project altogether. The theme was disbelief in God. I didn’t put the pieces together at the time. The threat that information posed to my entire life’s structure was too much. When I think back on that project, and my reaction to it, I can understand why any in-depth self-reflection could be cause for someone to abandon their art practice altogether.

Coincidentally, that project I began in college was the last time I felt like I’d actually made something. I’ve spent years as a photographer, documenting stories through my “lens,” albeit not creating them. That is, until “Youth Group” happened. For the first time in forever, I’m creating again.

About two weeks after moving to Brooklyn, I spotted a sign posted on a building in our neighborhood advertising a free co-working residency to accepted applicants. I applied with the treatment and screenplay I made for “Youth Group” and got accepted. It wasn’t a loss after all.

I began the residency today with the title of this essay at the top of my mind. For the following 4 months, I hope to discover the ways this story will find its way out, and I am grateful to anyone who cares to join me. One thing’s for sure, it’ll happen, by any means necessary.

I fell in love with your neck, the Adam’s apple in the center. Your guitar fingers. And your ankles, that stuck out of green/grey Old Skool vans.

Those were also the parts of you that were completely within limits.

We shared the same taste in music. We quoted the same movies. Within the days that followed the retreat, we called ourselves “boyfriend and girlfriend.”

I sat on the edge of your bed - with the door wide open - and watched you play Jack Johnson on the guitar. I then understood the pastor’s frantic handwaving over “thinking lustful thoughts.” I could see where this was going, and I wanted to go there. “God, someone shut the door,” I prayed.

Jack Johnson, Fleet Foxes, Bon Iver, Band of Horses, M. Ward, Gregory Alan Isakov, Sufjan Stevens, Alex Knost’s tangential surf rock band, Japanese Motors. Blind Pilot, Andrew Bird, Noah and the Whale, “Death Cab,” Iron & Wine, and Explosions in the Sky were the soundtrack to our romantic obsession.

We made “mixed tapes” - playlists burned on CDs with song titles like grEeen_eyez.mp3 ripped from yt2mp3 websites that filled our parents’ computers with viruses. We listened to the CDs on long drives to Edisto, Caw Caw, and Awendaw. Places that don’t sound real, but are wetland-laden, dripping with Spanish moss, types of places. And romantic as fuck. At sixteen and seventeen, we were the same age, pushed up against the same backdrops as Noah and Allie in The Notebook, who we jealously watched fighting, kissing, and making love onscreen.

Meanwhile, we were committing to “Love Dares,” wearing purity rings, and signing contracts doled out by our youth group to pledge our purity until marriage.

Nonetheless, we drove. But the thing with driving is there’s parking. And truthfully, we drove so that we could park.

Parked, behind the steaming windows of your car, we said, “I love you.”

“Youth Group” is an ongoing essay series written by Lizzy Rollins, inspired by her personal stories.

I had no prior coffee experience, and I was nineteen and a half, which meant I was a year and a half shy of being able to legally pour beer in South Carolina. And according to their heavily Christian bartending/barista team, I was also a year and a half shy of being allowed to drink said beer.

My zero amount of espresso experience made me more of a liability behind the bar than an asset, but I’d made cookies, so I got the job.

The Christian part of the job was admittedly a selling point when I applied. At the time, I was interested in growing my faith amongst fellow God-fearing folks in flannel shirts, while earning my portion of the rent. Life was good. The way I saw it, though I never would’ve admitted this at the time, was that this side of the bar was going to heaven, and that side of the bar was not. But the people on that side of the bar didn’t know it yet. So as I passed a toasted sun-dried tomato bagel with cream cheese across the pick-up counter, I’d gaze into the receiving person’s eyes, hoping they saw the glow of the supernatural inside of me, and ask,

“Hey, what is that?”

To which I would reply, “Oh, that?” Pointing to my cerebral dome. “That’s life everlasting. Want to know more?”

Luckily, that dialogue never happened. If it had, I think the devil would have gone to all of their favorite bars and restaurants and notified the staff to never let me inside. “She’s just gonna kill the vibe,” they’d say. But since I never got the opportunity to embarrass myself by “witnessing” to someone at a coffee shop, I’ve since been allowed on the premises of places where sin abounds, and it’s delightful.

Shortly after I joined the coffee crusade, one of their own very seriously informed me that he thought we should date. He was interested in studying the art of loving life and being silly. He’d graciously observed my aptitude in these two fields and, in so few words, wanted to draw from my life source. As we sat in the front yard of the house he shared with six other Christian guys (a chill monastery, of sorts), I responded, “Sure.” And just like that, we were Christian dating.

Christian dating is safeguarded by an army of angels watching your every move. The notion that pretty much everything you do could turn into sex isn’t different from regular dating, but for the Christian couple, the stakes are much higher: disappointing an Almighty God.

So it’s better if the two of you are in public, sexless places at all times.

The second-safest activity two Christians can engage in while dating is to go to the grocery store (the first is to go to church together, but then you have six other days to figure out what the hell to do). A tandem grocery visit allows the individuals to exercise both curiosity and control over the other person. Two highly Christian objectives. Amidst the aisles of the Harris Teeter, he educated me on the most cost-effective and health-beneficial meals one could buy. A standout purchase was one 1-lb bag of whole raw carrots + one jar of crunchy peanut butter. Maximum protein for under $3.50. Meanwhile, I impressed him with my bird-like diet. A bag of raw almonds to last me three weeks. Dates, yogurt, ground flax seeds, Ezekiel bread, and a jar of crunchy peanut butter, just like him. In addition to our love of peanut butter, we were of one mind that one could hear the voice of God more distinctly through the echoes of an empty stomach.

Back at the coffee shop, our boss sat us down and informed us that he would not be scheduling the two of us to work together, since we were dating. He’d personally seen the negative effects of working alongside a romantic interest, and didn’t want to impose the same damage on us. If he hadn’t taken responsibility for the health of our relationship, we might’ve seen the sickly signs a lot sooner. But with opposite schedules, we took Sundays off, went to church together, then the grocery store, and shared the occasional sandwich at his parents’ house. We hardly got to know each other, yet we were Christian dating, which meant we talked about getting married one day.

Once, after a few months of courtship, on a rare scheduling mishap, we closed the coffee shop together. While I swept and mopped, he counted the till. As anyone who has worked in the service industry knows, one of the unspoken rules is that the person who engages in more labor gets priority over the AUX. So as I mopped, I cued up R. Kelly over the speakers (forgive me, blame it on my aforementioned sheltered life, I didn’t know) and started on the bathrooms. As I moved around the room, I faked making love to the mop handle while “Ignition” played on the speakers. Mid “beep-beep,” the song cut off, and I saw my boyfriend bent over the bar counter with my iPod in his hands and his head buried in his arms.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. Oblivious to what could be ailing him.

“Lizzy…” He pauses long and hard for me to feel the weight of what he’s about to say.

“Men spend their whole human existence trying to rid themselves of these sorts of impure thoughts. How could you play a song like that? And sing along… like it’s nothing?”

Me: Embarrassed. Confused.

Was he hiding something behind the bar? Was what he hiding my fault?

The man in the song seemed to be so proud of himself… far from the shame-filled men my boyfriend was referring to. Here he was telling me it wasn’t my poor music taste that was to blame, but the creation of a lustful scene? It was a good song! I was having fun! Clearly, from that point on, all fun would have to stop.

Fast forward several months after many long car talks that ended with me apologizing for I-don’t-know-what, returning to my twin bed alone and completely deflated, and thinking, “Am I that broken?” Being broken is the entire plot point of the bible. I knew I was a sinner from birth, but I’d asked for forgiveness. I’d been saved. So why was my desire to live with the fullness of a near-death survivor being reprimanded? I must have untapped dark motives that even Jesus couldn’t see, and somehow my boyfriend can, and he’s steering me straight to pure, bona fide holiness. One 1-lb bag of raw carrots at a time.

We broke up. The final straw was pulled on a shopping trip with my mom. I picked out a dress to wear on my 21st birthday. It was strapless, with hot pink embroidery over a cream colored cotton that fell in an A-line poof and landed just below the knee. I tried it on, loved it, and then set it back on the rack. As we walked out of the store, I told my mom I couldn’t buy the dress because my boyfriend wouldn’t like it. It showed too much skin.

She stopped me in my tracks, and I knew what she meant. It was time to throw off the wet blanket I was freezing under and toss it out. I promised to break up with him the next day when I went in for my shift at the coffee shop. We’d been dating for almost 18 months, and I have no recollection of talking on the phone with him that night, if that helps paint a picture of how distant we were.

I knew he was opening the shop the following morning, so as I would be getting to work, he’d be wrapping up, and we’d cross paths. Then I’d tell him it was over, plus a few other thoughts I marinated on that night.

As planned, I rolled my bike into the courtyard as he was tossing his messenger bag over his shoulder. I stood by as he changed from closed-toed shoes into well-worn Chacos, and I asked him if he had a minute to chat before going home to finish the Book of Job for the 7th time.

Our break-up conversation inspired a short film I made last year.

I’ve never felt lighter than the bike ride home after that shift. I quit the coffee shop to go searching for a different version of myself in Costa Rica, only to find out that I’m the same in another country, just with a fuller tan. I started eating full meals again. I never went back and got the dress. I turned 21 with little show, but it was a good year. My love of life returned, and this time it was all mine.

When Chris and I starting planning a recent trip to Paris, I began going through a photographer’s thought-exercise of: “Which camera do I bring…?”

One past trip, I went so far as to bring the mammoth that is the Pentax 67…

Following that experience I resolved not to bring that particular camera again unless it was for a specific job that was suited for it. Because, nothing says “decisive moment” like lugging a 12lb box of metal and glass around a cobblestone city, only to fire a shutter that sounds like a cannon. In short: not the vibe.

In times past, we brought along classic SLR cameras like the Pentax k1000, which we dropped in the airport on the return home in 2019 and the metal that surrounds the lens still has a dent in it. Don’t worry, it still works.

We’ve also loved and (used the sh** out of) two Olympus Stylus’. Both lived for about 2.5 years before giving up their auto-focus-ing.

What I wanted, this time, was SNAPSHOTS. Plus, a camera that felt easy to reach for. Something I could throw in a jacket pocket, and GO.

So, I embarked on an internet search for the camera that I thought might be the right fit. Goldilocks style.

I debated the advantage of having video capabilities with early 2010’s camcorders, or whether to go for the timestamped photos of a Canon Powershot… all seemed fun but ultimately something that would require computer time (file transfer, organization, and editing) to get the final result.

In my search, I came across the Kodak Extar H35N, a half-frame film camera that acts similar to a disposable by always shooting at f/22. The camera produces 72 images per roll of 35mm film (instead of the standard 36 frames per roll), has a flash, and a “sparkle setting” (?). It was inexpensive. I got two, so each of us could carry one during our trip.

We got our film scans back last week, and as it turns out, the half-frame camera was the perfect tool for what we wanted. We made snapshots - moments of the trip that we are now looking back on for their silly, poorly composed, grainy, perfection. I love what we made on this trip. Some accidental art, but mostly just fun memories we get to share forever.

Later this week, I’ll share more of my favorite images on my website, linked here.

Merci beaucoup! Bisous.

With the help of incredible friends, we pulled off a 1-day production, filming on location at Babas on Cannon in Charleston, SC. Here are a few stills from the day + THE FILM, below.

Peter Spearman as “Ryan” beginning his shift, immediately following the break-up.

Ava Lemos as “Sam” wrapping her shift, and her relationship.

Richie Drew on “slate”, everyone!

THE FILM » » » »

Written + Directed by Lizzy Rollins

Filmed by Dries Vandenberg

Sam ..................... Ava Lemos

Ryan ..................... Peter Spearman

Coworker #1 ..................... Paige Nelson

Coworker #2 ..................... Richie Drew

Friend with Coffee #1 ..................... Jacquayle Daily

Friend with Coffee #2 ..................... Adriana Hall

Book Guy ..................... Jason Crain

Journaling Lady ..................... Mariah Bintliff

Water Station Guy ..................... JT Helms

Guy at Bar ..................... Matt Fendley

Guy at Window ..................... Ronald Jenkins

Producer ..................... Zac Crocker

Editor .................... Dries Vandenberg

Assistant Editor .................... Willie Simmons

Location Sound .................... Chris Gant

Gaffer ..................... Justin Moskos

Camera Assist ..................... Ryan Belk

Grip ..................... Brandon Geer

PA ..................... Grey Arnau

PA ..................... Blake Ratliffe

Filmed on Location at Babas on Cannon in Charleston, SC

Featured Music, "First Day of My Life" by Bright Eyes. Copyright 2005.

THANK YOU EVERYONE.

LFG <3

DRAFTED ON 12/15/2024

POSTED ON 1/09/2025

INTERIOR. DAYTIME TELEVISION STUDIO SET.

Two strikingly similar-looking women sit across from one another in armchairs. A small coffee table sits between them with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter resting on top. They appear to be filming a talk show. The interview begins.

Sound effects, *STUDIO AUDIENCE APPLAUSE*.

INNER CRITIC: “SO! Lizzy! Welcome! It is such a pleasure having you here today, LIVE! (laughs) I mean… Hey, I just want to say you look… you look… GOOD! You look good, and I can tell you put some sort of effort into your appearance today so for that I just want to say, thank you. SO! I mean, should we just get into it??”

LIZZY: “Sure! Why not? Thank you for having me.”

IC: The Critic clasps, and re-clasps their hands in their lap as they talk. “I mean, it’s an honor, truly… You're a hard one to pin down these days! It seems like you rarely post on social media, and BY THE WAY, can I just say: that is what the kids WANT to see! Not to mention you are quite elusive in your creative pursuits. I feel like we don’t really know what exactly it is that you do? But, you call yourself an artist - tell me about that.”

LIZZY:“Absolutely! Well, I think an artist is someone who takes in information from the world around them, and gives it back in some creative form or another - whether it’s music, sculpture, painting, writing, video, etcetera.”

IC: “Interesting. So here sits an artist everyone! I’ll get you to sign this chair before you leave!” The Critic pats the chair Lizzy is sitting in and laughs. “Now, now, we asked you to be here today to get to know YOU better. For starters, you’re a photographer, so how do you feel about being in front of the camera?” Points to the camera recording the interview.

LIZZY: Smiles. “I-I love it!”

IC: “Huh…? So you’re not concerned with coming across as self-absorbed, or calling unnecessary attention to yourself or anything…? Because, whew! Let me just say, that is a HUGE concern of mine.” They laugh awkwardly to themselves and wave at the camera. “I mean I just hate seeming like I’m trying to be the center of attention.”

LIZZY: She scratches a spot on the back of her neck out of habit, to stave off nervousness. “Oh yea, I definitely have those same fears. I actually think it was you who gave them to me!” She lets out a quick nervous laugh. “Um, but I mean, I think we learn self-consciousness - it’s not something we’re born with - and I try not to listen to that voice… YOUR voice, um, although it's tough to shake off sometimes. But, at the end of the day, I honestly don’t think anyone cares all that much what I do or don’t do. Everyone is already pretty preoccupied with themselves that I think people are judging one another far less harshly than we judge ourselves. So I feel like if I try to quiet my inner critic, I already have a lot less to worry about than the next person.

IC: Defensively. “That’s interesting as well… Um, another question we’ve all been dying to know… Who is Bar Rollins?”

LIZZY: “Bar Rollins is all of us!”

IC: “Uh-huh. That doesn’t seem to answer my question. Is it you? Or your husband who owns Bar Rollins.”

LIZZY: “Him. But we share a last name, and a bank account, so… I guess both of us.”

IC: “Strange. Right. NOW! I want to specifically talk about your photographs. To be honest, they kind of look like a child made them. I’m just gonna be honest. They’re sometimes out of focus, or shaky, and I just don’t seem to get why you’re so against taking a sharp image. I mean wouldn’t you say? At this rate, it seems like a child could take the kind of photos you take.”

LIZZY: Stares at the camera, looking for some backup. She’s shocked at the intensity of the question. “I mean… I make images the way I see the world. So I guess if it looks like a child made the image, perhaps that’s not such a bad thing?”

IC: “Yea, but how come you get to get away with it?” The Critic leans in, inquiring.

LIZZY: Sighs deeply, really considering the question. “Phew… I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

IC: “Okay, welp! I guess I stumped you there! Moving on. So, with the wine bar, you must drink a lot of wine.”

LIZZY: Smiles. “Yes, we do.”

IC: “Does that lessen your ability to make “art” as you say?” The Critic uses “rabbit ears” hand gestures for the word art.

LIZZY: “Um, maybe?? But doesn’t everything? We’re all doing things that hinder our creativity, constantly. Wine seems like a harmless way to kill time, and I truly think it’s worthwhile to find pleasure where one can find it, and wine with friends is that for me.”

IC: “Sounds like someone has a problem with alcohol if you ask me!” Locks eyes with the camera and puts a hand against the side of her mouth in a “gossiping” gesture.

LIZZY: Laughs to herself and continues to stare at the Critic, waiting for the next question.

IC: “Well, anyways, despite our misalignments, I am happy to see you out there, doing things” The Critic leans in and pats Lizzy on the knee a little too hard.

LIZZY: “Thank you. I’m glad we did this. Honestly.”

IC: “I really hope you’ll post on social media more often after this. Will you?”

LIZZY: Laughs. “I’ll try.”

IC: Genuinely, pleads: “Please. It’s the only way to reach people these days.”

LIZZY: “Yep.”

IC: Slaps Lizzy on the knee again. “THAT’S the spirit!”

LIZZY: Nodding. “Okay.”

This interview was inspired by The Artist Way by Julia Cameron, this interview with Jeff Kroll, Susan Sontag, and Agnes Varda (pictured at top), and Howardena Pindell.

I’ve been accused of leaving a party too quickly. I’ve missed a number of comedic events where “you just had to be there.” But I love the feeling of leaving right when it gets good. The moment I have the thought, “it can’t get better than this” is my cue to exit.

Making the decision to leave the wedding industry was my act of leaving the party early. Closing Bar Rollins was Chris’.

Leaving a job right as it starts to get good is not a logical decision. Around the time I’d started to gain consistency in bookings and develop a strong personal style, I hit the brakes and jumped the train. When I’ve been asked “why??” people typically assume “it was probably stressful,” or “the couples seem… crazy.” The truth is neither of those things. I didn’t find it stressful, and the couples were great. After 12 years of documenting marriage ceremonies, I knew how to predict moments and prepare for the odd thing(s) that would inevitably happen. And the couples who brought me on to document their day shared a proclivity for randomness and spontaneity that suited my photography style.

Wedding photography teaches it’s students how to be a Director, Camera Operator, Digital Technician, Producer, DP, and Post-Production Editor. Had it not been for an industry that teaches everything, I wouldn’t have found the thing that gave me a reason to leave. I’m leaving to be a commercial photographer + director.

For Chris, it’s different. He’s leaving the party knowing there’s another party down the street that boasts “more space,” “more food,” and “more fun.” We didn’t expect to leave 194 Jackson Street, but when the City of Charleston demands to take back a parking spot in the driveway of your building where you host parties and entertain large boisterous groups, you leave, and take the party with you.

When I say leaving “sucks,” it sucks knowing that I’m going to be bad at something again. It took 12 years to have a pretty good handle wedding photography. It might take the same amount of time to grasp these new pursuits.

I started writing a project this year (2024) that I hope turns into a feature-length film. It might suck. But it’s my attempt to make something good.

Here’s a still from a short film I wrote + directed recently, titled, “Breaking Up at A Café.”

It’s discomforting to have big dreams, and often doubt I would be taking these risks if I didn’t have someone in my corner who challenged me to go for it. I’m extremely grateful to have a partner who goes as hard as I do because there totally exists a parallel universe where one of us is telling the other one, “slow down, kick back, don’t try so hard.” But neither of us are built that way, and we’ve only truly come to discover that in the last 2.5 years. I have more to say on that topic (marriage) that I’ll save for another time.

To conclude, dream big, find people who encourage you, and keep them close. And if you can’t find them, look to TikTok:

@itsmartymiller @itsmartymiller ♬ original sound - Marty Miller

Tiktok failed to load.

Enable 3rd party cookies or use another browser

Chris and I had just gotten married in December 2016. And, partly because I wanted to see what J.Stark was about, partly to supply Chris with a grown-up wallet, I visited the studio where Erik was making his leather goods + bags.

Quick note: in 2017, I was very hungry for photography work. I’d been out of college for 2 years, and was making a meager amount photographing for editorial clients and cleaning houses. By the time Chris and I were paying rent, feeding ourselves, and spending time with friends, we knew we had to make more money in order to continue doing all of those things. I also knew that I wanted to become independent with photography. So, both in an effort to support ourselves, and pursue my creative goals, I set out to find people I could make photos for in Charleston.

In the spring of 2017, Chris was heading out to do his jobs - production at a music venue, oystering, and bartending - and I was sending out cold emails to every person I could think of who might want pictures. For a week I did this. 60 emails all told. Most were left on “read”, some returned with a “we do not have a need for your services at this time”, but two came back with a “yes, let’s make something”.

One of those replies was Erik.

Since we’d already met, and he knew I supported his craft, he was down to work with me. He loaned me two wine totes and I went off to make something with them. Here’s what we got:

Erik loved the images we got. Still, I learned it’s its own thing to come alongside a young business and help them deliver the most immediate need - which isn’t always the glamorous stuff. Erik needed e-commerce imagery for the J.Stark website more than he needed lifestyle photos. So I set aside my big commercial photoshoot ideas, and learned how to photograph J.Stark pieces for e-comm.

We made hundreds of images like these:

At this point, I was still stoked to be the one making these photos. I got to know that my hands played a part in showcasing these products to the world, and that felt very cool. I found other creative outlets with wedding photography and working with a few other local brands, which all kept me thinking + experimenting in the right direction.

And after a couple seasons of making e-comm photos, J.Stark really started to grow! I started to see my friends carry J.Stark bags around, and notice strangers in town with them. All the while I would poke Erik about letting me take the bags out and photograph them in “real-life”.

We set our sights on a date, recruited those aforementioned friends who were rep-ing the bags, and made these photos:

I KNOOOW, we forgot to steam the backdrop (life lesson: always steam the backdrop!)… but REALLY? WHO CARES?! The images are fun to look at.

That shoot got the ball rolling. Once we saw the bags with people, it was easy to imagine a lifestyle photoshoot coming together.

The next vision: Napoleon Dynamite x Pickle-ball. I pitched the idea to Erik and Jess (Jess is Erik’s partner who, by then, was managing the business alongside Erik), and they were down to let me run with it.

My friend Ben styled + cast this shoot with me in February of 2020…

I still love everything about this shoot. We shot it on film. Chris and my friend Janette assisted me on the day-of. Below, my mood board + “treatment”:

I think about this shoot often. How was it so perfect? We just walked onto the neighborhood tennis court on a gentle-kiss-of-cloud-cover day, tossed the bags into the scene, and came away with effortlessly beautiful images.

If I knew exactly how to get there every time, I would.

I shot for the biggest client I’ve ever photographed for 2 months ago, and it took 52 people to make that shoot look beautiful and “authentic”. We did it, but it’s amazing to me, to also carry around the knowledge of the Pickle-ball shoot. For every creative, I feel like there exists that one job - where things come together so magically and effortlessly that you couldn’t recreate it the same way no matter how you tried. These projects give you something to search for amidst the noise of the “big jobs” which is why I’m so grateful to this one for coming together the way it did.

This is PART I of II - continue the J.Stark journey with me in my next post!

I called these moments “points” and logged them in my head throughout the day. They didn’t mean anything, and there was no final score I hoped to achieve. The goal was simply to get them.

If I had to describe them, they could be anything that sparks joy, or are just a bit out of the ordinary. You know a “point” when you see one, but here are a few of my favorite examples.

A runner turning around because they’ve reached their “out + back” point.

A street lamp turning on or off (usually at dusk or dawn).

Hearing someone laugh out loud to themself.

Spotting a truly amazing outfit.

Seeing a stranger helping another stranger.

Hearing an instrument being practiced from inside a home.

Witnessing a double rainbow.

These things run the gamut of moments that make you stop and go “huh” to ones that bring an actual tear to your eye. And for some reason, they matter.

I recently read “Journal of a Solitude” by May Sarton. Her published journal is a record of a year spent alone in a cottage, tucked away from society, gardening and writing poetry. She relishes in her solitude most of the time. Other times, sparks of frustration fly out from feeling too alone. Or, the opposite occurs and she’ll expresses feeling overwhelmed by obligations to the rest of the world like visiting friends, responding to letters from people who admire her work, publicity or speaking events, etc. and not having enough solitude. This sentiment was annoyingly familiar to read. I found myself wanting to shake the writer and tell her to “just go to a bar! hang out with a friend, have someone over for breakfast!”… my annoyance being the result of seeing too much of my shadow self in this woman. Had I not married the most delightful extrovert, my tendencies would be similar: An overly think-y artist who needs to escape to nature, only to find that a chat with a bartender or dinner with a friend was much more necessary.

But then there’s this passage, which she brings up at just the right time, during another journal entry about how lonely and unproductive she is. (I’ve been talking about “observation”, but she uses the word “attention”, and I consider them to mean the same here).

Reading her sort through this thought made me remember that there are plenty of seasons in our lives where the chance to loose yourself, or stop from spinning out might only be accessible through the act of observation. Like how she says “we are aware of God only when we cease to be aware of ourselves”. With or without the connection to a higher power, going about observing diminishes ones placement at the center of the universe - a desperately necessary act. Being at the center of the universe is difficult! At the center, everything depends on you, and whether or not you get this, that, or the other thing done. We’ve got to feel small sometimes.

I love her brief line about laughter too - so serious for something so silly.

And it should be stated - it takes effort to look up, and to laugh! Sometimes it can be dangerous. It might put someone off. I remember talking with our friends L + B after their visit to the Dolomites where they encountered a group of German tourists. The German group stared intensely at our friends for supposedly no other reason than the fact that they were the most interesting thing to look at. (We agreed that these folks must’ve been well traveled because the Dolomites seem way more interesting to observe than two Americans).

Strangely enough, there’s an element of this phenomenon I actually believe to be worthwhile. It’s the part about taking interest in something and rather than looking away for fear of how you’ll be perceived, you just keep looking! There are good and bad scenarios to perform this experiment, but hopefully you get what I mean. In the waiting room of your next dentist appointment, what might you find?

And then there are the real hero moments - the ones that every person is susceptible to stop and stare. They are the incredible sunset, double rainbow, full moon-rise moments. Some of these “point”-worthy moments come right for you and you only have to stop and look.

I started a series of photographs called “The Golden Windows” in 2015 based on one of these phenomenal moments that we should all be so lucky to see.

Here are some of those images.

This series harps on May’s idea that within observation “something is ‘given’”… in exchange for taking the time to look, there’s somewhat of a cosmic reward. To not look seems like the greatest sin of all. So we keep looking, being observers, staring at the thing that sparks interest, giving our absolute attention, and praying for “points”.

You might be thinking, logically so, how one isn’t supposed to leave the living breathing world up to imagination, but up until that point, part of me had. My own imagination clashed so aggressively with the definitiveness of what I was seeing that it became uncomfortable and by that afternoon I had given up on corrected vision altogether.

When I first started working with 35mm film, I discovered that it felt identical to the way I felt I’d seen the thing in real life. Film felt like the mind-memory replay of a moment.

This image from 2013 looks exactly how I remember the moment feeling.

The circumstances of hating corrected vision because it altered my aesthetic view of the world gave me some information as to why I might be drawn to film photography, but it didn’t answer the question of “why photography?”. That question has rumbled around faintly in my mind, for decades.

What makes any artist choose their medium? I’ve heard some say, it never felt like an option, that their medium chose them, and I like that. I feel the same.

There are times when photography feels like the boldest, most empowering thing I could do, and other times when it feels so trite and annoying. I feel the later when: I see photographers on the sidelines of professional sport games, think about the paparazzi, or am told “take my picture!” by a drunk person at a wedding. Even the selfie makes me lament the invention of the camera. But when I saw Carrie Mae Weems imagery for the first time, or I have my own experience with making an emotionally accurate image, I find a reason to love it again.

But by constantly going between feeling like a bad-ass with a hall pass to the world, to feeling like a bumbling idiot who doesn’t trust their own memory to hold onto stuff, I’m reminded that photography is a teenager in the art world, and sometimes behaves as such. Lacking the self-confidence of painting or sculpture, photography goes around assuring people that he IS art! And it’s taken a lot to get to where he is now, and he WILL end up in a museum (one of these days!).

And by default, maybe photography attracts those of us who aren’t certain of our own artistry. A photograph is certain - produced directly by a machine that replicates verbatim what it saw.

If we’re still drawing out the metaphor, photography and I have both grown a lot in being together. And if I first reached for the camera out of uncertainty of where my place was as an artist, I don’t think it’s true today.

Today, I’m confident in the camera as a tool that I use in making my art, in its way of working in collaboration with others (one of its greatest strengths, imo), and it’s democratic style - most anyone can approach a camera and making something unique with it. One day I might find another medium to love - be it painting, illustration, or some unknown art form that hasn’t been discovered yet. And by then, I’ll probably have gotten glasses.

It felt wrong to look at in the way that unadulterated grown-up emotions can feel wrong to a middle schooler.

I thought about that image a lot… a technical question I had was, how did the photographer get so close? Also, how was the subject so uninhibited by the camera?… her eyes so troubled, and equally unbothered that someone was witnessing her, and documenting her as she was feeling those feelings.

It never occurred to me that there might be multiple frames from that visit, or what Lange’s motivation in capturing the moment was. Did she tell Florence Owens Thompson to look that way? Did she know it would provoke so many people in exactly the way that President Roosevelt wanted when he sent photographers out to cover the Great Depression. Did she realize that image of poverty would make her famous?

These weren’t necessarily thoughts that occurred to me until years later, while taking an “Ethics of Photography” class in college. Rather, at the time I first saw the image, I valued it for the fact that it showed me something I would otherwise not have understood, or seen the humanity in.

I also made a mental note that Dorothea Lange was a woman.

By 6th and 7th grade, I was grabbing my mom’s Canon Powershot on the way out the door, as she ran and I biked beside her. I’d stop repeatedly to photograph streets and sidewalk scenes, then hurry to catch up with her again.

I was making something, and was fascinated by the instrument. When the camera would see something that I was incapable of seeing, like a solar flare, or an overexposure, that blew me away. I’m still fascinated with the world between glass that my eyes can’t see.

In 7th grade, my mom gifted my dad and I with a subscription to Surfer Magazine. I’d started surfing with him a few years prior and was extremely invested in the idea of becoming a “Roxy-girl”.

Turning the pages of that magazine, I paused each time I saw Morgan Maassen’s images of Stephanie Gilmore, Coco Ho, Alex Knost, or Dane Reynolds. Each one rich with color, and rocking the s h a l l o w e s t depth of field ever. (He was 21 by the time I was seeing his images in print). There was something about the soft richness of those images that made me want to make photos that looked like that.

(photo by Maassen)

For my birthday, I asked my parents for a waterproof case and a “nice camera”. I’m lucky they could afford it, and got that for me. It was the same camera I made my first dollar with, photographing seniors at my high school. This photo is from one of the few times I ended up taking the camera out with the waterproof case. (After a few tries, I gave up on “surf photography” - getting discouraged by the lack of Teahupo’o style waves available on the coast of South Carolina).

Later, I defined the style of imagery that gripped me as photojournalism. We had a newspaper at our high school, and I found myself in the “Photography Editor” position by my Junior year. I was addicted to the access it gave me, and the ability to cover stories about every group, or clique in my 1500+ student school.

But when I would study photojournalism images, I would love the beautiful ones and was left conflicted about the difficult ones: a child with a distended stomach sitting nearby an eying vulture; a man being shot in the head by an American soldier; a migrant mother. I didn’t have the vocabulary to explain why I didn’t like them, but when I thought about my own practice and the imagery I was trying to make, I knew I wasn’t in it for shock value.

I wanted to make imagery that felt good, or at most, beautiful to look at. Photojournalism, as I defined it, was the ability to sit with someone and hear their story, and create a photo out of a greater knowledge of the subject in front of you. I now realize that there’s a different word for this sort of photography, Editorial.

In the editorial world, I began to find some semblance of what I wanted to create. And honestly, I saw it in the wedding industry too. A handful of photographers were taking their documentary backgrounds and applying them to weddings, and I thought, perfect. I’ll do that.

Coming out of college, I had every intention of making photography my life’s work. I could not imagine a world in which I wasn’t making photos. After hanging up on an interview call with Lifetouch, I resolved to do whatever I could to make photography work. Weddings were the best option.

I made images that pleased me and the couples I worked with while photographing weddings, but couldn’t ever pin what was missing about them. And largely because I was focused on paying rent and bills, I distracted myself from ever asking what was missing. I just put my head down and kept creating with the work I had.

When Beyoncé’s “Lemonade” came out in 2016, I felt convicted. Her visuals were like nothing I’d ever. seen. before… the use of film, the southern landscapes, the wardrobe styles, the diaspora motifs, I devoured it all. More than any visual element, I was stunned at how someone could develop something so original by tapping into something so personal.

Truthfully, that hadn’t occurred to me before: that my own experience as a human on this earth could be a complete source of creative power… instead of what I’d been doing, which could be seen as outsourcing inspiration to your subject (a couple on the wedding day, or the subject of an editorial piece).

In September of 2018, Tyler Mitchell’s Vogue cover of Beyoncé was released and I could not contain myself. Again, imagery that lit up my mind up and hit such a deep place in my creative being. I was so bothered that I hadn’t been making art like that this whole time.

And yes, I read “The Artists Way”, and had a few moments of self discovery, but the real push came from getting frustrated enough over seeing imagery that hit, and knowing I wasn’t making it.

Inevitably, this is all a longer process than anyone wants it to be: you get fired up about something, you know it’s going to be great, and either fear or “real life” gets in the way, and you nearly have to start all over again once you get back around to that creatively-inspired feeling.

After a few cycles of that, I finally made something I was truly stoked about. These images were made for Pansy Co. in September of 2020.

To me, these were the first photos that helped me define my style. I reached out to the brand and did them for free, but I was able to do them exactly how I wanted. I photographed on 35mm and 120mm film, used the light we had naturally, and hired good talent.

The Pansy Co. images were inspired by my life, growing up in the lowcountry as a high-schooler, each year trying to find ways to honor the last day of summer. Usually those days ended on someone’s dock, or the beach, or porch, trying to soak up every sweet bit of summer’s end.

It was pivotal to try creating something that was inspired by my own experiences. I wonder if I’ll ever run out of material… but I think I’d have to be dead to run out of material. Right?! I mean, every day there’s something!

And I’m convinced we don’t know what’s going bubble up and be inspiring to us from one year to the next. I’ve begun to think that, like a star, inspiration emits from its source yet doesn’t reach our mind’s eye until decades later. Which is awfully inspiring to keep living a life of substance. Because what if right now is the stuff that shines out in 10, 25, 50 years, and we are all just a bunch of stars.

Thanks for reading! Let’s aim for another newsletter in 3 weeks. See you then.

- Lizzy

When I made my first website, it was elizabethervinphotography.blogspot.com - a beautifully concise, sexy website name.

The first branding I ever had was a logo that I made from DaFont.com and Brusheezy.com. during a “Digital Marketing and Photoshop” class in high school. I felt really good about it.

See the “brush” from Brusheezy:

Coupled with this typeface,

which went on e v e r y t h i n g .

A watermark went on every image I exported from the years of 2012-2015. RIP those photos.

(my brother, celebrating his 8 year old birthday, 2012).

I’ve been really okay with Elizabeth Ervin - my first and middle name - for quite some time now. Though I didn’t identify with her particularly.

At one point I did have a sexual fantasy of being called “Elizabeth” in bed. I perceived it as the perfect name to be drawn from the weathered voice of a blousy, sweaty, tight trouser fitting man (undoubtably spurred on by Orlando Bloom’s, Will Turner in Pirates of the Caribbean). But no one called me Elizabeth, not my lover, not my parents, nor my oldest friends. In reality, I much prefer to be called Lizzy.

I included “Ervin” in my business name for the main reason being that it sounded nice. The Ervin’s are my mom’s side of my family, and they were a creative bunch - despite being addicts, and city developers.

When I married Chris, Elizabeth Ervin didn’t change. I’d only gone from Elizabeth Ervin W. to Elizabeth Ervin R.

Same, same.

“Lizzy” is the name I’ve always asked to be called, since early elementary school days. Even my family has totally given in to Lizzy. Grandparents included.

We’re getting too far into the naming details now, but you understand. I’m splitting hairs over how you know me, and it feels strange to be writing about it. Drawing attention to something that I clearly think of as highly significant, and in writing about it, realize that you probably think nothing of it. Whatever I tell you to call me, you will, and that will be that.

Despite this, let me continue to explain.

The separation of a business name and a personal name felt, at one point, necessary to me. Like in some way creating a persona around myself as a photographer was less intimidating than introducing Lizzy, me, to the world as a photographer. I’ve thought about this phenomenon is the same context as distancing yourself from writing personally on social media, which I also find challenging. For example: captions for a photo are easier to write with the attitude of my mom writing notes in my childhood scrapbook:

But it’s also not doing anyone a service if I treat my work as something that is ALWAYS EASY! SUPER FUN! NEVER A DULL DAY IN THIS JOB!

I think if we didn’t all think so much about ourselves, then it would be a hell of a lot easier to just say what we mean and what we’re feeling, but the confusion that persists with perception and status, blurs even one’s own understanding of themselves and their message. At least, that’s how I’ve felt about writing in the digital age. (For truly inspired text, and honest captions, you should read Chris’ posts on Bar Rollins. They’ve inspired me in so many ways.)

Back to the name thing. I’ve changed my business title to Lizzy Rollins: a reflection of my actual name, how my friends know me, and how I want to continue this pursuit of making art.

I realize that by calling my business by my own name alludes to being more “known” on the internet, but I’ll admit, I’m still keeping things strictly within my own terms. I prize my person-to-person relationships as being the cornerstone of what holds my identity in place. I will, admittedly, always retain some level of distance from the internet, and how I let people perceive me there. That doesn’t mean I can’t do a little bit more to serve the greater effort of bridging the gap between being completely shallow and wide-open-gaping on social media. You will not see me cry, I guess is what I’m trying to say.

Thank you to my friend Glennon, who was the first to send me an email at lizzy@lizzyrollins.com. that said:

“Hi queen,

Congrats to valuing yourself and your abilities. More of this. So much more.”

I will not let you down Glennon.

I hope that the “Lizzy’s Journal” newsletter, @lizzyrollins Instagram, and yes, even TikTok, can be a place for honesty in the context of my creative process. I hope to explore the big meaningful stuff like “what it means to be an artist rn”, and small insignificant things like “what film stock r u using?”. All for the sake of connecting with people and sharing stories. Wish me luck, and also don’t leave now - we’re just getting started.