The Cohen + Francis Family at Lake Junaluska

On an early April day, as the dogwood was coming into bloom, I met the Cohen + Francis family for a photo session at beautiful Lake Junaluska.

I first met Shelby the previous fall through a mutual friend when she was pregnant with her son Izzy, and I was touched when she wanted to commission me for a family photo session. Her husband Billy is from England, and his parents and brother were visiting this spring. Shelby’s parents joined us as well so that the whole family could be together for this session. It was so sweet to meet Izzy on the other side, as well as the rest of the family.

In addition to digital photos, we did some experimental double exposure 35mm film photos as well! Shelby shared the following about our session together:

Right from our initial consultation, I loved working with Rita. She listened attentively to my vision for the photo shoot and understood the importance of this milestone—capturing two families with their first grandchild.

On the day of the shoot, when faced with our large and sometimes chaotic group, Rita remained unfazed. She skillfully managed to coordinate and direct everyone, ensuring that every family member felt included and comfortable in front of the camera. Even amidst the chaos, Rita's positivity and professionalism shone through!

Throughout the session, she effortlessly captured heartfelt laughter, tender moments, and the love shared between generations. The final photos were beyond our expectations. If you're looking for a photographer who captures authentic moments while remaining calm and professional, I wholeheartedly recommend Rita. She is a true artist, and we are so grateful for the beautiful memories she captured for us.

It was a delight to document this sweet family that doesn’t get to be all together very often! There was a lot of love present, and I feel honored to have been able to capture it.

Lillie on the Parkway

Lillie syracuse is a singer, songwriter, sound worker, and music organizer based in Brevard, North Carolina.

The two of us connected through the Asheville Open Folk community. Lillie hosts a weekly songwriter’s showcase series at the DFR Lounge in Brevard—formerly at the Cedar Mountain Canteen, where she invited me to play a show this past March. We traded off playing songs in a lovely listening room environment (you can see a cover we did together, along with musician Alice Bradley, here, from that evening).

When Lillie invited me to do a photo session with her this past May, I was delighted that we could collaborate visually as well as musically. We chose to photograph on the Blue Ridge Parkway at golden hour, when the mountain laurel was in full bloom. Together we collaborated on a vision, but I was especially excited that Lillie trusted my lead. Once we chose the time and place, we followed the light and went with the flow. I loved being able to play with the light and shadows as the sun slipped away.

I was also delighted that Lillie wanted to shoot with film in addition to digital, so we added medium format (including some double exposures) and Polaroid into the mix. I particularly enjoy the complimentary green and purple tones in these photos, and I’m very happy with how they turned out! Lillie shared these words about our time together:

“I so deeply enjoyed my session with Rita. She is an absolutely lovely human and it is an honor to know and create with her! I loved working with her and found such deep value in our time together.”

I also deeply enjoyed our session, and I love the photos we created together. Hoping for more collaborations to come!

Yanna at Lyndale Park Gardens

Yanna Demkiewicz is an editor, writer, and marketing director for Milkweed Editions, an independent literary press based in Minneapolis.

I was introduced to Yanna through another writer/editor friend years ago, when she was working on The Riveter, an incredibly badass independent magazine that celebrated longform journalism by women, which she cofounded. I was grateful to publish a few pieces in the magazine, one on traces of the Soviet Union that remain in Russia and one on a beloved permaculture farm in the desert of California. Though the magazine later ceased operations, thankfully Yanna and I continued to be friends.

A few years ago she asked me to take some film photos of her at the Lyndale Park Gardens, a true gem in Minneapolis. Flowers were still blooming, but fall was slowly making its way in, creating a variety of beautiful backdrops for our shoot. It was my first commissioned film shoot, and we had so much fun playing in the gardens.

Although I no longer live in the Twin Cities, Yanna and I are scheming up another shoot in the future, when things are in bloom again. She shared these kind words recently about me and my work:

“It has been way too long since I’ve been behind Rita’s lens and Asheville, I am jealous. She is intuitive, creative and thoughtful. She’s always made me feel comfortable and beautiful. Book her!!”

Here’s to next time, Yanna <3

2021: Year of making space

Here we are, a week into 2022. For the past few years, I’ve been diligent about putting together a recap of my year with writing and photos, but at the end of 2021, it just didn’t happen. And that was okay, because I felt content with knowing that I had done much of my own internal reflection and processing—a lot of which I don’t actually need to share with the world. It was also a moment in which I chose to give myself grace, instead of beating myself up about it. Working with shame—and “the second arrow”—had become a big theme of the past year, and I’ve found the more I choose compassion over shame, the easier it becomes. 

With a little more time to look back on the previous year and look forward to the one just arrived, I’ve been formulating the reflections I do want to share.

Last year, I went deep into myself. I came up against the edges. And then I pushed past them. I found myself reorienting toward *expansion* and *spaciousness* throughout the year. More and more, I simplified, letting constricting situations, people, ideas fall away so I could create more space for myself to expand as my authentic self—something that has felt new and hard, but very necessary.

I learned to become my own best partner/mother/friend/boss, realizing that no one else will ever be able to do it better. And I learned to loosen my grip in certain situations, knowing that it didn’t mean I was slacking, or not doing enough. Instead, it allowed me to invite in ease and openness, so that I could better find my own flow instead of trying to contort myself into structures that didn’t allow for my unfolding. 

For me, the year was decidedly split into very different thirds: (1) moving through a lot of constriction, pain, reckoning; (2) reconnecting with my authentic self and entering into a time of great freedom and expansion; (3) slowing down and integrating it all into the version of myself I’m becoming.

Last year, I built relationships with many mentors and teachers—something I do every year, but with each new connection, it seems that the depth of the intention and relationship increases. Some were in my life for a season and some for the whole year, but all helped reflect back important pieces of myself.

With relationships in general, I went from feeling very lonely in a place that still felt very new to me, questioning what my place was in it all, to gradually integrating myself into multiple communities slowly emerging and coalescing—all wonderfully different but complementary, bringing out different facets of myself. And these included non-human communities and allies: plants, animals, fungi, rocks, and more. These were some of my most precious connections and prominent teachers.

I think that in 2021, I grew the most I ever have, but I suppose that happens every year. Because every year I trust myself a little more, love myself a little more, and betray myself a little less. 

I’m sketching in slow intentions right now, knowing they will grow and evolve as the year itself does. As we remain in the dead of winter, momentum can feel hard to coax, but gently we churn onward toward days of longer light and vibrancy. I long to keep stepping fully into my power and living according to my own measure of success—one that is compassionate and realistic. As I look to my creative inspirations, I also aspire to continued mastery of my craft, realizing that this path is one that stretches onward and can only be tread through steady, consistent practice.  

Thank you for reading and for witnessing my journey. May we all ride the changing winds this year with grace and ease.

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PREVIOUS ANNUAL RECAPS

2020: Year of little joys

2019: Year of staying light

2018: Year of coming full circle

2017: Year of good change

2020: Year of little joys

It’s easy to hate a year like 2020. I get it. It’s been a terrible year in many ways for many people—collectively and personally—myself included. But to me, writing 2020 off feels like taking the easy way out. 

The curveballs this year threw forced me to look harder for the good things. The little joys. And there are always the good things—sometimes they’re just harder to see. Maybe it’s hopeless optimism, or a coping mechanism, or just a focus on the positive, but it’s something that has gotten me through this year and allowed me to keep going.

At the beginning of this year, I had lived in North Carolina for just over a month. I was building a community and finding my place. I started a new (remote) multimedia position with a flower essence company. I wrote a song about the bliss of being on airplane mode, dressed up as a cloud, and performed it for an art show in a building that is now a pretzel shop. I was certified in the first level of Reiki. I started a drawing class that taught me to draw what I see, not what I think I see. I began volunteering to help run an art room for people experiencing homelessness. 

When the pandemic hit in March, I turned inward, as many of us did. “At least it’s spring,” I told myself. I found myself enchanted by all the varieties of flowers and plants I had never seen before that grew in this mountain climate—rhododendron, dogwood, mountain laurel—also driven by a curiosity around the world of flower essences and energetic medicine that I had recently started to explore.

Even as the collective uncertainty of life under COVID-19 was underscored by a personal uncertainty of housing limbo and other personal struggles, I refused to let it drag me down. Instead, I built and deepened relationships with new housemates—as well as new friends through online communities—explored my new surroundings in Western North Carolina, and relished the little moments and daily joys. 

In the summer, I celebrated my long-awaited 28th golden birthday, creating an art exchange project to encourage a spirit of creativity and connection with friends around the country. In the fall, I spent a week hiking and camping in Colorado with two of my best friends. And then, I finally signed my first lease in the state and moved into a new home!

The year also included some farewells—to my longtime cat son Tigger and honorary grandmother René Hammond. I feel so grateful to have had so much time with both of them.

The novelty of all the places I found myself this year + a spirit of curiosity eased some of the darkness around the pandemic for me. In the midst of so much ambiguity, I strived to find the moments of light, levity, and peace. 

Here are some moments that made my year a little brighter.

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PREVIOUS ANNUAL RECAPS

2019: Year of staying light

2018: Year of coming full circle

2017: Year of good change

At Grandma René's

A year ago I took two trips—over Thanksgiving and New Year’s—to St. Petersburg, Florida, with my partner. We were visiting his 95-year-old grandmother, René Hammond. My DSLR was in the shop after getting hit by an especially vicious wave off the Basque coast of France, so I brought along my Nikon FM2 loaded with Ektar 100 film to capture Florida in dazzling color and double exposures. Something about the juxtaposition of Christmas decorations + warm weather climates always tickles my fancy; I happily sunk into a slow dream of sun and surf. These photos are evidence of my reverie.

How to describe René? A very special woman: a matriarch, Holocaust survivor, concentration camp escapee, speaker of five languages, gifted artist, green thumb gardener, lover of Scrabble and poker, full of spunk, mother of five and grandmother of twelve, great-gran of six and great-great of five.

My partner had once asked her why she thought she survived the Holocaust. She replied that she didn’t know—that there were people more talented or deserving of life than her who hadn’t survived—and that it wasn’t fair that God would allow six million Jews to be murdered. But because she was alive, she would keep on going as long as she could and be grateful for the time she had with family and friends.

I rang in the new decade surrounded by the loved ones of the one I love—my partner's grandmother, mother, and siblings and partners. Days by the pool, nights at the pool table. Eating out Chinese and cooking Hungarian. My first Hanukkah, complete with classic latkes as well as absurd dreidel stunts on the dining table. Celebrating René's birthday (which, ironically, falls on Christmas!)—and somehow beating this reigning Scrabble champion at her own game. And, of course, easing into a new year on the waterfront with a Grateful Dead cover band harmonizing to the crackle of fireworks, singing about love lighting up and not fading away.

This past May, Réne moved in with her daughter in Boone, North Carolina, to be closer to family throughout the pandemic. My partner and I spent the summer living with them, helping take care of René and savoring our time with her over breakfasts, movie nights, and of course, Scrabble games.

We were with René when she passed away peacefully at sunrise this October. There won't be any more Florida visits for a while, but I’m so grateful for these beautiful memories.

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Select images from this series are available as prints in my shop.