December. A month synonymous with hustle, glitter, stress, family gatherings, holiday planning, last-minute shopping, emotional highs and lows, and a dizzying whirlwind of activities. For most, it’s a time when productivity plummets, creative energy sags, and routine becomes a distant memory. So naturally, when the idea of launching a photography workshop during this most chaotic time first emerged, hesitation was inevitable.
It started as a fleeting thought, a moment of “what if?”—what if we carved out a pocket of calm in December? What if, instead of allowing the creative spirit to be buried under layers of tinsel and to-do lists, we nurtured it instead? What if we offered a space where photographers—both budding and experienced—could reconnect with their artistry?
There were doubts, of course. Were we mad to even consider running a workshop in one of the busiest months of the year? Would anyone be able to show up with full presence when there were so many other demands? Would the pressure of December squash participation?
After some back and forth, the decision was made. Yes, it might be a little crazy. Yes, it might go against conventional wisdom. But also—yes, it might be exactly what people needed. And so, with excitement in our hearts and creativity as our compass, we launched the Exploring the Creative Workshop.
This wasn’t just another technical photography course. This was a curated journey through imagination, designed not to teach rules, but to inspire play. It was meant as a tonic—an antidote to the overwhelm of the season. Something to ground, to nourish, to offer joy and perspective. A gift to our community when they needed it most.
And what a gift it turned out to be.
We were thrilled by the overwhelming response. Despite the calendar packed with obligations and distractions, participants showed up in droves. They came ready not just to learn, but to create, to feel, to experiment. The energy was palpable, electric even. Every day brought new images, new conversations, new insights—and the sheer volume of participation exceeded even our wildest expectations.
What made this workshop particularly unique was the focus on creativity as a holistic experience. We weren’t simply teaching photography techniques—we were inviting artists to explore their mindset. Our workshop instructors, Almitra Hill and Mandy Jane Dalby, didn’t just bring tools and tricks to the table—they brought heart, soul, and deep creative insight.
They introduced our students to a treasure trove of techniques designed to unlock new ways of seeing. Free lensing, chandelier rings, prisms, copper pipes—tools that many hadn’t even considered before—were suddenly in play. Students learned how to use everyday objects to transform their images into something extraordinary. Light was bent and scattered into rainbows. Subjects were bathed in a dreamlike glow. What emerged from these sessions was more than technically good photography—it was art.
But the workshop didn’t stop at techniques. It went deeper. We opened space for honest dialogue about what holds us back. Fear. Self-doubt. Imposter syndrome. All those hidden voices that whisper “you’re not good enough” or “you don’t have anything original to offer.” We tackled them head-on.
Our students weren’t just encouraged to experiment—they were empowered to fail, to play, to be imperfect. And from that vulnerability came magic. The kind of magic that doesn’t just stay in the frame, but seeps into the soul. People began to shoot not just what they saw, but what they felt.
The level of courage we witnessed was remarkable. We saw people stepping far beyond their comfort zones, trying things they never would have attempted before. They shared their images with openness and humility, and they celebrated the work of others with equal enthusiasm. A genuine creative community was born, filled with generosity, curiosity, and mutual inspiration.
And then there were the photos. Hundreds of them. Ethereal. Bold. Strange. Poetic. Funny. Unexpected. Emotional. Playful. Soulful. So many images poured into the workshop album that we were overwhelmed—in the best possible way. The sheer volume and diversity of work spoke to the success of the workshop, not just in terms of numbers, but in terms of impact. These weren’t just photos—they were visual stories, acts of bravery, declarations of artistic identity.
Each image told a different tale. Some captured quiet moments of introspection. Others exploded with color and whimsy. Some challenged the viewer’s perspective, while others comforted. The diversity in creative voice was astonishing, a testament to what can happen when you give people permission to explore and the tools to do so.
It was deeply humbling to witness the transformation. Participants who entered the workshop feeling stuck, unsure, or uninspired left with renewed confidence. They carried with them a portfolio of images that were not only technically strong but emotionally resonant. More importantly, they carried a sense of possibility—an understanding that creativity is not reserved for the chosen few, but available to anyone willing to show up and take a risk.
The workshop also created ripples that extended far beyond the course dates. Many participants shared how the lessons stayed with them, reshaping how they approached photography, art, and even life. For some, it reignited a passion they feared had been lost. For others, it marked the beginning of a new creative chapter.
And while we can’t showcase every stunning image submitted, we have gathered a small collection of some of our favorites—images that made us pause, gasp, smile, and feel. Each one is a reflection of the spirit of the workshop: bold, curious, imaginative, and heartfelt.
The names behind these images are as varied and wonderful as their photos. Anna Menendez. Jennifer L Ness. Carla Leland. Charlie O’Neill. Darlene Smith Anderson. Becca Lord-Lyon. Gee Gee. Humera Aaqib. Katy Allen. Kim Deans. Krista Becker. Emma Davis. Kylie Capil. Pat Hauk Sebaugh. Merissa Wakefield. Rachael Sefton. Megan O’Donnell. Sophie Green. Sonia Ragusa. Vicki Cardilini. Dawn Laughlin. Floss Butterworth. Melanie Cramer. And of course, Charlie O’Neill again—whose work resonated so strongly we had to include it twice.
These photographers brought heart and vision to their images, and we are endlessly grateful to have been part of their journey. It was a privilege to witness their growth and share in their creative triumphs.
So what started as a wild idea turned into one of the most rewarding experiences we’ve had. It was proof that even in the busiest of seasons, creativity can flourish. That a little bit of madness can lead to a lot of magic. And that when artists come together with open minds and willing hearts, extraordinary things happen.
Unlocking Imagination: Tools, Techniques, and the Power of Play
As the Exploring the Creative Workshop unfolded, it became clear that what we had created was not just a course—it was a movement. The workshop was carefully crafted to stretch the limits of conventional photography and invite participants into a world where imagination reigned supreme. This was not about producing perfect photos. It was about learning to see the world differently and discovering how small tools and big ideas could transform even the simplest of images into something extraordinary.
Our instructors, Almitra Hill and Mandy Jane Dalby, brought more than knowledge—they brought spirit, energy, and a contagious sense of curiosity. Their guidance wasn’t prescriptive. It was expensive. They didn’t teach from a place of authority, but from a place of shared exploration. That tone set the workshop apart. It wasn’t a teacher-student hierarchy; it was a creative exchange.
We began by stripping photography back to its essence—light, shadow, composition—and then added a layer of pure experimentation. Each module invited our participants to dive into one or more techniques that pushed the boundaries of what their cameras could do. And instead of relying on expensive equipment, we embraced a philosophy of resourcefulness.
One of the first techniques we introduced was free lensing. This technique involves detaching your lens slightly from your camera body, which allows light to leak in and creates beautifully unpredictable effects. It’s dreamy, it’s soft, and it feels like stepping into a memory. But it also requires patience and a willingness to embrace imperfections. The first attempts often produce blurs, streaks, and unexpected distortions. But those very imperfections become the point—they offer something different, something personal.
As participants practiced free lensing, we saw a flood of images filled with light leaks, tilt-shifted perspectives, and abstract beauty. The results were deeply personal and evocative. It became clear that people weren’t just photographing scenes—they were capturing emotion, story, and mood.
Next came the chandelier rings. These unassuming, inexpensive items became magical tools in the hands of our workshop participants. By holding the rings in front of the lens, they created bokeh effects that resembled fairy lights or celestial flares. Some used them to create dreamy halos around their subjects. Others used them to frame faces, creating a sense of intimacy and connection. What made this especially rewarding was how it invited everyone to look at everyday objects differently. A simple glass ring, often overlooked, became a portal to another dimension.
Prisms, too, found their place in the toolkit. A small prism held up to the lens bent light into rainbows, reflections, and kaleidoscopic forms. Participants used them to distort reality, to tell stories of magic and mystery. The prism became a metaphor, reminding us that photography isn’t just about what’s in front of us, but how we choose to see it. The world didn’t change, but the lens did. And that changed everything.
Copper pipes were another unexpected favorite. These were used to create frames, glows, and reflections that brought texture and warmth to portraits and still life shots. Participants learned how to shoot through the pipe, using its shape and shine to add a surreal quality to their photos. As with many of the other tools, the magic wasn’t just in the object—it was in the way it encouraged new thinking.
As the workshop progressed, the conversation expanded. We started talking about a creative mindset. About how fear often shows up right when we’re about to try something new. About how doubt sneaks in and convinces us to stop before we even begin. These weren’t side topics—they were central to the journey. Because technical skills are only one part of the equation. The ability to stay curious, to keep going when something doesn’t work, to embrace the unknown—these are the real engines of creativity.
We invited participants to sit with their fears. To name them. To acknowledge the inner critic that tells them their work isn’t good enough. And then, to create anyway. The result? A flood of bold, unrestrained creativity. Because once fear is named, it loses its grip. And once doubt is spoken aloud, others rise to say, “I feel that too.” That’s when community becomes more than support—it becomes strength.
The images submitted during this phase of the workshop were some of the most powerful. They were vulnerable. They were experimental. They weren’t always “perfect” in the technical sense, but they were filled with life. Some were blurry. Some were off-center. But every one of them had a soul.
This was the heart of the workshop: encouraging people to let go of the rules, to lean into what they love, and to trust their instincts. The camera became a vehicle for expression, not just a tool for documentation. And when participants saw how others were experimenting—when they saw the beauty in someone else’s so-called mistake—they began to see their work differently too.
Throughout this journey, sharing played a critical role. We had created a private space where participants could post their images, ask questions, and offer feedback. And that space exploded with activity. People weren’t just posting photos—they were telling the stories behind them. Why did they choose a certain light? What were they feeling when they clicked the shutter? What surprised them when they saw the final result?
Others responded not with critique, but with curiosity. They asked how the effect was achieved. They marveled at the creativity. They encouraged each other. It was a space free from ego and full of generosity. That atmosphere changed everything. It permitted people to keep going. To try again. To fail forward.
One particularly beautiful aspect of the workshop was watching participants draw inspiration from each other. Someone would post an image unconventionally using a prism, and within hours, several others would share their take on it. The workshop became a living, breathing creative lab. Everyone was both a student and a teacher. Ideas moved like electricity from one participant to the next. That collective energy created a momentum that carried the group forward.
We also gave space for introspection. Creativity is not a constant fire; it requires fuel. Rest. Reflection. We talked about the importance of stepping away, of letting ideas simmer. We encouraged participants to create without the pressure of an outcome. To photograph something not because it would look great on social media, but because it meant something to them.
And people did just that. They photographed their children in the soft morning light. They photographed the steam rising from their coffee. They photographed movement, shadow, color, and silence. They found magic in the mundane. They made art out of the ordinary.
This return to intentional seeing was perhaps one of the most lasting gifts of the workshop. It reminded us that creativity doesn’t require the perfect setting or ideal conditions. It requires attention. Openness. A willingness to be surprised.
By the second week of the workshop, something remarkable had happened. The participants weren’t just applying techniques—they were inventing their own. They were combining tools in unexpected ways. Shooting through prisms while using copper pipes. Layering reflections. Playing with motion blur. Abstracts became personal signatures. Portraits carried emotional weight. Landscapes became visual poems.
We saw photographers take risks. They used double exposures to tell stories of duality and emotion. They manipulated the shutter speed to freeze or stretch time. They embraced unusual angles, lighting setups, and even subjects. There was a palpable sense of freedom in the work.
And even though December raged on outside—filled with errands and events and last-minute lists—inside this creative cocoon, there was peace. There was a purpose. There was a community bound together by the joy of making.
Every comment thread was filled with encouragement. Every image posted was met with appreciation. People reached out to each other not just to say “good job,” but to ask deeper questions. “What inspired this image?” “How did you feel while creating it?” “What surprised you in the process?” These weren’t just photography conversations—they were creative dialogues.
The workshop also highlighted an important truth: creativity is contagious. When one person shares something daring, it sparks others to do the same. We watched a ripple effect of bravery sweep through the group. People shared not only their successes, but also their struggles. And that honesty built trust.
There were tears. There was laughter. There were aha moments and quiet breakthroughs. People shared how the workshop helped them reconnect with parts of themselves they had lost touch with. They remembered why they picked up a camera in the first place. They rediscovered the joy of creating without pressure.
This joy wasn’t loud or flashy. It was gentle and steady. It showed up in the quiet determination to keep showing up, to keep trying, to keep exploring. That kind of joy sustains creativity far beyond any single workshop.
So much beauty emerged from this experience. Not just in the images, but in the people who created them. We watched confidence grow. We watched fear diminish. We watched artists come into their own. And it all began with a decision to embrace a little madness in the middle of a hectic season.
What started as a wild idea became a transformative journey. And it all happened because people said yes to the unknown, to the playful, to the creative. They said yes to showing up for themselves and each other.
A Tapestry of Creative Voices: The Power of Community and Expression
As the Exploring the Creative Workshop reached its third phase, it became clear that something extraordinary was unfolding. The community that had formed over the previous days was no longer a loosely connected group of photographers participating in a shared program. It had become something deeper. Something lasting. A creative ecosystem full of vibrant, supportive voices—all helping one another grow, one photo at a time.
At the heart of this experience was the undeniable power of community. Creative growth is often romanticized as a solitary pursuit—a lone artist wrestling with vision and technique in isolation. But what this workshop revealed was the opposite. That creativity, when nurtured in community, multiplies. When artists gather, when ideas are exchanged, when encouragement flows freely, everyone rises together.
We saw this in the comments, which went beyond basic feedback. Participants were thoughtfully analyzing each other’s images, asking meaningful questions about intention, emotion, process, and technique. They weren’t just giving praise—they were giving presence. And in doing so, they were creating a safe space for artistic vulnerability.
In that safety, people dared to try more. They dared to fail and share anyway. And as they did, a beautiful trust emerged: a belief in their ability to create, and in the belief that their voice mattered. The collective became a mirror that reflected possibility for each artist.
We watched photographers discover new dimensions of themselves through their work. A quiet parent, who hadn’t picked up a camera in years, found her way back to self-expression through soft, blurry silhouettes of her children playing in golden light. A young artist captured street scenes layered with prisms and reflections, transforming everyday life into something cinematic. A hobbyist used slow shutter techniques to turn city lights into abstract emotion.
There was no single “style” that defined the group. That was part of the beauty. Each person brought their lens—literally and figuratively—and their way of seeing the world. The images were as diverse as the voices behind them: gentle, wild, dramatic, playful, sorrowful, serene. This diversity did not divide the group—it united them.
The workshop encouraged not imitation but interpretation. We weren’t interested in people copying one another’s ideas. We were interested in seeing what happened when each person took a technique and infused it with their spirit. What we found was that even when using the same tools—prisms, pipes, lens blur—each artist created something unique.
Some used prisms to reflect cityscapes into layered dreamscapes. Others used copper rings to cast warm halos around loved ones in cozy indoor settings. Some played with freelensing to create nostalgic, almost film-like family portraits. Others used unconventional angles and creative shadows to turn portraits into paintings.
Each day, the photo gallery expanded with new stories. Some captured laughter frozen in the shimmer of light. Others explored themes of solitude, memory, and identity. The visual variety was breathtaking. But more importantly, it was deeply human. Each image was a reminder of how photography isn’t just about what we see—it’s about what we feel.
Participants shared these feelings, too. In their captions, their comments, and their reflections. Some opened up about grief and how photography became a way to process it. Others spoke about burnout and how the workshop reignited something they thought they had lost. These weren't just technical achievements. These were personal breakthroughs.
Photography became a language of healing, of connection, of truth. And the community became a container that held those truths with care. No one needed to be perfect. No one needed to impress. Everyone simply needed to show up with curiosity and openness.
We were moved by the courage it took to share images that weren’t polished. That was different. That might be misunderstood. But every time someone shared with honesty, they were met with understanding. And that kind of affirmation builds more than skill—it builds confidence.
Confidence, after all, is the fuel that keeps creativity alive. It gives us the courage to keep going when the results aren’t what we hoped for. It keeps us shooting when the light doesn’t cooperate, when the vision feels unclear, when the inner critic gets loud. And confidence, as we saw, is contagious. When one person believes in you, it becomes easier to believe in yourself.
That contagious energy was everywhere in the workshop. It was in the messages cheering someone on after their first attempt at freelensing. It was in the follow-up comments offering tips on light and settings. It was in the gentle reassurance that your photo didn’t need to be perfect—it only needed to be yours.
We also witnessed participants creating outside of the prompts. They began to explore their ideas, building on the techniques they had learned. Some turned the prism exercises into a series of surreal dreamscapes. Others used copper pipes to explore themes of isolation and intimacy. A few turned their attention inward, creating self-portraits that told stories words couldn’t.
And then some began sharing beyond the group. Posting their work online. Creating print collections. Submitting to galleries. Not because they needed validation, but because they now believed in the power of their vision. The workshop had not only reconnected them with their creativity, but it had reminded them that their voice matters.
The instructors played a huge role in making this happen. Almitra Hill and Mandy Jane Dalby didn’t just share their tools and tips—they shared themselves. Their own stories of creative doubt. Their artistic experiments. Their failures and discoveries. They modeled what it means to be a creative in process, not finished, but forever unfolding. And in doing so, they gave everyone else permission to do the same.
The tone they set—generous, curious, non-judgmental—was echoed throughout the group. And that tone mattered. It’s what allowed the workshop to become a genuine space for transformation.
Transformation wasn’t just seen in the final images—it was seen in the process. In how people began to describe their work. In the risks they took. In how they offered feedback to others. In the language they used to talk about their creativity.
We noticed people saying things like “I didn’t think I could do this, but I tried,” or “I’ve never shared my work before, but here it is.” These were more than casual statements. They were markers of change. Indicators that something had shifted internally. That belief had grown. That fear had lessened.
One participant summed it up beautifully in her post: “I came into this workshop hoping to take better photos. I’m leaving it with a better relationship with myself as an artist.”
Another wrote, “I always thought creativity was something you were born with. Now I see it’s something you practice. And I’m going to keep practicing.”
These reflections brought tears to our eyes. Because they captured the deeper mission of the workshop: to help people reclaim their creative power. To remind them that art is not about comparison—it’s about connection. To show them that they are not alone in their struggles, and that their voice—imperfect, evolving, unique—is exactly what the world needs.
The photos submitted to the final group gallery were a celebration of that truth. We saw light captured in ways that looked like dreams. We saw motion turned into emotion. We saw reflections used not as gimmicks but as metaphors. We saw playfulness and precision, instinct and intention, clarity and chaos. We saw the full spectrum of the creative spirit.
And we saw names that had become familiar. Artists who, just weeks before, were hesitant, are now submitting work with confidence. People who once said “I’m not creative” are now saying “I can’t wait to make more.”
This workshop may have taken place over a few weeks, but its impact extended far beyond that timeline. Seeds were planted. Ideas were sparked. Courage was born. And friendships were formed.
That, ultimately, is the legacy of this experience. Not just the techniques learned. Not just the beautiful images created. But the lives were touched. The perspectives shifted. The belief awakened.
It reminded us why we do this work in the first place. Why photography matters. Why creativity matters. Because it’s not just about making art—it’s about making meaning. It’s about creating space for expression, for healing, for connection.
In a time of year that is often overwhelming and noisy, this workshop offered quiet. It offered depth. It offered joy. And above all, it offered a return to what truly matters: seeing the world—and ourselves—with fresh eyes.
The Workshop That Changed Everything: Reflection, Renewal, and Looking Ahead
As the final week of the Exploring the Creative Workshop approached, we entered a time of reflection. The rush of learning, experimenting, and creating had formed a rhythm—a creative heartbeat pulsing through our group. But now, that pulse was beginning to slow, not from fatigue, but from fulfillment. We were reaching the end of something powerful, and everyone could feel it.
This wasn’t just a workshop that delivered techniques. It was a space that permitted people to dream again. It offered tools, yes—but more importantly, it restored belief. For many, this journey was not about learning how to use a prism or a freelens. It was about remembering what it felt like to be creative without pressure. To be curious without self-doubt. To explore without needing to impress.
As we moved into the final days, participants were encouraged to look back on what they had created. To revisit their earliest photos and compare them with their latest ones. Not with judgment, but with gentle recognition. The difference was clear. The work had evolved—not just in skill, but in soul.
People who began the workshop unsure of their creative voice now spoke with clarity and intention. Their images carried purpose. Their choices were deliberate. And yet, their approach remained playful and fluid. That delicate balance between vision and flexibility is one of the truest signs of growth.
We also encouraged participants to write reflections alongside their images. What did they learn about themselves? What surprised them? What felt challenging? What will they carry forward?
The answers were honest and vulnerable. Some spoke about fears that still lingered, but no longer felt paralyzing. Others described moments when they felt completely in flow, lost in the joy of creating. Many said the workshop helped them slow down and notice things they had previously overlooked. The curve of light on a wall. The shimmer of a child’s hair at golden hour. The rhythm of shadows on a quiet street.
We talked about creative rituals—how to keep the spark alive beyond the structure of a course. How to make space for photography even in busy lives. How to nurture the inner artist, not just when we feel inspired, but also when we don’t. Because that’s where real artistry begins—in the practice, the patience, the persistence.
One of the most beautiful shifts we witnessed was how people began to define success differently. It was no longer about sharpness or likes or followers. Success became about presence. About expressing something true. About making something that felt honest.
And through this redefinition, people began to let go of perfectionism. They began to share more freely, to shoot more often, to take risks without fear of failure. This mindset shift, perhaps more than anything, is what we hope each participant carries with them long after the workshop ends.
We ended the workshop with a showcase—a celebration of the journey. Each participant was invited to select one image that represented their growth. The gallery that emerged from this was stunning. Not because every image was flawless, but because each one told a story of courage.
Courage to begin again. Courage to see the world differently. Courage to be seen.
This final gallery became more than a collection of photos. It was a testament to what happens when people commit to creativity. When they show up for themselves and each other. When they choose exploration over comparison. When they allow joy to lead the way.
And while the workshop officially came to a close, its spirit continued. Participants remained connected. Ideas continued to flow. New projects were born. Some began planning exhibitions. Others started blogs. Some simply kept creating, quietly, steadily, joyfully.
Because that’s the thing about creativity—it doesn’t need a big stage. It just needs attention. Intention. A place to land.
And this workshop gave people that place. For some, it was the beginning. For others, a return. But for all, it was a renewal.
Conclusion
The Exploring the Creative Workshop began as a daring idea. A spark of possibility in the middle of the busiest time of year. We weren’t sure if it would work. We weren’t sure if people would show up. But we believed that if we created a space full of freedom, encouragement, and inspiration, something special could happen.
What we witnessed surpassed even our most hopeful expectations. We watched a diverse group of creatives come together and build something beautiful. We saw fear give way to play. We saw technique blossom into artistry. We saw the connection deepen through shared curiosity.
This workshop wasn’t about chasing perfection. It was about returning to the heart of why we create in the first place. For joy. For connection. For expression. For healing. For no other reason than because something inside us needs to be seen.
And perhaps most importantly, we learned this: creativity is not a luxury. It is a necessity. Especially in times of chaos. Especially in seasons of noise. Especially when life feels overwhelming. That’s when we need it most.
So here’s what we take forward:
Keep shooting. Keep playing. Keep trusting your instincts. Let your camera be your companion, your mirror, your voice. Let your art be wild. Let it be quiet. Let it be whatever you need it to be.
And when doubt creeps in—as it always does—remember this workshop. Remember the light you created. The risks you took. The images you made. The community that stood with you.
Because you are not alone on this journey. You never were.
You are creative.
You are capable.
And your vision is worth sharing.
Always.
Let that be your legacy from this workshop. Not just the photos, but the belief that you have something beautiful to say—and every right to say it.
Now go create.
The world is waiting.