The Miracle of Life /  by jami milne

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Someone asked me recently if I had a favorite shoot. My mind scrolled quickly through a half dozen years of ballerinas, underwater sessions and weddings, studio shots and polaroids in Paris. And then I remembered. My most meaningful moment behind a camera — the birth of my niece and nephew.

Rowan Amias and Maia Abigail were born exactly one year ago today. Everything about this image capturing the birth of Rowan still causes me to pause, filled with so much emotion at the miracle of life — the early evening light coming in from the only hospital window, shining upon him as he was held up by the women that ensured his safe arrival.

Maia would be born one hour later. After their 20 week ultrasound, my brother and sister-in-law learned of Maia’s kidney condition that meant she would be stillborn or live very briefly. Maia was born beautiful and perfect in all of our eyes. And we’ll always remember her that way.

“Joy and woe are woven fine / a clothing for the soul divine.” - William Blake, by way of my beautiful sister-in-law.

Today I’m wishing Rowan the happiest first birthday, looking up at the most beautiful blue sky with Maia in my heart and feeling extra grateful for my family near and far.

The 2020 Project — Shooting for Vice / Levi's /  by jami milne

In February, I received a call from Vice about a documentary series they were working on with Levi’s. It would be episode three of ten for the 2020 Project — exploring how youth are using their platform, and their voices, to push up against the establishment, and they were looking for a behind-the-scenes photographer.

The episode would highlight Rosalie Fish, a Native American runner, member of the Cowlitz Tribe, graduate of Muckleshoot Tribal School and a current freshman at Iowa Central Community College. Rosalie made intentional waves in her community when she painted the poignant red handprint over her mouth during her state track meet. The symbol, calling attention to the missing and murdered indigenous women epidemic, was inspired by Jordan Marie Brings Three White Horses Daniel’s symbolic 2019 Boston Marathon race.

There were so many meaningful moments during the two-day shoot — taking place on the coldest days in February. Meeting both of these women will be unforgettable. Sitting in Rosalie’s dorm room listening to her share gifts from her grandfather to help her stay strong… seeing Rosalie and Jordan meet for the first time… listening to them talk about the strength of women in their tribe, the historical prominence placed on the shoulders of their matriarchs, the pressure and need to continuously fight for their community and the sheer terror of a community ravaged over and over again… and thinking of my own matriarchal unknowns of a great-grandmother adopted or intertwined with the Native American community… With each ellipsis I hope an answer will come or a feeling of resolution will appear and it doesn’t.

Thank you to Matthew at Vice for finding me and the Creative team for falling in love with my work. And to the incredible director Shanndiin Tome for telling stories that matter. I believe in you. All of you.

You can watch episode three Missing here.

The #30DayArtQuarantine /  by jami milne

Encouraged by The Jealous Curator suggesting a self-imposed thirty days of making art under the hashtag #30dayartquarantine, I set out to do the one thing I know how to do when the rest of my world is on fire — make art.

Like most of my creative evolutions, there are a handful of executions before the a-ha. This has happened for each of my 100 Day projects, usually surprising me after roughly six weeks of work. This time took less time, but was no less insightful.

These images aren’t in chronological progression. The first three of the thirty images were collages, an easy go-to particularly when there is no shortage of magazines in my possession. You can’t say you can’t get started when you’re tripping over the supplies.

I shifted on day four, reaching out to my favorite space oddity, asking her if I could repurpose a shoot we did as an ode to Bowie for this project. Sarah was stunning when she was cradling the globe for my camera three years ago, and yet she’s somehow even more perfect transitioning from Major Tom to Mother Earth. In the same vein of artistic repurpose, my previous homage to Yayoi seemed hauntingly lovely with a mask.

And then it hit. I was reading one of my childhood favorites to my children at bedtime. It had been a long day. They’ve all been long days. We read the story and talked about what tomorrow would be like — more of the same. And it would probably be more of the same for a long time. And that felt really strange.

It got me thinking… what if this was all my children knew? What if their children’s bedtime stories had characters wearing masks, because that’s what life continued to be like indefinitely? What if the fairy tales they read when they’re tucking in their littles reflect social distancing and blue-covered smiles because that’s the world in which they’ll have to raise their children? I took the story I read that evening, and added a covid_19 filter. And continued to do so for the two weeks that followed.

No Fighting, No Biting! By Else Holmelund Minarik, Illustrated by Maurice Sendak.

No Fighting, No Biting! By Else Holmelund Minarik, Illustrated by Maurice Sendak.

What began as a shift from children’s books to family movies gave way to pulling from pop culture icons. The evolution meant I was leaving the storybook concept, but I welcomed the change. This time has been an odd mix of trying to both establish routine and reject it.

Below: The three collages that initiated the project and the handful of other activities that rounded out the 30.

when art imitates life /  by jami milne

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i'm tired. i recognize my privilege. when the cup crashed to the floor, i was only upset for a second. because i know what it's like to feel like i'm broken before quickly putting myself back together. and for me, putting myself together means creating.

one of my art favorites, the jealous curator, issued a #30dayartquarantine challenge two weeks ago. i’ve been sifting through what that means on a daily basis, sometimes following my creative script and other times seizing what i found in front of me, be it children’s books, miniature zines inspired by austin kleon, homemade dinosaur teeth or a coffee-filled broken mug.

these are strange times sponsored by a global pandemic and there’s no right way to make sense of it all. there may be no way to make sense of it, period. but regardless, as we’re all in this together, apart, may each and every one of you find your groove throughout this — creative or otherwise. thank you to those creating and sharing and making assignments to keep us all sane.

It's Complicated /  by jami milne

Its Complicated - Jami Milne

For many years our family has had a mylar balloon strung up in our kitchen that was shaped in one continuous cursive spread which read: love. Its sheen was pristine and its message clear. What began as an ode to Valentine’s Day saw many celebrations come and go: birthdays, holidays, breakfasts, lunches and dinners, new jobs and lost jobs and cheers full of tears of joy and sorrow. In good times and in bad, this polyester film stood guard, over my children, my partner and the memories we made gathered in our kitchen. It was, unequivocally… love.

Some might say, much like art, that love is hard to get. It’s beautiful. It’s messy. It’s confusing. It’s relentless but not without diligent care. It comes naturally but requires great nurturing. It’s strong and it’s fragile. It requires control. It’s complicated.

When the balloon left its post recently, it was discarded — not carelessly but in a way it was sure to meet its demise. The remaining air found ways to escape as it was wrapped up in the twine it had relied on to support its message for so long. Its sheen was twisted around itself as it took new shape. This anthropomorphic tribute to love became something new. Something familiar. Something complicated.

And then it hit me.

This is the love I now know. This is the messy, confusing, chaotic love that exists in all relationships. It doesn’t sit pristine on a shelf for years hoping to be noticed. The love I know ebbs and flows but remains constant, an ocean of emotion to rely upon. The love I know hurts, has hurt, will hurt but always promises you will feel. The love I know requires growth and letting go and leaning in and never giving up.

The love I know, is complicated.

In honor of 2/14, I’m selling fourteen 8x10 prints of It’s Complicated priced at $100/piece. If you’d like to purchase a signed, limited edition print, please email me here.

It’s Complicated. © 2020.

Dear Youth /  by jami milne

Every winter I settle into thoughts about how to capture some of my favorite youth in this city. The past several years we’ve shared our layers, we’ve painted our world better — last year we even created our own elements and settled inside them. Each year has its own story and its own reason to come to life. And just like each year, this one needed to be different.

We didn’t need to rip anything up. We didn’t need to add layers of color on top of the beauty that already exists. And we didn’t need to escape. We just needed to let a little bit of light in. We just needed a little bit of gentle love to reflect the unbridled energy that is inside of you. We just needed to let you shine.

Dear youth — life can be hard. It can be unpredictable. It can be riddled with questionable choices and quickly get out of your control. But you know what? It can also be pretty damn good. If you just always look for the light and always, always lead with love.

I see you. And I feel that light. Go shine, youth.

Looking to support the youth of our city? Attend Teen Summit 2020. Details here.

A Million Little Moments /  by jami milne

There are big moments that make our memories construct footings in our internal timelines. We’ll say “remember the day we got married?” and in most cases, we remember how we felt — anxious, eager, scared and certain, lightness and love (maybe even sunburnt and windblown).

We might remember the things we said. We’ll have a better chance of remembering if we wrote them down.

We’ll remember the things we saw for the first time. Our partner dressed like that. Our parents. Our pup. The tide. Your suit. My son. We’ll remember these for awhile before the memories fade as the details give way to the larger moment’s memory.

We got married.

What will you remember?

There’s a lot that can be said for these moments, but there’s a lot that doesn’t need to be said. There’s a lot that will be forgotten.

But these moments below… these extra little splices of life have been captured to last a lifetime. And more. And for that, I am grateful.

Wishing you the best that life has to offer, Mr. + Mrs. Gunderson.

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A love story. /  by jami milne

This is the story of love.

This is a love story.

This is the story of young lovers and old souls and souls entwined.

This is the story of heartache. The pain you feel when everything finally feels so right.

This is the story of a lifetime of lives lived up to this moment when lives converge.

This is the story of love.

This is the story of fleeting moments and late morning marriage at the courthouse.

This is the story of pen and paper and poetic vows.

This is the story of rings that ring true in every chamber and every chamber of the heart.

This is the story of good days and bad days that lead back to good days and forever days.

This is the story of the beginning that never ends.

This is the story of love.

This is the story of love and light and friendship.

This is the story that reminds us all these stories are worth telling and retelling.

This is the story that reminds us that life is worth living. Together.

This is the story.

This is the story of love.

This is also the story from six years ago, on this very date. This is the story of a best friend trusting a best friend that had a photographic eye but no camera of her own. This is the story of not knowing how to use the camera she borrowed from her mom but praying she’d still be able to see what the story was on the other side of the lens. This is the story of a lost hard drive. This is the story of a found camera card in the back of a bedside table drawer. This is the story of that card found one day before a sixth anniversary. This is the story of the universe doing its thing to make sure stories are remembered and retold. I love you guys. Thank you for trusting me with your friendship, your love, your ongoing and forever kinda story.

DES MOINES MUSIC ICON: ABBIE SAWYER /  by jami milne

I first met Abbie Sawyer outside a favorite coffee shop earlier this summer, meeting one another to discuss her upcoming portrait shoot for the City Sounds’ ICON project. Although I had seen her on stage several times, (the most recent as the opener for Rufus Wainwright) like many circles that should entwine, the universe had yet to overlap ours.

We both believed in creating imagery that told a story you don’t find on stage. Her audience knows the crooning songstress with the soul of New Orleans in one of her band’s name and her refined vibrant vocals. But with all artists, there’s more to the story than the final production.

Have you ever worked for an idea to come? Have you paced, struggled, scribbled working toward what’s next? Have you reached the point where you stopped running and scrolling long enough to stop and think thoroughly? Have you closed your eyes and allowed the breeze to softly whisper the spark of an idea when you least expected it? You should consider giving it a try.

Abbie and I met to explore the blank canvas. The artist stripped down and vulnerable, working hard to be still and trust the process. We sat together with the quiet knowing that what we could create through the lens, was a beautiful work of art. It’s just a matter of good timing.

Thank you for trusting me with you, Abbie. As someone beautiful once sang, I’m keen on you.

You can find more portraits published in the Sept/Oct 2019 issue of dsm Magazine and at the City Sounds website here.

ballet dreams do come true /  by jami milne

When I was a little girl, I didn’t dream of growing up to be a ballerina. (This dream would manifest itself a mere 30 years later.) But after meeting Maura… I quickly learned that there are some magical young women whose dreams of dancing are very real and do, in fact, come true.

There wasn’t a bad image of this beautiful dancer because she is so incredibly talented at what she does. My top ten faves can be found below.

Wishing you all of the success the stage can hold for you at Richmond Ballet. I have no doubt they will fall in love, just as I have.

DRAG KING DSM - PRIDE EDITION /  by jami milne

When incredible people support incredible people, incredible things happen. A huge shout out to Jen Carruthers and her ongoing drive to turn dreams into [drag king] reality. And kudos to the performers and supporters who built up and then brought down the house. Another incredible #DKDSM in the books.

What does it take to be happy? /  by jami milne

When was the last time you saw something beautiful and just let it be?

In a world of complexities, of pop-ups and notifications, of likes and loves, love and hate, death and decay … in a world in which layers of meaning can feel overwhelming as one sifts through their own personal narratives to arrive at a storyline — there sits Jennifer Leatherby.

Calm. Beautiful. And happy.

I sat on her cardboard covered studio floor, searching for something else. I was searching for a deeper truth, a hidden meaning. I was searching to uncover the despair that led to the creation. I was asking leading questions I thought would unleash the anguish. But there sat Jennifer Leatherby and her art.

Calm. Beautiful. And happy.

Sometimes it’s not about a greater meaning because the meaning is already right in front of you. And the meaning is great without trying to further unpack it. (You were just to self-deprecating to see it.) In this case, it’s flowers and they’re brilliant. So is she.

It’s Art Week in Des Moines, Iowa. And there doesn’t have to be a cross to bear. There may be for some, but sometimes, if you let your guard down and lift up your veil and you drop your cloak of overburdened self-consciousness, you’ll find Jennifer Leatherby and her flowers.

And you, too, might also find yourself calm, beautiful and happy.

Visit Jennifer Leatherby’s flowers in all their beauty at her Open Studio on Wednesday, June 26 from 6-9pm. Because it’s Art Week. And because you deserve to feel this way.



Cockfight. Shewolf. Worms. Nipples. The Natural Progression of Artist Hannah Sung /  by jami milne

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I had roughly 11 minutes to spend with Hannah Sung one afternoon in which we were both to blame. But we met with two hand-squeezed rose lemonades and a giant, sparkling, sequined nipple between the two of us and somehow, we were lost in time. It feels unfortunate there was not more time or hand-squeezed lemonade or sequins.

Unless you’ve lived under a rock the past year, or have zero connection to the art scene in what the Des Moines Partnership affectionately refers to as DSMUSA, you’ve heard of Hannah Sung. You’ve seen her nipples. They’ve strutted through Mainframe Studios and the Pappajohn Sculpture Park, down Court Avenue and for the well-traveled, they’ve been in Bangkok and Cuba, which give them both literal and figurative street cred. Have your nips been there? Didn’t think so.

Hannah’s chops come in the form of riffing about a commercial career in Los Angeles but as any Iowa transplant can attest, we’re here now, so what. She’s moved on and so has her work. She left behind the stringent upbringing and the successful paycheck to create for herself. 

  • I asked Hannah about her childhood and the hours of forced illustration growing up in a strict Korean household. But I wanted to know more about how she’s adapting to a life in Des Moines vs. a life in LA.

  • I asked Hannah about her concept and who she was confident was and wasn’t her audience. But I wanted to know more about her vulnerabilities.

  • I asked Hannah about her journal and if I could take a quick snapshot, when instead I wanted to ask her more about her journal and if I could take a portrait of every page.

  • I asked Hannah about the dog in the picture but instead I wanted to hug her and hold her and cry about the dog in the picture. It was her dog, but it was my dog. Maybe it was all of our dogs.

  • I took a photograph of Hannah sitting next to her art in a coffee shop but instead wish I could sit across from her for hours in her studio, taking photographs of her talking about her art and illustrations and nipples and dog and childhood.

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The thing about Hannah is that her art is arresting and disruptive. She is clever and cunning and curious and just damn funny. But beneath the authentic comedic presence, beneath the boobles and beneath the journal on a bag of USDA organic coffee beans, is something frighteningly familiar: that young child we all once were — and we all are fighting for the chance to be once again: loved, inspired and free.

Get to know the nipples and the greater story they hold on Thursday, June 27 during Art Week Des Moines, at Hannah’s Open Studio from 6-9PM. In addition to artistic boobs there will also be a rapping pirate so really, what excuse do you have to not be there? None.

The Students of Urban Leadership | 2019 /  by jami milne

For our 2019 concept, students were asked to share an element or elements that they connected with. What imagery brought them joy? What did they feel ground by, inspired by, at home because of? If we can close our eyes and feel our place, we can always find a sense of home.

I see you. /  by jami milne

Our friendship is so woven together now that I’ve had trouble recalling lately how we first met. (It’s a funny story involving stalker-esque precision in two parking lots, complete with two fingers pointed back-and-forth between eyes, accompanied by an “I see you.” Courtney tells it best.)

I see you is still a phrase I’d use to describe our relationship. It’s less so mouthed across a parking lot and more so implied in a night-before-Thanksgiving-without-your-firstborn text.

I see you working hard to make life right — for you, for your wife, for your sons and for the many deserving communities you serve.

I see you keeping it all together, like every mom does, juggling boys and soccer balls and practices and pickups.

I see you struggling to be best, and to sometimes just be okay with being okay. (You’re both, by the way.)

I see you living a life without regret, that doesn’t come easy, but lays the foundation for transparency, honesty, authenticity. Your boys will someday thank you. My boys will someday thank you. I thank you.

I see you with Kate. I see you smiling. I see you trying as hard as you can to create a beautiful life with a beautiful human — full of life, full of adventure, full of a yard that has picture perfect lights on your evergreen trees (and a large elf). But most importantly, full of love.

It was fitting you had a plaque on your wedding day that said: you, yes you. It’s fitting that simple phrase is made up of just three words. Just like: I see you. Just like: I love you.

Both of you. Happy original wedding day, Courtney and Kate. I am as honored today to have had the privilege of sharing that most sacred space with you as I was in September.

then / now /  by jami milne

throw•back. noun. a reversion to an earlier ancestral characteristic: a person or thing having the characteristics of a former time.

 

STELLA /  by jami milne

Reflecting on the years spent with this beautiful young woman who graduates today. Thank you for being a part of our family. Thank you for holding Margaux as a baby, swaddling her to sleep. Thank you for encouraging Finn's imagination when we were away. Thank you for the walks, the swims, the laughter and the love. We can't wait to watch you continue to move mountains in your next chapter. 

TO YAYOI /  by jami milne

Perhaps much like you found solace and inspiration in the success of Georgia O'Keefe, here's my ode to you, Yayoi. Here's my homage to part creative | part crazy. Every dot, a representation of a new idea, a new cause, a lost cause, a lost love. A found love. For the love of art. Every circle another success and another failure. Here's to feeling on top of the world. Here's to feeling hidden. Here's to hiding on purpose. Here's to being on the top of your game and here's to feeling you've got no skin in the game. Here's to being a woman. Here's to feeling passed over. Here's to being found. Here's to making work others will steal. Here's to selling out. Here's to lines that prove age and wisdom. Here's to clarity. Here's to you, Yayoi. 

VISUALIZING DEAD BODIES /  by jami milne

If that title comes off too strong, you're probably not my audience for this post. That's not to say you won't read it, but it is to say that you already get it.

My son goes to an elementary school that teaches Cognitive Guided Instruction. CGI in this instance, refers to a child's intuitive approach to problem solving. I first became familiar with this methodology when my son shared with me his math worksheets in which he was drawing bags of apples in order to multiple how many he had in total. 

I was thinking about this ability to problem solve through visualization as I was placing 164 balloons within the Des Moines Social Club last night. Perhaps part of our problem, as a society of adults, is that we've forgotten how to problem solve through visualization. To those who don't get it, let me help you see:

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Are you a mother? Is your wife or partner? There's a funny thing that happens when you became one. You sway. You hold your baby in the safety of your arms, and you sway. Back and forth, in what may have started as a move to a lullaby, but forever remains long after the music is gone. You never stop swaying once you start.

The first balloon swayed when placed. I visualized a mother, that never again gets to hold her baby, never again gets to sway. Did you know 20 six year olds were shot to death at Sandy Hook Elementary in 2012? Twenty mothers who swayed now stand still. Twenty six year olds, twenty tiny bodies, were shot between three and eleven times each. Can you visualize that?

Can you still tell me we don't need stricter gun laws?

The interesting thing about balloons is they exhibit anthropomorphic qualities, much like that sway. When they're held within a bag, if the bag is not too heavy, they begin to float away, almost ghost-like. The ribbons attached to keep them from floating away is made to curl, not unlike how my daughter wraps her tiny hands around my finger, since she has since birth. Some balloons, for seemingly no reason, lean on one another, even though 162 of them stand still. 

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Will this installation save one more child or teacher from being gunned down in the safety of a school? No. Will this installation change our gun laws? No. Could our Republican representatives? Yes.

Call your representatives. Write more letters. Show up in ways that are right for you. And don't stop visualizing positive change. 

The answer comes when we consider what pressure is will be installed through March 18 in Viaduct Gallery at the Des Moines Social Club. An artist talk will be held alongside Nancy Gebhart, Curator of ReAct Gallery on March 8 at 7PM.