Landscapes Hold The Memory Of The Past
Featuring Sasha Hitchcock Words by Nastasia Khmelnitski
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Sasha Hitchcock is a UK-based photographer who was born in Devon. Sasha’s work takes root in her personal experiences and self-analysis of psychological landscape, emotions, and perceptions. The creative outlet allows Sasha to offer an interpretation of her surroundings and the themes she chooses to accentuate and share. The images present a glimpse into the memory to uncover a feeling, an atmosphere, and a story about the occurrence, the day, and the characters. Her work is sensual and invites one to experience the moment with the creator.
In this interview, we speak with Sasha about her project Skeleton Woman, which portrays a strong connection between nature, portraiture, and the human body. Sasha explains how body psychotherapy shaped her work on the project and the thread between past experiences and the emotional and physical perception of the world. “During the project Skeleton Woman, I was working extensively with repressed memories, intergenerational imprints, and atmosphere, looking to the landscape in nature and the landscape of the body to understand and ultimately work through the imprints.” – Sasha says. We touch on the main themes Sasha chooses to develop, such as the cycle of life and death, the wounds of the past and the healing of the old trauma, and her experience as a female photographer of imposter syndrome in connection to a dysfunctional industry.
‘I think landscapes hold the memory of the past — the generations that came before and the imprint of life, the cycle of death and rebirth, and the wounds that become scars, fears, and belief systems that get passed down as truth.’
My Story
You were born in Devon in the UK, and you spent several years in North Carolina in the US. In what way do you think living in two different countries and cultures has affected you as a photographer, the themes of your choice, and your voice?
I think landscapes hold the memory of the past — the generations that came before and the imprint of life, the cycle of death and rebirth, and the wounds that become scars, fears, and belief systems that get passed down as truth. On the surface, the two places are culturally completely different, but when you get beneath the surface and feel the landscape without the distraction of modern life, I find there to be a strong similarity in how they feel. I think both Devon and North Carolina have a forgotten feel to them as if both are stuck in a moment in time. I often joke that when I return to Devon, I see hairstyles that I haven’t seen in 30 years. It feels as if there is a wounding — a silent scream which paws at you, manifesting as sadness for the lifetimes spent running from its cyclical embrace. But there is also comfort to be found here. There is something that calls you back home to the Mother’s caress.
‘We hold the trauma of previous generations; we have internalized the belief systems that came as a result of their experiences, and we feel those emotions directly, storing them in our own bodies.’
Skeleton Woman
A strong connection between nature, portraiture, and story reappears in this series. How does working with a body psychotherapist strengthen your practice and vision of what you want to achieve with the project? Could you take us backstage to your work on Skeleton Woman?
Body psychotherapy works on the premise that we store trauma within our body, and for it to be released, we need to process and experience the emotions that were suppressed at the time of the incident or imprint. I also believe that within us, we hold the trauma of previous generations; we have internalized the belief systems that came as a result of their experiences, and we feel those emotions directly, storing them in our own bodies. As I look back through family albums, I see the same characteristics of movement and holding, the same expressions, and the same imprint.
During the project Skeleton Woman, I was working extensively with repressed memories, intergenerational imprints, and atmosphere, looking to the landscape in nature and the landscape of the body to understand and ultimately work through the imprints. The project is a representation of a time when I felt simultaneously separate from and engulfed by the landscape. In my psychotherapy sessions, I would explore the dissociative space through techniques such as vegetotherapy, a practice where the therapist enables the patient to physically simulate the bodily effects of strong emotions.
The experiences we have throughout life, especially the ones during childhood, shape how we experience the world emotionally and physically; they cast a glaze over everything. Photography was the vehicle I used to look at this glaze, and psychotherapy was the tool to alleviate the grasp that it had on my life.
‘I found that the images expressed my experience of the world most accurately when I worked journalistically, photographing when I felt like it and when something stood out to me.’
Beyond the Image
Your body of work has a cinematic angle brought with the particular tones of black and white, but not only. There is an atmosphere and the story that materializes beyond the frame, beyond the moment that is frozen and caught — the memory you share. What is your approach to finding or building the narrative?
I found that the images expressed my experience of the world most accurately when I worked journalistically, photographing when I felt like it and when something stood out to me. I also mostly work close to home, and a lot of the images are from my garden. Working through projects takes time, and I often see it in two halves. I need a substantial amount of time to create work about a period of my life which is representing various themes, and then another substantial amount of time to sit on the work to understand what that period of my life meant in hindsight and which photographs accurately portray that. Also, because the work is very personal, I think that it’s healthy to have some distance from the projects so that I can talk about them in a more diplomatic way. One of the interesting aspects of working with creativity and evolution, the cycle of death and rebirth, is that the body of work reflects a time and an experience that is no longer my reality. For a project that documented a period of suffering, I feel relief and gratitude towards the tools I have that helped me move beyond that.
‘I actually ended up stopping commercial work because I was unable to find the balance between that and my personal work, and I resented having to spend time working commercially and being known for that style of work.’
The Drive
Photography, like other art disciplines, has a duality: projects divided into personal and commercial ones. It can become a struggle to find one’s voice within the commercial sphere and create this balance and unified vision. What is your main drive with your personal work? What brings you joy in creative research?
I actually ended up stopping commercial work because I was unable to find the balance between that and my personal work, and I resented having to spend time working commercially and being known for that style of work. I also really struggled with imposter syndrome on a shoot, which was compounded because I never really figured out how to create commercial work that was in the same style as my personal projects. Kudos to any photographer who manages that. I now earn my income in another way and am happy to have total freedom over my creative practice.
In the past, there was a desire to affect someone directly. I was making work about something very specific at the time, and I wanted to be seen/heard and probably saved. I think there is a lot of dysfunction within creative art. I believe that when we create as artists, we manifest all of our wounds and belief systems into a photograph, paintings, sculptures, etc. Creative practice in its unhealthiest form can be a reassuring mirror, a way to re-experience the feelings and thoughts associated with our trauma over and over again. And then layered on top of that is the exploitative nature of the industry where everything is for profit and people buy into dysfunction.
Within a creative practice lies the key to looking at ourselves and evolving as an individual, healing the wounds from our lifetimes and previous ones. It can be a tool for finding freedom from the weight of fear and suffering manifesting as dysfunctional patterns. So, I guess there is a desire to affect people, but more in the sense of changing the way we approach the creative arts as a whole.
‘I think a lot about my experience of being a woman and how difficult that is, how it feels like everything we do is an uphill struggle.’
A Sneak Peek
Could you provide us a sneak peek into the project you’re currently working on or some of the themes in development?
I have been within no man’s land for a little while now. I am situated somewhere between the shadowlands and the light on the horizon. There is a process of reclaiming things that were lost, but I think there is also a process of claiming things that we may not have had.
I think a lot about my experience of being a woman and how difficult that is, how it feels like everything we do is an uphill struggle. I think about the persecution of female sexuality and the intergenerational wounding that is passed down from parent to child as a warning: a desire to protect us from our death sentence, but ultimately a process of re-shackling our girls to the same burden. I think about the experience of imposter syndrome and the trials and tribulations of having a career as a woman, about how high the standards that society sets for us are, and how we punish ourselves endlessly for not meeting them. We have what feels like an impossibly high wall to climb and no guidebook for how to cast off the ropes that chain us to repeating what has come before. There are no mentors or guidance for what is possible. I am also thinking a lot about my relationship with my creativity and the experience of making artwork. Why is creating so hard as an artist? Why can it take so much from us? I believe this project is about making steps forward rather than looking back.