I Fell Out of Love With My Photography Career
Reflections on curating my first solo show, endings + beginnings, and the return to a creative life that feels like mine again.
I know, I know, I know… it’s been a while. But life has been lifeing, and I’ve been quietly living it. Tending to the small sacred corners of my world. Pouring into myself off the timeline. Relearning how to water my own roots.
Recently, I was reading through some of my older Substack entries and realized something: I’ve never really written much about my career as a photographer here. Which is wild because for so long, that has been my thing. The bread and butter. The dream. The identity. But truthfully, I think I’ve been avoiding it because I haven’t felt in love with it for a while now. And saying that out loud feels honest. Maybe even a little freeing.
But writing to you now feels like a bridge back to something. Maybe not the old version of “photographer” I used to cling to. But something new. Something evolving.
Two weeks ago I curated my very first solo photography exhibition. Thirteen years in and I finally did the thing I told myself I’d do. And I’m so proud of that.
The show, titled ‘scène’, (pronounced sen), is the French word for “scene.” It is a self-curated glimpse into my nightlife photography in New Orleans. Unguarded and raw, it captures the pulse of late nights, the intimacy, the chaos, the beauty of who we become when the sun goes down. It reveals the versions of ourselves we unmask in the dark. It's a visual archive of my time out in a city that shaped and challenged me in more ways than I can name.
When I moved back to Louisiana, landing in New Orleans after time in Atlanta, I found myself pulled into nightlife. Camera in hand, drink in the other, using photography as a way to explore myself and cope at the same time.
Eventually I wasn’t just capturing the vibes. I was curating them. That’s how 1-800-FEENIN was born, an R&B party in New Orleans that I co-founded. I creative direct the entire experience, from the music to the visuals to the atmosphere. What started as documenting nightlife turned into designing it. It became a way for me to use my eye beyond the lens and shape how people feel in a space.
In some ways, I feel like I developed a nightlife alter ego. I was good at it. I still am. But deep down, I’ve always known that part of me was misaligned. Not wrong. Just not whole. There’s nothing inherently bad about nightlife (though being a woman in it comes with plenty of layers), but I’ve started to crave something softer. More rooted. More soul-forward.
So this show, while a celebration, also feels like a release. A bow to a version of myself I’m ready to evolve from.
But honestly, the biggest lesson wasn’t even in the exhibition itself. It was in the process of getting there.
I didn’t realize how hard it would be to ask for help. How my hyper-independent only child wiring had me believing I had to do everything alone. There were moments I almost sabotaged myself because I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone. Isn’t that wild?
But God had other plans. My community showed up in ways I’ll never forget. Helping me pick up supplies, marketing support, installing prints, and keeping my spirit high when I wanted to shut down. Each person involved reminded me that I’m not as alone as I sometimes think I am. And I have so much gratitude for everyone who came to the opening and shared in that moment with me.
There’s a deep sense of pride and celebration in me right now. Bringing scène to life reminded me that I’m still in motion. That I can trust my ideas not only as a photographer, but also as a curator! That I’m not stagnant, just shifting. Sometimes the way out of a creative rut is to stop thinking and start doing. As creatives, we often forget how much power lives in the work we’ve already created. We don’t always need something new. Sometimes we just need to look at what’s already there and give it space to be seen. Stop waiting. Make the thing. Show the work. Move.
So while scène is on display through July 6 at Nightbloom Bar (yes, come see it if you haven’t), this letter is less about the art and more about the heart behind it. About what happens when we fall out of love with something that once defined us. About the messy middle between giving up and beginning again.
I’m learning to let go of perfection. To be honest in my process. To embrace pivots. And if you’re in a similar space, in transition, in questioning, in between, I hope this meets you where you are.
If you're interested in bringing a piece of the show home, limited edition prints from scène are available to order. Each piece is part of a limited run of 10 copies. You can view the collection and purchase directly through on my website. Thank you for supporting my work in this way; it means more than you know.
Until next time,
Taylor