Artistic Mediums as Mirrors
It’s kind of like walking into a fun house of mirrors (b&w display photo taken by Michelle Ma, 2024)
Missing a day of writing on Substack felt terrible, but the shame reminded me of the "no days off" mindset in diet culture—so in that case, I reject it. It is a daily part of my routine now, though, and I really enjoy doing it. I don’t have a specific time I write, I show up when I can.
Showing up to the page is both a practice and a reminder that I showed up for myself that day. If I keep using shame as a motivator, I know it will backfire—just as it has before. I write to preserve what I felt. Reflection has its place, but capturing the feeling in the moment feels essential.
I had a difficult time showing up to the page yesterday, as I was catching up on sleep and then had to organize the apartment.
Last night, I hosted a small, hygge-inspired gathering. Jeff and I invited three close friends—musicians we’ve played with consistently over the past few years. My intention was simple: to create a low-stimulus, heartwarming space where we could connect as friends, outside of the usual hustle. We support each other musically all the time—calling each other for gigs, rehearsing, grabbing the occasional meal—but we rarely get the chance to just be together.
I set the tone with a guided meditation and a suggested journaling prompt on the subject of balance. I baked chocolate chip cookies (dairy- and egg-free), sliced up oranges, brewed tea, and laid out blankets and pillows in case anyone needed to just sink in and do nothing. No pressure, just warmth.
Towards the end of the evening, we ended up making music with whatever was around—keyboard, mugs, a pencil box, random percussion instruments. It was playful, unstructured, and what I felt was needed.
Nobody was obligated to do any of these activities. It was merely space surrounded by people we love.
This morning, I played at Little Green with friends…
Our (on the spot) setlist was a mix of everything: When Something Is Wrong with My Baby by Isaac Hayes and David Porter (made famous by Sam & Dave), I Love You (For Sentimental Reasons) by Pat West and Deek Watson (sung by Nat King Cole), Misty by Erroll Garner, and Until You Come Back to Me by Stevie Wonder (sung by Aretha Franklin). I even threw in Sometimes by Britney Spears for fun.
We’ll pull from all over—originals, jazz standards, R&B classics, pop tunes—and somehow make it all feel cohesive… or at least, I hope we do. They haven’t kicked us out yet. 😜
Lately, I’ve been reflecting on how many nautical miles I’ve traveled—physically and emotionally—to feel truly seen. A past conversation with a friend got me thinking about identity and perception; she once described me as more of a songwriter/singer than a singer/songwriter. In some ways, I took pride in that distinction, but in others, it unsettled me—perhaps because perspectives like these are often shaped by how we see ourselves.
Several years ago, when I was first exploring photography in Nashville, I felt a bittersweet tension. It gave me access to spaces and people I’ve long admired in the music scene—sometimes even leading to collaboration, which has been incredible. But more often, I’ve found myself wondering if I was being seen primarily as a photographer rather than a musician. And not even a seasoned photographer—just someone still finding their footing.
Of course, this perception might have been more about my own insecurities than anyone else’s opinions. I do believe people appreciated the photos I took, especially since, as a fellow singer-songwriter, I have a mild understanding of how artists wish to be portrayed - or at least the kinds of images feel most useful for different platforms. If nothing else, I know I have a gift for making people feel at ease.
Before photography, I was fully engaged in performing my songs, testing new material at writer’s rounds, and recording in the studio. While I didn’t put my personal pursuits on hold when I picked up photography, I did give myself the chance to see myself through a new perspective and learn something different. Maybe, on some level, I was rejecting the competitive nature and gatekeeping I felt were part of the Nashville culture. I’ve always been more of a “march to the beat of my own drum” kind of person. There’s a line in my song Labor of Love that says, “Never had a dream, just things I believed in,” and it still rings true for me today.
Here’s some photos I took:
In March 2022, most of my camera equipment was stolen from the back of Jeff’s car on his birthday. Shout out to the Bay Area. I got ‘bipped’. It was a real loss.
To be fair, I had already set my camera aside in 2020 to refocus on music. I used it sparingly, but once it was gone, I realized how much I missed it. Photography had been another way to connect—with myself, with the world, and as a creative means of making a living.
Working with people through a lens also forced me to reflect on how I physically show up in the world. What insecurities do I carry? Am I projecting them onto my subject? And how do I capture the space between how I see them and how they see themselves?
Fast forward to today, and I’m a preschool music teacher, working singer, and artist. My aim was always to establish myself as a professional vocalist—both as a background and lead singer, in the studio and on stage. Being recognized as an artist has its perks, but there’s a specific kind of respect I’ve been after. I’ve always wanted to be recognized as a singer who truly understands music from a musician’s perspective.
I’ve also invested a lot of time and effort just to feel grounded in my preschool music role, learning countless children’s songs, many of them in different languages. In doing so, I’ve barely given myself the space to write songs over the past couple of years.
Now look at me, writing on Substack almost everyday. :P
In my early twenties, I tied my identity to being healthy and vegan, but eventually, I rejected that label because I wanted to be recognized more for my artistry as a singer/songwriter than for what I ate. My ego liked it for a while, especially given my past struggles with disordered eating and weight fluctuations. I wouldn’t say I’m fully balanced yet, but I’ve definitely stopped punishing myself the way I used to. This past year, incorporating lifestyle changes—like biking to my schools, joining a gym just two minutes away, and walking more—has had a positive impact on my mental health. In the years before that, it was hard to maintain a consistent exercise routine with the demands of my work. In an industry where my image and body type are often tied to opportunities and credibility, it can mess with me. But I’m doing my best not to feed into the toxic, patriarchal pressures of the music industry. I’m focusing on listening to my body—balancing my intuition with science, but without letting it turn into obsession.