**Walking the Earth with a Camera** **Photography as Reverence, Relationship, and Remembrance** **Maria Ciampini** Photography is a practice of communion—a way to connect with the living world, offering presence, stillness, and care through every image. I move through the land not to take, but to receive; not to control, but to witness. My camera becomes a tool for listening, tuning into the quiet language of place and life. Whether I'm standing barefoot in the mossy lava fields of Iceland, gliding across the still waters of Pointe au Baril, or kneeling in the snow as an owl takes flight, I approach each moment with patience and deep respect. The landscapes I encounter breathe and speak. When I listen closely, they reveal themselves—not through force, but through rhythm, trust, and time. Last summer, while kayaking through Pointe au Baril with my husband, a bald eagle appeared—its talons gripping a fish, wings steady in the wind. Every time I attempted to raise my camera, the current pulled me toward the rocks. Together, we adjusted our course, trying again and again until stillness and timing finally aligned. The resulting image was more than just a photograph; it was a memory shaped by collaboration, resilience, and the quiet strength of the elements surrounding us. In Iceland, Arctic terns taught me about boundaries and presence. I waited inside an open van, learning how to observe without disrupting their nesting grounds. In winter, this meant driving for hours in deep snow to locate a Snowy Owl and standing in the cold long enough to understand its rhythm. The resulting image, featuring a mid-flight owl framed in falling snow, earned the 1839 Discovery Award. However, what mattered more than the recognition was what this experience required of me: humility, endurance, and faith in something unseen. This way of seeing is grounded in my life’s work as an artist, educator, and philosopher. With a Ph.D. in Philosophy and decades of listening to children and families, I’ve come to understand that care is a form of attention and that sustained attention is an act of love. Photography becomes my way of practicing that love—toward light, land, and life in all its fleeting forms. In a time shaped by urgency, spectacle, and disconnection, I offer my images as spaces to return—to what is quiet, grounding, and alive. Each photograph holds a story of relationship. My hope is that those who view them feel the depth of this connection—a sense of belonging, a breath of stillness, and a gentle reminder of what remains sacred.