By Jennifer L. Grant-White
Photographer | Artist | Storyteller
www.jenniferwhiteart.com
The Beginning of Noticing
I have spent much of my life learning how to see.
Not simply looking at the world, but noticing it. The way light moves across an old doorway. The delicate architecture of a flower. The quiet dignity of a weathered tree. The rhythm of shadows along a building. The remarkable complexity of a landscape that has existed long before us and, if we care for it, may continue long after we are gone.
For much of my life, photography has been a way to capture these moments. Art is a way to interpret them. I am drawn to beauty, patterns, textures, colors, and the stories that seemed to live within ordinary things.
But over time, something has changed.
I have begun to understand that the act of noticing is not simply about creating an image. It is about the relationship between myself and what I am observing. It is about becoming present enough to encounter the world without immediately trying to possess, explain, or change it. After experiences that have profoundly altered the course of my life, noticing has become something even more meaningful.
It has become a way of surviving, a way of healing, and a way of living.
This is the story behind AWKN—A Way to Keep Noticing.
A Life of Many Chapters
My journey to becoming a contemplative photographer, multidisciplinary artist, and storyteller has been anything but linear.
I began my professional life in the sciences, studying geology and beginning my professional career in the oil and gas industry. Geology taught me to think in terms of deep time, interconnected systems, and the extraordinary forces that shape our planet. It introduced me to the language of landscapes, the history held within stone, and the realization that the Earth is constantly changing, even when it appears perfectly still.
My career eventually carried me through several industries, including business management, technology, insurance, transportation, and photography. Along the way, I became a business leader, entrepreneur, educator, professional business and life coach, and artist. These experiences have taught me about ambition, leadership, resilience, creativity, and the complicated ways people define success. Yet beneath these accomplishments, I have found myself asking questions that no professional title could answer.
Who am I beyond the roles I play?
What makes a life meaningful?
How do I remain open to beauty when life has shown its capacity to cause profound suffering?
What does it mean to live with intention when everything I believe to be permanent can change?
These questions have become central to both my Buddhist practice and my creative work.
When Life Changes Everything
There are experiences that divide our lives into a before and an after.
The death of my son, Dawson, changed the landscape of my existence. Eight months later, my husband, Greg, died by suicide. These losses are devastating, but grief is not the only thing I had to learn to navigate. In the aftermath, I have faced painful discoveries about my marriage, our finances, and secrets the years of living with a mentally unstable spouse hide. I am not only confronting the deaths of people I loved, but also the collapse of much of what I had believed about my life.
Grief does not arrive neatly packaged. It does not follow a schedule, respect our plans, or provide a clear path forward. Sometimes it is overwhelming. Sometimes it is quiet. Sometimes it appears in the most unexpected moments, when the world around us continues as though nothing has changed. I have learned that surviving profound loss is not necessarily about becoming stronger, but about remaining willing to meet another day.
There have been times when the future seemed impossible to imagine. Yet the world continued to offer small moments of presence.
A bird resting on a branch.
The movement of clouds.
The texture of a leaf.
A brief moment of light.
These observations do not erase my grief. They do not explain what happened or make the losses acceptable. They remind me that life is still unfolding around me, even when I struggle to participate in it.
I can not change what happened. I can not hold on to what is gone. But I am learning to notice what remains and how to live alongside it.
Buddhism and the Practice of Being Present
My Buddhist practice has profoundly influenced the way I understand suffering, creativity, and my relationship with the world.
Buddhism does not promise a life free from pain. Instead, it invites us to investigate the nature of suffering, recognize impermanence, and develop compassion and wisdom in our relationship with ourselves and others.
One of the most meaningful teachings in my life has been the understanding that everything is impermanent. At first, impermanence can sound frightening. We naturally want to hold on to the people, experiences, and circumstances that bring us happiness. We want the beautiful moments to last. We want certainty in a world that offers very little of it.
But impermanence is not simply about loss. It is also the reason a flower blooms, seasons change, rivers move, and new life emerges. The same truth that makes life fragile also makes it extraordinary.
Through meditation, contemplation, and the study of Buddhist teachings, I have been learning to meet life as it is rather than continually struggling against what I cannot control. This does not mean becoming indifferent. It does not mean accepting injustice, ignoring suffering, or abandoning the desire to make a difference. For me, it means developing the clarity to recognize what is happening and the compassion to respond wisely.
These teachings have become inseparable from my creative practice. When I photograph a flower, I know its beauty is temporary. When I sketch a tree, I recognize that it is part of a living system constantly responding to its environment. When I observe an aging building, I see the traces of human lives, weather, time, and change.
I am not trying to stop impermanence. I am learning to witness it.
Heaven, Earth, and Humanity
One of the contemplative frameworks that most deeply informs my photography and art is the Buddhist-inspired principle of Heaven, Earth, and Humanity.
I understand Heaven as the vastness and openness surrounding us—the sky, the atmosphere, the space that allows everything to exist.
Earth represents the ground of our experience: the physical world, its textures, structures, forms, and living systems.
Humanity exists in relationship with both. We are participants in the world, not separate observers standing outside it.
This understanding changes how I approach making art. Rather than searching only for visually impressive subjects, I try to become receptive to what is already present. I may notice the relationship between a small wildflower and the expansive sky above it. I may become interested in the way human architecture interrupts, reflects, or complements the natural environment. I may observe how weather, water, and time transform the surfaces we leave behind.
The photograph is not simply a record of an object. It is an expression of a relationship.
Heaven offers spaciousness. Earth offers form. Humanity brings awareness and response. Together, they remind me that we belong to something much larger than ourselves. That belonging carries responsibility.
Art as a Contemplative Practice
I work across several mediums, including photography, graphite, colored pencil, watercolor, ink, and painting. Each medium offers a different way of paying attention.
Photography teaches me to recognize what is happening in a fleeting moment. Drawing requires me to remain with a subject long enough to understand its shapes, proportions, relationships, and subtle details. Watercolor invites me to work with uncertainty, allowing pigment and water to participate in the creative process.
None of these practices requires me to control every outcome. In fact, some of the most meaningful discoveries happen when I release my expectations.
My approach is influenced by the Buddhist understanding of dharma art, particularly the relationship between creativity, wakefulness, spaciousness, and nonaggression. I am interested in creating without constantly forcing an interpretation or demanding that the result prove something about my abilities.
This does not mean abandoning technique, discipline, or artistic excellence. Craft matters deeply to me. Technique serves awareness rather than replacing it.
As a dharma artist, I begin by becoming present. I observe. I allow curiosity to emerge. I respond through the medium I have chosen. Eventually, I practice releasing my attachment to the outcome.
Over time, this has become the foundation of the AWKN creative practice:
Notice what is here. Meet it as it is. Create from what arises. Release what I cannot hold. Keep noticing.
These words are more than an artistic philosophy. They are a way of engaging with life.
Seven Ways to Keep Noticing
As my photography and artwork have evolved, I have begun organizing my creative observations into seven interconnected ways of seeing: Stillness, Spaciousness, Thresholds, Rhythm, Impermanence, Traces, and Wonder.
Stillness invites me to recognize the quiet presence that exists beneath the activity of everyday life.
Spaciousness explores openness, possibility, and the relationship between form and the space surrounding it.
Thresholds draw my attention to transitions—the places where one experience, environment, or condition gives way to another.
Rhythm reveals repetition, movement, cycles, and the patterns that connect seemingly separate things.
Impermanence reminds me that everything is changing, whether that change is visible in a single moment or unfolds over centuries.
Traces explore what remains: the marks left by time, weather, human activity, memory, and absence.
Wonder invites me to encounter the world with curiosity rather than certainty.
These are not rigid categories. They overlap, inform one another, and continually evolve. Together, they form a vocabulary for the way I see. They also reveal something important about my relationship with nature. The more closely I observe the world, the more difficult it becomes to regard anything as ordinary or insignificant.
A fallen leaf becomes a record of an entire growing season. A weathered stone carries a history far older than my own. A single pollinator moving between flowers becomes part of a vast network of ecological relationships. The world becomes more extraordinary as I learn to pay attention. That growing awareness has led me toward another important realization.
From Noticing to Preserving
For years, my creative work has centered on the question:
What becomes visible when we slow down long enough to truly see?
Today, I find myself asking a second question:
What responsibility emerges once we have truly seen?
My background in geology, my Buddhist practice, and my experiences as a photographer and artist have gradually brought me to a deeper concern for the natural world. I have become increasingly aware that many of the landscapes, habitats, species, and ecological relationships we take for granted are vulnerable to human activity, environmental degradation, and a changing climate.
We live in a world of extraordinary beauty and extraordinary pressure.
Yet conservation can sometimes feel distant from our everyday lives. We hear about disappearing habitats, declining biodiversity, pollution, and environmental change, but the scale of these challenges can make us feel powerless.
I believe the practice of noticing offers a meaningful place to begin.
When we observe a bird closely, we may become curious about the habitat it depends upon. When we sketch a native wildflower, we may begin to understand its relationship with pollinators. When we photograph a landscape repeatedly, we may recognize changes that otherwise would have escaped our attention.
Awareness can lead to curiosity. Curiosity can deepen understanding. Understanding can cultivate care. Care, when joined with knowledge and commitment, can inspire action.
Of course, noticing alone will not preserve a forest, restore a watershed, or protect an endangered species. Conservation requires scientific knowledge, sustained effort, effective policies, resources, and people willing to act. I believe attention is one of the ways we begin to recognize why that work matters.
We are more likely to defend what we have come to know.
We are more likely to protect what we have learned to value.
We are more likely to value a world with which we feel genuinely connected.
This is the evolving purpose of AWKN.
Where the Art of Noticing Becomes the Act of Preserving.
What I Want AWKN to Become
I created AWKN—A Way to Keep Noticing—as an expression of my artistic and contemplative philosophy.
Today, I envision it becoming something larger than my individual creative practice. I want AWKN to become a place where art, photography, Buddhist wisdom, environmental education, and conservation meet.
I want it to encourage people to slow down, look more closely, ask meaningful questions, and rediscover their relationship with the living world.
I want my photography and artwork to do more than decorate a wall. I want them to invite reflection, encourage curiosity, communicate the beauty and vulnerability of our environment, and inspire conversations about what deserves our care.
Through my website, www.jenniferwhiteart.com, I am building a home for this work.
The gallery will continue to showcase my fine art photography, original drawings, paintings, and other creative expressions. I also envision it as a platform for conservation-focused collections, educational projects, and collaborations that connect visual storytelling with environmental stewardship.
I want my creative business to support the values expressed in the work itself.
That means exploring meaningful partnerships with conservation organizations, environmental educators, scientists, parks, and community groups. It means developing opportunities for photography, art, and storytelling to contribute to conservation awareness and, where possible, tangible preservation efforts.
I also want to continue teaching. Through contemplative photography, nature journaling, field sketching, and creative workshops, I hope to help others discover that artistic experience is not limited to people who consider themselves artists.
Anyone can learn to observe.
Anyone can become curious.
Anyone can develop a deeper relationship with the natural world.
Anyone can begin to make choices that reflect greater care for the planet.
My hope is that AWKN eventually grows into a community of people who understand that creativity and conservation are not separate pursuits. Both begin with attention. Both require patience. Both ask us to recognize relationships that may not be immediately visible. Both invite us to participate in something larger than ourselves.
Why I Am Writing Here
This Substack is an extension of that vision.
A Way to Keep Noticing will be a place for reflections on photography, art, Buddhism, nature, conservation, creativity, grief, and the experience of being human.
Some essays will explore Buddhist teachings and the ways they influence my understanding of the natural world. Others will examine the creative process, the practice of contemplative photography, or the discoveries that emerge from spending time outdoors with a camera, sketchbook, or journal. I will share stories behind my images, observations from the field, reflections on environmental challenges, and opportunities to translate awareness into meaningful action. At times, I will write about grief, loss, and the complicated process of learning to live after life has changed beyond recognition.
I find that these subjects are interconnected.
Grief has taught me the preciousness of what cannot be held forever. Buddhism has helped me understand that impermanence is not an exception to life, but one of its defining characteristics. Art has given me a way to encounter the world with curiosity and openness. Nature continues to remind me that even amid loss and uncertainty, life is unfolding in ways that deserve our attention.
I do not approach these subjects as someone who has mastered them. I approach them as a student, an artist, and a human being who is still learning.
My intention is not to provide all the answers. It is to encourage better questions, deeper observation, thoughtful dialogue, and compassionate engagement with the world. To approach the natural world with curiosity rather than entitlement.
Small actions do not replace the need for larger environmental change. But they can help us become informed, engaged participants in that change.
Impermanence is unavoidable. Indifference is not.
That is what AWKN means to me today.
Notice what is here. Meet it as it is. Create from what arises. Release what you cannot hold. Keep noticing.
Jennifer L. Grant-White is a photographer, multidisciplinary artist, storyteller, and professional coach whose work explores the intersection of contemplative art, Buddhist philosophy, human experience, and conservation. Through AWKN—A Way to Keep Noticing—she seeks to inspire a deeper connection with the natural world and encourage meaningful action to preserve it.
Explore her photography, artwork, and evolving conservation mission at www.jenniferwhiteart.com.