When light touches a negative, it evolves into a memory. The act of transitioning moments into tactile sheets of remembrances differs for every maker, and in turn creates language that is heard by everyone but speaks to only a few. For a mother, the photographic archive of her children, maybe a way to remind them of their own forgotten experiences, and subsequently allow her to hold onto a voice which might be heavy with the weight of domesticity.

I often wonder how many of us look at our mothers as beings with lives independent of us. Who are they when detached from the rituals of motherhood? What swirls in their gentle, strong, instinctive minds in the few seconds of devoid nurturing? Or as Elena Ferrant eloquently writes in ‘The Lost Daughter,’- “How foolish to think you can tell your children about yourself before they're at least fifty. To ask to be seen by them as a person and not as a function. To say: I am your history, you begin from me, listen to me, it could be useful to you.”

For Lily Hatten, who describes herself as a photographer and mother living and working on Bundjalung country, Northern New South Wales, the shock and awe of mothering drove her to documenting her children, fellow mothers, rituals, weddings, lovers, unions, and loss. Hatten’s photographs are both still and chaotic, showcasing vulnerability through the eyes, skin, touch, and postures that appear when the camera isn’t trying to photograph, but instead, just exists. Often, her compositions are close-ups of intimacy, drifting between staged scenes and being witness to life as it unfolds.

“When I first began photographing in 2015, I believed that the candid image is the truest form of photography. But as time went by, I began appreciating the play between control and chaos. I follow my children around, but I try not to interrupt them, even though sometimes I meddle (in secret). Similarly, at a commissioned shoot, I make sure I don’t disturb the flow of things, but I still take complete responsibility of what I create,” elucidates Hatten in a telephonic conversation from Australia.

Much like Sally Mann, Hatten develops concepts, but then allows the pieces to fall where they may. Since she didn’t have any formal education in photography and found her passion for the medium while documenting environmental protests, Hatten hadn’t discovered Sally Mann’s work until much later. Now, she finds solace in Mann’s photographic process and holds onto the archival photographer’s ways of articulating her intentions behind image-making. Hatten and I delve into the 80s photographer’s theory which speaks of photography as an act of forgetting. “I can probably get by that because I have a weak memory. For me, part of photography is to help hold onto feelings and sensations, and let go off them at the same time. I archive and then release them,” she says.

Hatten also touches upon the brutality of motherhood which is often lost in the romanticism of it. Her practice attempts to seek the depth of the role and not shy away from the “sharp and ugly bits,” as she terms it. Her photographs weave narratives of the difficulties faced by one’s body and mind during pregnancy, childbirth, breastfeeding, and postpartum care, along with the complexities that exist within a mother-and-child relationship. “It’s also completely terrifying to have somebody who you have given your whole heart to; suddenly exist outside your body, in a world that’s in no-way kind,” she says. Our conversation then veers into the challenges co-parents face in continually shifting and adjusting their relationships while accommodating a new life. There exist disparities, conflicts, and imbalances that often disadvantage the women alone, because of societal expectations and beliefs of being the caregiver. “I think the invisibility is the hardest to deal with. The domestic space is where a lot of undervalued labour happens, and whether women decide to have children or not, they are still judged and burdened by their reproductive potential. This is what prompted me to document motherhood in all its forms,” contemplates Hatten.

The juggle between being an individual and a constant nurturer is apparent even through our phone call, as Hatten pauses to exclaim that her little one has wandered outside, or that she needs to pause because she’s trying to pry something out of her baby’s mouth. She embraces the background chatter while patiently participating in it, before she swiftly changes tone to continue explaining her ways of seeing. It’s probably what makes her photography so equally balanced-showcasing sensitivity to both, the mother and the child she is photographing. Even while speaking of her inspirations, they are mostly image-makers who deal with family dynamics, revisiting spaces significant to memory, or archival photographers involved in family histories.

Whether it’s photographer, Tajette O’Halloran, who documents her immediate family and the complexities of relationships in Australia’s suburban landscapes, or Julie Blackmon who stages seemingly candid scenes of a childhood in the American Midwest- Hatten revels in their photography which offers her a sense of community.

In a more everyday environment, it is the companionship of fellow photographer-mother’s Mia Forrest and Amy Woodward which provides Hatten solidarity in a solitary profession. In fact it was Woodward who introduced Hatten to the universe of NFT’s, which has brought about significant stability in her post-covid lifestyle.

Panic set in when Hatten lost her Instagram account due to their extreme censorship policies that shadowbans and dismisses photographs displaying skin, body hair, stretch marks, and rolls. Finding alternatives was essential, since her business was mostly run through the social media giant where she had organically built a following of 3,700 people. After coming across an article on PetaPixel about using Twitter to sell work, Hatten thought it was time to switch mediums, and reached out to Woodward who was already savvy with the realm of Ethereum. “I’ve realized that people in the NFT space who are acquiring my work are not speculators, but instead small collectors and other photographers who want to support my growth,” she explains.

The stringent Covid-19 lockdown in Australia added salt to her wounds as it stalled commissioned shoots, and rattled both, her confidence and financial situation. To be able to deal in NFT’s has aided her growth both, figuratively and financially. Apart from building relationships with individuals outside of her immediate network, Hatten’s practice has grown to include a commission from ObscuraDAO’s first grant, ‘Who We Are’ that distributed $100,000 to 100 photographers across the globe.

Her excitement about joining Arttaca stems from the trust that it is an inclusive space that is cognisant of practices outside of North America. “I trust Daniel to curate a platform that values the art and the artist. It is important to be part of something that bridges the gap between cultures, practices, and voices, while also being connected to the American-centric ecosystem,” continues Hatten. The photographer isn’t too perturbed by the non-physicality of the medium, and instead, advocates for the digital image finally being recognized as valuable. In fact, she has temporarily paused physical shoots and is solely focusing on a long-term project for NFT’s. The artist explains, “During these uncertain times, we don’t know what our worlds will look like next week. I am ready to take risks. I might as well take a leap into the unknown, because the unknown is now upon us.”