Photographers on Photographers: Hannah Schneider in Conversation with Marie Gayeski

Photographers on Photographers: Hannah Schneider in Conversation with Marie Gayeski by Aline SmithsonAugust 20, 2026

Every August we ask the previous Top 25 Lenscratch Student Prize Winners to interview a hero or a mentor, offering an opportunity for conversation and connection. Today Hannah Schneider and Marie Gayesk are in dialogue. Thank you to both of the artists.

I first met Marie Gayeski at my first critique for our Experimental and Documentary Arts program at Duke University. She had praised my work for its accurate representation of vision loss, seeing herself and her medical problems in the pieces that I shared. We soon connected over our shared health challenges and our interest in turning to photography to process and document our struggles. Marie would become a valued friend and mentor, and her support was instrumental to the development of my thesis project, When will I go blind?. She would even appear in one of my images (see the image below)

Her own thesis project, elemental, gorgeously uses motion blur photography of water, plants, sand, and light, to ask the viewer how one can find a sense of belonging in the wake of natural disaster and death. As an individual who was unexpectedly diagnosed with a rare genetic disorder at an older age, I relate to her struggle to find peace and acceptance in a newfound reality. For Marie, acceptance comes from her uncovering of the relationship between our bodies and the Cosmos, finding relief from the realization that the tangible will continuously be shifted and transformed by nature. What follows is a conversation about illness, photography, and how we react and heal when faced with unforeseen, challenging situations.

Marie Gayeski holds an MFA in Experimental and Documentary Arts from Duke University, a BFA from Parsons School of Design, an MPA in Nonprofit Management and a BA in Political Science. She also studied at the Brooks Institute of Photography and The Corcoran School of Art. Ms. Gayeski has worked as a Teaching Assistant at Duke University and in museum membership and development at The Georgia Museum of Art and The Santa Barbara Botanic Garden. She has also managed intellectual property licensing contracts in New York. Her artistic practice metaphorically explores the natural environment as it intersects and mirrors her medical conditions, symptoms and the Cosmos.

Instagram; @mariegayeski

Can you talk a little about what drove you to create elemental– Why did you decide to turn to photography in the wake of a natural disaster and your medical challenges?

In October 2018, my family and my hometown of Panama City, Florida, experienced the full force of Hurricane Michael, a historic Category 5 storm that also produced concurrent tornadoes. Hurricane Michael leveled all of Mexico Beach, Florida and most of Panama City, Florida, leaving my parents without their home and business. Five days later, I drove from North Carolina, where I was living at the time, to help my parents.

I began noticing the destruction approximately 40 miles inland, but nothing could have prepared me for the reality of what I found. For the first two to three days, taking a photograph didn’t cross my mind. I was in shock, processing the ruin through the raw perspective of a daughter intimately attached to my family’s circumstances. My immediate focus was placed on helping my family and respecting the dignity of those affected—whether they were loved ones, friends, or strangers. Consequently, my medical challenges worsened by the stress of the storm and the years of rebuilding that followed.

Once the initial period of shock passed, I slowly began capturing photos and video using my iPhone. At the time, I had no idea this documentation would later form the foundation of my graduate school application portfolio in 2020.

I relied entirely on my phone because it was the only tool available; expecting the worst, I had packed my car to capacity with emergency relief supplies, leaving no room for gear. Ultimately, this limitation became a strength. The iPhone, a culturally assimilated object, allowed me to capture deeply intimate moments that a traditional camera would have disrupted. A larger setup would have been highly conspicuous, altering the authentic reality of the environment and acting as an obtrusive character in a very delicate space. The iPhone was the fastest and most accessible way to capture what I was seeing- trauma, joy, destruction, beauty, and the relationship between the forces of nature and human nature. However, I respectfully made the decision when the lens should be lowered and questions left unasked.

Photography also became the ideal medium for me to realistically and instantly document and communicate my medical symptoms. The iPhone images were later superimposed onto video footage of beach areas that were destroyed by the hurricane. For the still images of nature, I used my Canon 5D to create large-scale photographic prints that metaphorically intertwined my medical symptoms with specific post-hurricane beach areas. I knew that I wanted to create images at these areas because they held and still hold deep creative and spiritual significance to me. By connecting my own medical symptoms with the transformed landscape, my work explored the parallels between the vulnerability of the human body, the power of the natural world and the Cosmos, while simultaneously blurring the line between the body and the landscape, leaving viewers uncertain whether they were looking at the skin of my hand, muscle separated from bone, waves on the sand or a hurricane from above.

How challenging was it to translate your medical challenges to photography? Conversely, how rewarding did you find creating elemental, which visualized your continued struggles with lifelong genetic illness?

It took me approximately two months to discover how to translate my medical symptoms into visual language utilizing water, sand, plants and the sky. I have always been drawn to water, making the beach an intuitive starting point because it embodied both the hurricane and the human body. The adult human body is composed of approximately 50-60% water, with nearly two-thirds contained within cells and the remaining one-third existing as extracellular fluid. One of my medical conditions directly affects my blood plasma, a component of extracellular fluid, making water both a biological reality and a deeply personal subject within my work. Growing up in Bay County, Florida- a place nearly surrounded by water- further shaped my understanding of water as both a physical presence and a conceptual force. I was also drawn to the Platonic solids, not simply for their geometric forms but for their historical associations with the five classical elements- air, earth, ether, fire and water. Together, these concepts provided a philosophical framework through which I could examine the relationships between geometry, the human body, nature and the Cosmos.

Two months into shooting, I remembered an academic assignment I had 26 years ago called Painting with Light. I flipped that into moving the camera instead of the light source which produced the ethereal, almost Cosmic imagery I was searching for given the right movement, aperture and shutter speed. This process is known as Intentional Camera Movement (ICM). Movement, light and time cohesively became nature’s active collaborators with me. Through carefully controlled gestures, camera settings and light, the photographs became less about depicting a place and more about visualizing transformation itself. ICM allowed me to move beyond representation and into metaphor, creating images that exist between science and poetry, observation and imagination, painting and photography, the microscopic and the Cosmic.

Creating this work has been intellectually rewarding and deeply personal. Transforming the experience of living with genetic conditions that were exacerbated by one’s physical environment has given me a way to investigate and share these challenges, while also providing a meaningful sense of reflection, acceptance and release.

Your work has a beautiful connection to our origins in the Cosmos. Can you tell me about when you first recognized the relationship between our bodies and the Cosmos and how it brought healing to you?

While studying astronomy as an elective and with continued interest, I became fascinated by the striking visual similarities between the human nervous system and the Cosmic web. The branching networks of our neurons appeared to mirror the large-scale structure of the universe, revealing unexpected parallels between what is microscopic in our bodies and the Cosmic. This observation led me to consider the continuity between the human body and the universe —not only through the well-established understanding that the elements composing our bodies were forged in stars, but also through the recurring patterns and structures that emerge throughout nature. My work seeks to bridge these vastly different scales, moving from the cellular to the Cosmic to explore how similar geometric relationships can exist across both. Through this investigation, I view the human body as a temporary vessel within an ongoing cycle of transformation, where matter and energy are continually exchanged between the individual and the universe.

What is it like to be an artist with medical issues and disabilities? Do you have any advice for other photographers and artists facing similar challenges?

Living with chronic illness and disability has fundamentally shaped both my life and my artistic practice. Pain, fatigue, and the unpredictable nature and symptoms of my conditions drastically limit my productivity and challenge my ability to realize ideas as fully or as quickly as I envision them. These limitations have required me to redefine what it means to be productive and to recognize that artistic practice is not measured solely by output, but also by sustained observation, reflection and perseverance. Rather than resisting these constraints, I have learned to work within them, approaching each period as an opportunity to create or as an opportunity to observe and contemplate.

Chronic illness has also transformed my relationship with time. I do not take physical ability or creative opportunity for granted. Instead, I have become increasingly intentional about how I spend my energy, choosing to fully engage with the moments I am able to experience and create. As my medical conditions have evolved- including the possibility of future vision loss- I have begun returning to artistic mediums that I had not practiced in decades while simultaneously exploring new forms of expression that will remain accessible regardless of how my health changes. Adaptation has become an essential component of my artistic process rather than an obstacle to it.

Perhaps the most significant transformation has been philosophical. Living with lifelong genetic conditions has compelled me to reconsider the relationship between the body and consciousness. Although illness continually reminds me of my body’s vulnerabilities, it has also encouraged me to recognize that my creative identity extends beyond my physical limitations.

For artists navigating chronic illness or disability, my advice is to prepare not only for the present but also for the future. Advocate for yourself medically, seek knowledgeable physicians and support groups, remain curious, and never stop asking questions. Learn as much as you can about your conditions, because knowledge enables informed decisions and restores a sense of agency in circumstances that often feel uncontrollable. Equally important, cultivate creative flexibility. Be willing to modify your processes, explore new materials, and redefine what artistic success looks like throughout different stages of your life.

Above all, do not allow illness to define the boundaries of your creative identity. While the body may impose great limitations, it can also become a profound source of inquiry, empathy, and artistic innovation. For me, art has never been an escape or diversion from illness; it has been a means of understanding it, living with it, transforming it, and ultimately finding meaning within it. My work is my testament to the belief that creativity can persist even when the body cannot, and that the act of creating can itself become a form of resilience, healing, and hope for oneself and others. It’s not easy, but your art will develop in very unexpected ways.

Hannah Schneider is an artist and photographer based in Raleigh, North Carolina. She holds a BA in Graphic Design from Meredith College and an MFA in Experimental and Documentary Arts from Duke University. Since discovering the darkroom in 2021 as an undergrad at Meredith, Schneider has fallen in love with the experimentality of creating work there. She is passionate about using photography to push the boundaries of the medium and create narratives that reflect what is seen and unseen. Her work has been presented in a solo exhibition at Duke University and group exhibitions at Meredith College (2023), SPE’s New Realities Conference (2024), Pullen Arts Center (2024), and the North Carolina Museum of Art (2025). Publications include The Colton Review (2020, 2021, 2022, 2023) and Overlapse’s Stir the Pot. Schneider was a finalist for Photolucida’s 2023 Critical Mass and was awarded the 2025 Lenscratch 3rd Place Student Prize. She has received Meredith’s Meredith Art Student Support (MASS) Grant and Duke’s Dean’s Research Award for Master’s Students.