Kerry Fitzsimons: Studio Sessions

I take this opportunity to interrupt the regular flow of life here on GoKateShoot. Last Friday, three students died in a tragic fire near Marist College, my alma mater. Two of those victims were my close friends and muses, Eva Block and Kerry Fitzsimons. I photographed them both extensively in the spring of 2011, and will be paying homage to their beauty, talents, and grace here for the next several days. Both were fashionable, stunning, and driven; that is why I was drawn to shoot them, but also why it is apt to say my final goodbyes to them here. They were dancers, musicians, future cancer researchers, and fashion designers. This is a perfect example how these are not just silly photographs; when I told Eva's mother about the photos at the service yesterday, she begged me to help her remember her daughter. And I will. I will help us all remember. After days of refusing to release photos to the press, I think I am ready to release them here, and later, in a book. It is selfish for me to hold onto these photos, when they can help the many, many others who are hurting from this loss. Link these photos to whoever you like; all I ask is that you do not remove the photos from the site without permission. I am happy to send copies of the photos near and far, all I ask is that you ask. Send inquiries or further questions to GoKateShoot@gmail.com. 

Thank you. 

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Kerry Fitzsimons

Kerry Fitzsimons was beautiful. I truly believe that God made her as beautiful as he did because something had to compete with how truly stunning her personality was. Kerry had an incredible soul, all cool flowing blues and lightness like the sunshine sparkling off the creeks where she relished conducting her research. She was at once laid back, content to lay back in long grassy fields to listen to music with friends, and motivated in her pursuit of a career sure to be strenuous, frustrating and noble. Kerry was going to cure cancer.  She was tall, sinewy and strong as the young trees she loved to wander through. Smiles were easy, frequent gifts from her; she knew how to open herself, all luscious lips and perfect teeth, to brighten days with wide grins. Her strong cheekbones matched her strong drive. 

We met each other through Eva, and quickly bonded over a mutual love for the same kind of music. We spent beautiful afternoons driving around, Zeppelin rolling us through the giddy first days of spring. She introduced me to the beautiful, roaring waterfalls down near the Poughkeepsie water front, insisting that it was just so beautiful that I had to see it. 

She was right, it was. As I photographed her and Eva through the mist of the falls, I sent a small prayer of thanks, as I do now, for the opportunity to photograph such incredible women. 

In the spring of 2011, I was deep in photographing a series of studio sessions for what I consider one of my life-long photography projects: Versions of Self. For the project, I worked with my subjects to visually investigate the different parts of their personas. It fascinates me that we are different people when we are alone, with our families, in the office, or working on our passion projects. I was curious about what those Versions looked like for others, and set out to investigate. 

Like Eva, Kerry understood the purpose of the project. She was incredibly empathetic, and participated in the Versions project, and life, with her whole heart. Though I asked my subjects to come ready with their Versions, I also prepared them to work through to new Versions through the shoot. Part of my ask includes the people they will become, and Kerry identified closely with that. Her world enjoyed the present, but was always moving forward through her goals for herself. She presented literal Versions apparent to the outside world, but we also investigated more intangible parts of her personality itself. Through our dialogue, we came to the Versions you find here. 

Kerry was a musician. She spoke about loving music with the same look on her face that your grandparents do when they talk about loving each other. That kind of love is deep, and pure, and so real that it is part of their identity. Kerry felt that way about music. She worked at a music store, and always had something incredible playing that set the mood for whatever was going on. The first time we hung out, driving around Poughkeepsie just the two of us, we discovered a deep mutual love for Led Zeppelin as we smiled at one another through tears of joy as Ramble On rocked on the radio. 

She was a little nervously excited for our studio shoot, so I asked to photograph her musician Version first. She breathed a sigh of relief when my best friend Mike also conjured a guitar, and together they played their nerves away, becoming friends in the process. In these photos, Kerry is inside the music. She posed with her guitar as though it were an extension of herself, a familiar lover that was a voice for what she was feeling internally. With each reverberating pluck and strum of the strings she came more into the space, filling the shoot with easy smiles from everyone there. I know she felt deeply, because she made all of us do the same.

As many of you know, Kerry wanted to cure cancer. Though she could have done anything, she chose the hard path to finding a cure for the disease that had touched her life years before. She worked endless hours in the lab, burying herself in organic chemistry, biology, and relishing in the material that would inform her noble goal. She assisted a local oncologist who lived around the corner from my house, an experience that only deepened her desire to continue her work. She also conducted extensive research outside, wading in creeks and streams to catch and tag fish as she studied the science of the nature she loved so much. She told me stories of hours upon hours spent in thigh-high waders, fascinating research results, and her resolve to continue to medical school after graduating from Marist. And she would have. 

Kerry was a love child. She maintained a childlike view of the world, all wonder and awe, and simply loved to love by relishing in those around her. She likened herself to the laid-back, free-love hippies of Woodstock, so we captured that Version as well. 

One of the shots I requested of Kerry extended her boundaries. When I learned that she was a violinist, I asked that we recreate Man Ray's famous surrealist cello photos that imagine a woman's back as the instrument. After showing her the beautiful 1920's photos, Kerry wholeheartedly agreed. Kerry was sweetly modest despite her wonderful, whirling, easy way of moving through the world, so I was glad to unexpectedly capture that. While I intended to super-impose the curled cutouts of a violin on her back, I never did, and will not now; I will, as Kerry did, that the viewer can imagine the form of the instrument she loved so dearly within her own lean curves.  

One of the most abstract Versions that I documented was one I posed to her. In my mind, Kerry was a lioness, a strong and independent woman unafraid to get what she needed for herself. From her rich mane of hair to her alluring eyes, her energy seemed in a way feline. Her pairing of ease and coiled energy, able to be tapped as needed, reminded me of a powerful cat waiting to go on the hunt. Kerry agreed that was part of her personality, so we investigated the forms and how we could use her body to communicate that contained, raw energy. She did so beautifully, at once regal and strong. 

Goodbye, my beautiful, wild, easy, driven, lioness friend. 

I love you, and will miss your spirit until the day I die.