A camera may capture the world around us, but it also has the quiet power to reveal something deeper: the shape of a soul, the trace of a memory, the truth of being seen.
This quiet power came to life during a recent COMPAS residency, when Teaching Artist Mike Hazard spent a week at Cassia’s Elim Oasis Adult Day Center in Princeton, Minnesota, using photography and writing to help older adults connect, create, and share their stories. When he arrived, he brought a few cameras, some art supplies, and a big idea: help a group of older adults take photos and turn them into postcards and letters they could send to friends and family. It was a simple plan, but something much bigger happened.
Three of the participants had never taken a photograph before. None had ever made their own postcard. That changed in one powerful week.
“Is that me? Really?”
Together, the group roamed the halls of the center and the church next door, cameras in hand. They photographed stained glass, bold colors, small textures, and, most meaningfully, each other. One participant looked at their photo and said in amazement, “Is that me? Really?”
The camera became more than a tool. It became a mirror. A window. And a way to connect.
“We’re never too old to get that excited about being alive.”
Marilyn, one of the participants, was so excited about turning her own photographs into postcards that she literally quivered with joy. She couldn’t wait to send them to her nieces and a letter to her sister. “She was so excited,” Mike told us, “by doing something she had never done before, creating a message of love.” That image stayed with him. “We’re never too old for this,” he said. “We’re never too old to get that excited about being alive.”
Another moment stood out when Pat and Janet made postcards for each other. Janet’s message reported she was hugged by John Wayne once upon a time and included this little gem:
“That’s all he did, but that was enough.”
Carol held Vi’s hand for comfort as Vi, who turns 102 this May, wrote a letter to her twin sister Vera in Arizona. Jeff, another participant, spent nearly an hour paging through The Family of Man photo book, taking in the world through fresh eyes.
And then there was big-hearted Sara, one of the organizers, who shared a memory of her own:
“When I was traveling abroad, I would mail myself penny postcards. I always wrote, ‘I wish you were here.’ When I got home and read the postcards, that’s exactly how I felt. I wished I was there. Plus, I had the stamp from that country as well as the picture for the memory.”
By the end of the week, the group even created a collaborative story, composed line-by-line with contributions from each participant. It went like this:
Let’s take pictures.
Dang it Pat, stand still.
There are good and bad, I like the good ones.
I like to take pictures of my best friends.
The wife said I shouldn’t do that anymore at the nude beach.
I’d like to know where my wife is.
I obviously have never been married.
I changed my mind and decided to tie the knot.
The End. (drawing of wedding bands)
It made everyone laugh. But it also reflected something real: a group of people, expressing themselves, together.
“If you look for friends, you will find friends.”
One of the most memorable moments happened outside the workshop, when Mike visited a small shop in town, the Minnesota Lapidary Supply. In the window were beautiful stones. Inside, he met the owner, Val Carver, and told him he was always on the lookout for heart-shaped rocks.
Val had a whole bowl of them.
Mike picked out three: a thank-you to Val and a small treasure for the group. Back at Elim, the heart-shaped rocks were passed around, traced, and admired. Most of the participants had never been inside that shop, even though they lived nearby. Now they planned to go visit.
And that’s when Mike shared a simple truth — the heart of his workshops:
“If you look for heart rocks, you will find heart rocks. And if you look for friends, you will find friends. It’s all about what you decide to seek.”
This wasn’t just about using a camera. It was about noticing. About connecting. About sharing joy.
And for older adults, these moments matter more than most people realize.
As we age, our chances to be creative, curious, and expressive often shrink. The world grows quieter. But when older adults are invited to create, it can lead to:
- Better emotional health
- Improved memory and brain function
- Stronger social connections
- More joy, meaning, and purpose
It’s not just good for the mind. It’s good for the heart.
That’s why COMPAS brings artists like Mike into older adult communities, schools, shelters, and communities across Minnesota. Because everyone deserves the chance to be seen, to tell their story, and to feel something come alive inside them, whether they’re 10 years old or 102.
At the end of the week, a sign on the wall caught Mike’s eye. It was attributed to Frank Lloyd Wright, the visionary American architect, and he hadn’t noticed it until the very last day:
“The longer I live, the more beautiful life becomes.”
We couldn’t agree more.
Another way of saying this: Creativity doesn’t just sharpen the mind. It fills the heart.
And, as Mike would say, “That’s a wrap!”
Meet the full roster of COMPAS teaching artists (including Mike!) here.
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