Wildlife photographer Jillian A. Brown is all about juxtaposition, as some of her latest work suggests.
Her winning photo in Canadian Geographic’s 2025 Flora and Fungi category, which was announced earlier this month, is a clear depiction of contrast in life and death, but its symbolism carries a more personal meaning, not only for Brown as an artist, but specifically as a mental health advocate for Post-traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).
For context, Brown’s winning photo shows the “deadly beauty of flames consuming moss on a rock face,” as described by Canadian Geographic’s website.
Brown told The Squamish Chief that she had worked to captivate not only the immediate drama of June’s wildfire at Dryden Creek, but most importantly, the overarching theme of collective community in her work.
With potential tragedy and trauma, there came beauty in moments of the wildfire, and not just, it seems, in the physical sense.
The Squamish Chief spoke with Brown about her motives in capturing scenes from the wildfire as a whole, and also those in her inspiration behind her winning photo’s submission. What follows is a version of that conversation edited for length and clarity.
Q: I’m curious to know exactly what the general interpretation of your winning photo was, because it took me a couple of glances before I realized it wasn’t some apocalyptic aerial shot, but actually a close-up. To me, it looks almost illusory.
A: It's so funny that you say that. I knew the whole situation and what I was photographing, [but] I never ever saw this. I got so many comments and private messages of people asking how I got that photo. People were saying, “You can't fly drones!” And so I actually had to do a video explaining the photo, because I was worried people were, for one, getting the wrong perception, and also that people were thinking I was doing something that you're not supposed to do. Drones are not allowed within nine kilometres of a forest fire. Once I looked at the photo, and I could see where they were coming from, I honestly viewed it as what it was [to me], but it's been really neat to hear that people view it that way, and just how much people can see a photograph so differently, especially if they don't have the story or the context exactly.
Q: A good photo can tell a story within a story. It's like a piece of art. Regardless of other people's interpretations, what was going through your head when you took that photo, and why did you decide to submit that photo in particular to the competition?
A: I entered a lot of photos into that competition, and I entered all the categories because ultimately they have a grand prize winner, and that's often a goal—to be the grand prize winner—but that photo was the only photo that I submitted into that category, because I don't photograph flora and fungi very much. I like landscapes, typically animals.
[My work is] about documentation. For me, that's my favourite thing. I can showcase a story, whether it's an animal interacting in the wild, the forest fires, or people on adventures. Flora and fungi often don't, in my mind, showcase a story because it's [just] sitting there. It's very often very stagnant photos, [even though] lots of photographers do incredible work at making these things come alive. So when I found out that photo won, it blew my mind, but it was a photo I was really proud of.
The story behind it for me makes it even better. It won just because I was so immersed within what was going on with the fire in Squamish, [which] was a big part of me wanting to submit it.
Also, just the way the fire was moving within the photo, with the little twinkles of sunlight breaking through really thick bush, and hitting little bits of the rock and the embers within the burned moss. It came across as such a juxtaposition of death and life, because moss is so related to a very flourishing life, especially in Squamish, with it being a temperate rainforest. I thought it was just so beautiful: the juxtaposition of life and death within the one thing causing both.
This particular photo was taken from one of the campground spots, and it was the last spot where there was a camper, and he wasn't able to move his trailer. And so they all came together and got it out of there. This photo was taken right as the fire was 20 feet from the spot. They were grabbing hoses and putting water on ... Their instinct was to protect their livelihood.
Q: What was the first thing you thought to capture in photographing June’s wildfire? I've seen everything from helicopters and the water being dropped, to close-ups like this on your Instagram. Was there a particular narrative you were following with your photos?
A: A big focus for me was showcasing the overall story of the community going through this. I was trying to photograph all the different first responder services, as well as all the people, and then the fire around them, too. [I wanted to] showcase everything put into this to protect a community, no matter how small or big. I was photographing [the campers] as they were putting water on this fire and trudging through thick forest to do so.
Q: How have your adventures as a nature lover and photographer, as well as your mental health advocacy, influenced your approach?
A: I've always corresponded my adventures with mental health, and I think it's actually more my learning about mental health and PTSD that has given me the compassionate eye. Also, the ability to be empathetic while doing my job. So many photographers will just try to show the drama, and to me, I don't think that's empathetic to a situation.
I had a lot of conversations with the people who were scared, at their homes on Depot Road, in particular when the camera was down, and I was just talking to them as humans and as people. [I heard] their stories and how that first night was, and they were up all night, listening to the boulders crashing towards their homes and things. Well, I could have photographed the tears in their eyes, or the way they were kind of chuckling because they didn't know what emotion to feel. So I think it's a lot more related to my experiences and my knowledge of dealing with my own mental health and PTSD than actually having similar experiences.
Q: On a lighter note, what happens now that you've won this category, does this change anything for you?
A: You get published in Canadian Geographic and get a subscription, which is awesome. Those are always fantastic things, because you get to have your work out there.
But for me, the important thing is that this is a photo that has such a personal story. I hope that people see the connection to my community with it, and to me, because flora and fungi are not something I think about photographing. It's making me think maybe I should push myself to photograph these things a little bit more.
There was something so beautiful about a really simple thing: If that fire hadn't been there, nobody would have made a double take of that photo; that little bit of fire added this dimension to it.
It isn't necessarily about winning; it's about the fact that right when that forest fire happened, I pushed myself to go out and talk to people, and then [they invited] me to go to the campground. I'm proud that I put in that effort because I was out there all day, some days engaging with the community. I'm more proud of that than actually winning.
Ina Pace is The Squamish Chief's Local Journalism Initiative (LJI) reporter.
This reporting was produced through the LJI, which supports original civic journalism across Canada.
