Eliza McKenna ’16 is a photographer and writer based in New York’s Hudson Valley. Her current work explores how images shape perception and illuminate grief, memory, and the deeper layers of consciousness.

After earning her B.A. in film studies from Wesleyan University and her M.F.A. in photography from Pratt Institute, Eliza has developed a body of work rooted in both intellectual inquiry and long-standing mystical traditions. Her 2023 thesis exhibition, Standing In the Living Room, curated by Anika Sabin, was presented at the Pratt Photography Gallery, and her first solo show, You Were Young and So Was I (2025), emerged from a year spent photographing strangers navigating grief.

In the conversation below, Eliza reflects on her artistic process and shares some memories from her time under the Mountain.

Your work spans photography, writing, and experimental materials. What led you to these disciplines?
Photography has always been a meaningful way for me to feel understood by others and to understand myself. It allows me to memorialize the act of noticing and create an opportunity to return to myself with genuine curiosity and compassion. I’ve found that visually investigating my perception overrides the intellectual mind and commands a heart response that is often ignored, yet is one of the most important things to listen to.

Writing about what I observe in myself and in the process of connecting with the people I photograph emerged from a desire to link this heart response with intentional written and verbal expression. Most of the time, words don’t capture even a tenth of what I feel inside my body when making a picture, but writing about my photography has been a way for viewers to understand the source of my ideas and the process of experimentation. Using materials beyond ink-on-paper prints stemmed from a desire to consider images as ritual, meditative objects that can serve as conduits for exploring perception and receiving intelligence from the Universe. Thinking about the long history of bronze alloys in religious and spiritual traditions and in the history of sculpture, I recently used this material to connect images to ritual, how consciousness exists beyond the body, and how it is the underlying nature of reality.

Much of your art explores grief, memory, and consciousness. What drew you to these themes?
These themes found me. There is no separation between art and life. Everything I experience is a direct reflection of what is happening inside my conscious and unconscious minds. Art can be a process of unifying these minds and bringing our essential nature into awareness. When these themes manifested through the loss of my father and brother, thinking about the nature of grief, consciousness, and how the mind interprets death became unavoidable. Initially confusing and repulsive, I slowly began to recognize them as parts of myself worthy of exploration.

Looking at the work I made during the period of suffering after my father’s death compared to my most recent work, I see a drastic shift away from an unrelenting attachment to the physical and toward an awareness of a force that exists beyond perception. I emerged from victimhood and into the belief that what “happened to me” is my greatest strength and a form of expertise that can be used to alleviate the suffering of others.

My most recent work was born out of a desire to connect with people experiencing grief. The process of making pictures with this resilient and vulnerable community became an important outlet for the waves of grief that often have nowhere to land. Creating photographs together through intentional gestures, meaningful objects, and charged environments proved to be cathartic.

You often investigate how images influence perception and reveal unconscious beliefs. How has your work uncovered something unexpected?
Splitting Sides is an image I made on the precipice of my transformation from attachment to the physical into awareness of consciousness beyond what exists inside our skulls. I invited six men, aged 50 and older, into my childhood home to model for what I thought was a continuation of a project on finding connections in strangers after loss, but the resulting image offered something completely different. The model’s head was thrown back in ecstatic laughter and the way his face disappeared into the explosive white light struck me the moment I made it. Tears appeared in my eyes as I realized the emptiness of trying to grasp and control physical existence. It was a relief.

How did your time at Berkshire influence your career choice?
I always jumped at any opportunity to take a creative approach to assignments—whether designing a mock campaign poster in Mr. Gappa’s AP Government class, drawing Sol LeWitt-inspired art in Geometry, or participating in Mr. Kinne’s Indigenous ceremonies. One class in particular stands out—Ms. McGovern’s Mountain and Me English class, which united art with life. Alongside naturalist books and essays, a significant portion of the class was spent on the Mountain, integrating what we were learning in the classroom. I found solace in the woods, and it ignited a passion for the outdoors that continues today. Seeing how creative writing and being out in the world could fully connect definitely affected my decision to pursue a life centered around art. 

What are some of your fondest memories of your time under the Mountain? 
My fondest memories consist of laughing and adventuring with friends. My friend group included a rich diversity of people from different countries and cultures. Coming from a small town, I was able to learn from and love my new friends, which was an invaluable experience. Hiking on the Mountain, exploring the Appalachian Trail, and relaxing in Buck Valley every Mountain Day are still vivid in my memory.