How it Started: a Sh** Year with a Silver Lining

I’ve been thinking a lot about what I’d write about for my first blog post, so much so that I haven’t written a damn thing. I started and stopped a million times, overthinking every topic and image I chose to help tell the story. I didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. I wanted there to be value to the words I was writing. You know what’s funny though? My failure to launch this blog is a lot like how my business started. 

Despite graduating with a BFA in Photomedia from the University of Kansas in 2011, I spent the next decade serving up delicious (and expensive) food at a local restaurant. I was making great money and working with people I loved – and hey, one of those people became my husband – but I was also using all of that as an excuse not to pick my camera up. I worked a lot and when I wasn’t working I was exhausted, but mostly I was scared to fail at something my parents had put me through school for. My mom would occasionally, gently ask if I had any plans to do photography and every time I’d be slammed with a wave of guilt.

In retrospect I do feel like the right things had to happen at the right time to feel ready enough to take the plunge. In 2020 the pandemic started, and the universe decided to take matters into its own hands and push me back into photography.

I was already dealing with some postpartum depression after having my second child and balancing caring for a demanding toddler when my Dad passed away on my Mom’s birthday. It wasn’t sudden, but that doesn’t take away from the surprising amount of grief I felt when it happened. He suffered from early onset dementia and I’d been saying goodbye to little bits of him for several years. Processing that is a whole other thing I was running from, so when he died I was forced to confront it head on. 

A few weeks after that my demanding toddler was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder. We’d been suspicious, but I was in denial. Sitting through that four hour evaluation with a three month old strapped to me was hell. Hearing that there was something ‘wrong’ with son and that he’d need a high level of care pretty much broke me. I hadn’t really cried about my Dad’s death yet, but it all flowed out of me in that sterile testing room in front of three total strangers. I remember that drive home so vividly. I was in utter, gut wrenching shock.

Very shortly after that, my Grandad suddenly passed away. Every time I was just getting myself together enough to stand up, I felt like I got kicked back down. To be quite honest, I was getting pretty numb to it all by that point. How could I not? Shutting down became a form of self-preservation. The one thing that started to make me feel again was photography. Moments seemed increasingly fleeing; I became obsessed with grasping onto them. I found solace in snapping the shutter and freezing them. It made me feel in control.

With nowhere to be (thanks, worldwide pandemic!) I started documenting every little thing about our everyday life at home. I slowed down and watched the light, and paid attention to the way the it bent and bounced around the corners and crevices in our house. I learned how to appreciate the beauty that was already there, in every mundane and sometimes even painful moment. I learned how to capture my son’s beautiful and unique personality truthfully, just as he was. Being forced to slow down helped me cope with my son’s diagnosis and taught me patience. This was such a valuable gift.

I grew more and more confident with my camera and devoured courses from the Unraveled Academy (an amazing online learning community). I had also begun working with Anna Tenne, a very talented photographer/educator based in Australia – a totally random and life changing connection made in the Unscripted Facebook group (which is amazing, given the sheer number of creatives in there). I really wanted to take a stab at having a real business, but I wasn’t sure what that would look like. Anna’s the one who pointed out that I could create a business where I offered the kinds of images like the ones I took of my own family. Cue lightbulb moment! It made perfect sense once she showed me not only what was possible, but that my business would have longevity if it centered around the thing I was truly passionate about. Making beautiful images was only a small part of it. 

Sitting here four years later, I can tell you just how true that is. The photos have to mean something to the people you’re creating them for, but they also have to mean something to you. People can tell when you’re trying to sell them something that your heart isn’t behind. People can also tell when your whole being – your personality, history, pain, and joy – are behind every image you create for them. Everything should align with your “why”. I see that so clearly now. For me, it’s the desire to help others capture and hold onto what right now feels like, in every stage of their lives, because it all goes by way too fast. You don’t know what you’ll miss until it’s gone, so I don’t want to miss a thing. If you’re not hearing Aerosmith in your head after that line, well… maybe you’re not, but I am. 

I’ll wrap this up, but if you’re a photographer reading this, know that you can do this. Just dig deep and find the thing that makes you want to pick up your camera. Forget what everyone else is doing. If you’re anyone reading this, know that your life is worthy of documentation right now, just how it is.

I promise it’s so beautiful – every little thing.