Why Documentary?

It’s easy to fall into a trap of simple answers. “I’ve always loved photography” is something I find myself saying often because it’s easy… but that love has looked very different over the years. Like most seasons of life, there is an ebb and flow, and the timeline doesn’t always make sense. I was the kid bringing a disposable camera to any occasion I felt called for it - the last day of school, family vacations, field trips, school dances, or sometimes for no reason at all. I have stacks of photos stored in boxes in my closet all of friends sitting at desks in a classroom, or eating drab school lunches - totally uninteresting to look at except for the fact that it there was a moment (or a someone) in the frame I always wanted to remember. In this way, photography was treated like a casual necessity, devoid of anything other than my own personal sentiments.

It wasn’t until I started taking classes and learning photography in earnest that I appreciated the artistry and the power of a good photograph. There was a shift in how I looked at people, savoring details and all of the little pieces that created each moment. It was then that I realized that those personal sentiments might be more compelling than I ever gave them credit for. Even still, the journey from this realization has been meandering, confused and a bit rocky. For years, I put myself in a box, limiting the scope of my creativity to what I thought people wanted. I was stuck under the weight of imaginary standards and for this reason, I stagnated professionally for a long time.

But while I was in a bit of a rut with how to move a career forward, I was still bringing my camera to parties, often only using it as a security blanket to ward off social anxiety. I had an excuse to blend in to the background and I didn’t have to sit in awkward silence. I could channel my discomfort into something productive and (though sometimes it still took a drink or two) it allowed me to make connections where I normally wouldn’t. It felt good to bridge social gaps in a way that felt natural, and then see those photos displayed as profile pictures on social media in the days following. It made me feel appreciated, like my skills were meaningful. But I think the best feeling was to come over the course of years - after cataloging more than a decade of friendships all in little pieces and long forgotten moments. These may not have been the best photos I’ve ever taken, but they will always be high among my favorite images. I think this, above all else, is what I aim to tap into with my clients now. It isn’t about achieving perfection, but immortalizing a feeling, a chapter of life, the people in it… all in their unpolished, natural states.

In 2020 (sixteen years after I picked up my first film SLR in the modest classrooms of my country high school) I sat alone with my thoughts in my new house in the middle of nowhere during the shut down of a global pandemic. These thoughts presented a new level of spiraling anxiety I had never felt before and all those months sitting in these uncomfortable feelings created the catalyst for massive life changes. Honestly, these quarantine revelations alone could be an entire blog post, but in terms of my work I knew I had to find a way out of that pedestrian safe zone. Certainly the steps forward from there were productive, with friends and colleagues alike cheering me on and giving me the momentum I needed to keep going. But, of course, three years later would come the ultimate driving force for growth and change… because there’s no revelation quite like bringing a child into the world. This is when it really truly hit me how important these little moments are and how quicky life floats by while we’re not paying attention. I’ve always known this, like an itch in the back of my brain. What else but this reach for lost time could inspire so many years of obsessive record-keeping? But suddenly I’m living it in a way that, until now, was entirely foreign. Now it feels like I have a 9-month-old out of nowhere. Where has the time gone? I suspect I’ll be asking myself this question for the rest of my life.

This probably goes without saying, but of all of the changes that have come out of these last few years, motherhood has been the most profound. I stepped out of maternity leave in the summer of 2023 with new ambition, a new swell of creative energy, a new undercurrent of love and a desperation to savor it in all of it’s beautiful, messy, delirious detail. Some moments are harder than others, and along with that undercurrent of love, there is also one of a deep, almost imperceptible guilt at any misstep - real or perceived - down to every exasperated sigh. I try to look at this as a reminder to stay gentle and patient… not a reason to beat myself up. Even this is a huge step up from my mental state pre-pandemic where much of my life was spent in varying degrees of self-sabotage. I’ve been a coaster, a follower, a people pleaser, and a pathological apologizer. So much of that I justified with this notion that being selfless was applaudable, as if there was an award for martyrdom. But the truth was simple: there was a definitive lack of self-love and it has been one of the most difficult things to cultivate and is a pit I continue to trip into at times. It’s been one of my biggest set-backs both in life and work, constantly feeling like I need to be palatable, to fit the mold and fly under the radar.

At the end of the day, though, my decision to transition into documentary was an easy one. I’m not sure why it took me so long to arrive to this epiphany… but once I did, it seemed so glaringly, stupidly obvious. I didn’t have to stick with tradition or follow the whim of current trends. I could do what I always felt I did best and let the right people find me. I gave myself permission to let go of these made-up expectations and I decided that the last thing I wanted to be was a dime-a-dozen, cookie-cutter photographer.

All this to say… photography has been my release through every rise and fall in almost every season of life. It has served as a distraction, a celebration, a reminder, and a show of love for both myself and others. By pursuing the kind of work that brings me the most joy, I’ve nurtured a better avenue to express myself in a way that feels true to who I am. It feels so natural, I wonder why I ever tried to force anything different. More and more, work feels synonymous with life and this idea that I shouldn’t get “too personal” within this space moves further away. It’s just something else I made up - another needless barrier to keep me uninspired and quiet. If I ask my clients to open themselves up and show me what their lives look like, why should I hide my own?