There are a lot of things that drive my passion for photography. I’ve always loved beautiful images, but photography has been more than that for me. It’s been healing. Some day I’ll tell you about all that. But the bottom line is: photographs are powerful. They bring you back to a place in time, help you remember, or see into someone else’s world. They depict a story, convey a distinct thought, and these days – are a way to reach out, connect. For me, these are all reasons to shoot.
I enjoy taking beautiful pictures of families – their babies, kiddos, kisses, and expressions. But in my personal life, I shoot to tell and remember.
Like the week my Nana and Grandpa lost of piece of their independence, both falling and breaking their hips within a few days of each other:

It’s just a walker. But the experience was a serious turning point for everyone. People looked at me kind of strange, taking pictures of my grandparents, both in the hospital on separate floors – with tubes coming out of their nose. But it was a part of their story, and it was an ironic one at that. So I took out my camera:


This is Nana on the phone with Grandpa, just a few floors below. Kinda like she’s calling her boyfriend at the dorm. Except, not at all. I thought it was a sweet moment, though.

And several months later, when I visited after they came to the conclusion that they would be staying in assisted living and needed to sell their house, I took out my camera again, shooting all the places and things in their home that meant something to me:

Nana and I used to sit here and look out the window, gossiping and chatting while I munched on candies from the little dish on that chest:

Grandpa lost his little brother in the war, ironically around the same age that I lost my little sister. In many ways I’m closer to Nana, but I always thought it interesting that Grandpa and I have this in common:

I will always enjoy the pursuit of an artistic family images for my clients, and creating scenarios that make a beautiful frame-worthy portrait. But “the good stuff” is actually everywhere, in the everyday. Maybe it’s not all frame-worthy. But it’s all worthy.

[My youngest in time out.]
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