I've been thinking a lot lately about what makes a photograph feel like more than just a beautiful picture. I love beautiful things, obviously. I can happily lose an unreasonable amount of time thinking about fabric, color, lighting, painted backdrops, wardrobe, and all the little details that eventually find their way into a photograph. But none of those things, individually or together, are what make me care about an image. The photographs I keep coming back to are usually the ones where I feel like I'm seeing something about the person in front of the camera, even if I can't quite explain what that something is.
That has made me think about what actually happens during a portrait session, because the finished photographs are only part of it. There's this point that happens somewhere along the way when someone stops thinking quite so much about the camera. At the beginning, almost everyone is aware of themselves. They wonder what to do with their hands, whether they're standing correctly, what their face is doing, whether I can see the thing they're self-conscious about, or whether they're somehow doing photography wrong. Then we work for a while. We talk, I direct, we make adjustments, something makes us laugh, and eventually that hyper-awareness starts to loosen.
That's usually when I start seeing the photographs I was hoping for.
I think one of the reasons I'm so drawn to that moment is because most of us spend an enormous amount of our adult lives knowing exactly who we're supposed to be. We know how to dress for work, how to show up for our families, how to take care of the people who depend on us, and how to present the appropriate version of ourselves for whatever situation we're walking into. Those roles aren't necessarily false; they're all pieces of us. But when we're busy being responsible adults, there isn't always much room to wonder what else might be in there.
Photography gives us an excuse to find out.
I've talked before about my belief that adults still need opportunities to play pretend, and the more I photograph people, the more strongly I believe it. Somewhere along the way, we're expected to stop dressing up unless there's an occasion for it, stop imagining ourselves as characters, and stop doing things simply because they sound fun. If something is impractical, extravagant, dramatic, strange, or a little ridiculous, we start feeling like we need to justify wanting it.
I don't think we do.
You don't need somewhere to wear an incredible dress before you're allowed to wear one. You don't need to be a model to wonder what you would look like photographed dramatically. You don't need an anniversary to make intimate photographs with your partner, and you don't need a milestone birthday to decide you'd like to have something beautiful created around you. You certainly don't need to walk into my studio already knowing how to pose or feeling completely comfortable in front of a camera. Most people don't, and that's why directing you is part of my job rather than yours.
You don't even need to arrive with a fully developed concept. Some of my favorite ideas begin with something incredibly small: a color, a piece of clothing, an old painting, a song, a character, a story, or an image someone has saved for years because something about it refuses to leave them alone. Sometimes the starting point is simply, "I've always wanted to do something like this, but I wouldn't know where to begin."
That's enough for me to begin asking questions.
From there, we figure out what belongs and what doesn't. Maybe we build an entire little world around you, or maybe the photograph needs almost nothing at all. Maybe you want to explore something dark and dramatic, or perhaps you want softness, movement, romance, strength, sensuality, absurdity, or something neither of us has a word for yet. The concept doesn't have to say something profound about the human condition. Sometimes wanting to put on something extraordinary and play pretend for an afternoon is a perfectly good reason to make photographs.
I think that's the part of portraiture I wish more people understood. Having your photograph taken doesn't have to be about documenting what you look like right now. We already carry cameras around in our pockets that can do that every day. A portrait session can be an opportunity to see what happens when the ordinary rules are temporarily removed and you're given permission to explore a version of yourself that doesn't get much room in everyday life.
Maybe it's someone you already know very well but rarely get to show. Maybe it's a side of yourself you've wondered about but never really seen. Maybe the photograph ends up feeling completely familiar, or maybe you look at it and think, "I didn't know I could look like that."
That's what interests me.
When I start planning a session, I'm not interested in taking one of my ideas and simply placing another person inside it. I want to know what you're drawn to, what makes you curious, what you would try if embarrassment and practicality weren't part of the equation, and what kind of photograph you've secretly wished existed of you. My job is to take those pieces, bring my own imagination and experience to them, and create something together that wouldn't have existed without either of us.
So rather than asking whether you're photogenic enough, confident enough, young enough, thin enough, creative enough, or whatever other qualification you've decided you need before you're allowed to have an experience like this, I think there's a much more interesting question to ask.
If, for one afternoon, there were no rules about who you're supposed to be, who would you want to meet in the photograph?
That's where we can start.
You don’t need a finished concept or a special occasion to begin. If there’s a version of yourself you’ve been curious to see, an idea you’ve carried around for years, or simply the desire to step outside the everyday for a little while, tell me about it. We’ll build the rest together.