I Won’t Change Your Mind About Family Photography

This might be a strange thing to say as a family photographer, but here it is:

I won’t change your mind about family photography.

Not because I don’t care. And not because I don’t believe in what I do. But because my kind of photography — documentary family photography — isn’t something you can be talked into. You either feel it, or you don’t. And both are completely okay.

Why I can’t convince you to work with me

I could explain my process. I could talk about experience, time, intention, storytelling, printing, legacy, or why my sessions look the way they do. I could tell you how a two-hour session allows space for real life to unfold. How I don’t pose you. How I don’t ask your children to perform. How I quietly observe and document what’s already there.

And still — if you don’t feel the value of that, none of it will land.

Because value isn’t logical, it’s personal.

You either get documentary family photography — or you don’t

Some people look at documentary family photographs and think:

“Nothing much is happening.”

Others see the same image and feel their chest tighten. They notice the way a hand rests on a shoulder. The chaos of a kitchen at 7am. The way their child still fits perfectly against their body — for now. Neither reaction is wrong. But only one means this work is for you.

My story and why I do this

I’m the third of three children. When I was a toddler, there were photos. And then — slowly — they stopped. Not because my parents didn’t care. But because life stopped looking new.

They’d done this before. Three times. Family life with three children and two full-time working parents became busy, loud, practical. There wasn’t much space left to keep the camera ready.

And honestly? From the outside, nothing exciting was happening. But now, looking back, I know that everything was happening. That absence — those missing years — is a big part of why I do what I do.

For years, I’ve documented my own life — one photo a day — not because every day was special, but because most of life isn’t. And yet, those are the moments that quietly shape us.

What I learned is this:

The photos that matter most over time are rarely the ones where everyone looks their best.
They’re the ones that show how it felt to be there.
That’s what I care about. And that’s what I offer.

What I want for you — and for your children

Yes, your children are usually the ones in front of the camera. But you are my clients. And this work is for everyone in the frame.

For your children, these photographs become a way to understand who they were — how they were held, loved, soothed, challenged. What their home felt like. Who showed up for them.

But for you? They become something else entirely. A way to see yourself in a season where you might otherwise disappear. Especially for mothers, identity can blur after having children. Focus shifts. Attention moves outward. You’re needed constantly — and yet you’re rarely seen.

These photographs say: you were here too. They show you who you were when your children were small. How you moved through the chaos. How you loved and how you changed.

And one day, they’ll matter not just to you and your children — but to everyone connected to you in ways you can’t yet imagine.

What you actually get from me as a documentary family photographer

You don’t get stiff poses or forced smiles.
You get time.
You get presence.
You get space to be yourselves — without being corrected, directed, or judged.

My role isn’t to tidy your life or make it look like something it’s not.

It’s to observe, to notice. To document what’s already there, without commentary or expectation. There is no “right” way to be a family in front of my camera. Messy is allowed. Quiet is allowed. Hard days are allowed. You get photographs made with care, patience, and respect — images that might not shout now, but will whisper very loudly later.

How you’ll know if documentary family photography is right for you

This is probably the simplest part.

Family Photography has always been about value

We all spend money on different things.

Some people value holidays. Some value cars. Some value experiences. Some value objects. And some value remembering.

Documentary family photography only makes sense if remembering matters deeply to you. If it doesn’t, that’s absolutely fine. It just means this work isn’t yours — yet, or ever. And that’s okay.

If you’re here because something in this resonated, you don’t need a sales pitch, you already see it. And if you don’t — I won’t try to change your mind.

If something in this felt familiar — if you recognised your own life, your own values, or your own longing to remember — you’re very welcome to take the next step.