I have always had a fear of forgetting.

 

When I was young, I wrote everything down, documenting my existence in stacks of spiral-bound notebooks. It never seemed like enough.

 

I was 14 years old when I found my dad's old 35mm Minolta buried in the buffet drawer in the dining room of my childhood home. From that moment on, I spent my time teaching myself how to use it, and my hard-earned pay on developing countless rolls of film. I had stumbled upon something magical; I had found a new way to remember.

 

Fast-forward to college: I was an english major who spent more time in the darkroom than on essays and thesis papers, and finally decided to make a change. As a fine arts major, I discovered a side of myself that I never knew existed. I fell in love with paint, and even more with portraiture. I learned to use new equipment and to push boundaries. I learned to recognize the absolute beauty of the human form.

In the interim, I worked as a nanny, and still do. After ten years of working with families, I have become enchanted with capturing their most raw, authentic moments. Those moments where they have completely forgotten that the camera is there. As much as I enjoy providing a beautifully-posed photo full of toothy smiles, the magic, for me, lies in those in-between moments.

 

Ultimately, I have grown to be nothing more than an older, more experienced version of that happy, bright-eyed, awe-struck teenager. The biggest difference, I think, is that I want to help others remember. I want to capture your moments in their truest form, and leave you with memories that will last a lifetime-- and then some.