For me, photography has never been solely about getting the perfect exposure or mastering the interplay of light and shadow. It has always been something more intimate, more soulful. It’s about preserving something you can’t quite describe in words, a feeling that lingers in the atmosphere of a moment. As someone who earns a living capturing significant milestones and everyday magic for others, people often assume that my favorite photographs are technically impeccable, the kind that win awards or go viral on social media. But when I flip through the mental album of my most treasured images, the ones that bring a lump to my throat or send a warm pulse through my chest, perfection in the traditional sense isn’t what defines them.
What makes these images special isn’t their composition or clarity. It’s the emotional weight they carry, the raw, unscripted truth they contain. Each one holds a piece of who I am, frozen in a sliver of time. These are the photos that remind me why I fell in love with photography in the first place. They are evidence of transformation, of love in all its many forms, of fleeting but unforgettable experiences. They evoke something visceral, and that’s a kind of power no amount of editing or technical expertise can replicate.
One image that always rises to the top of my memory is a photograph from my infancy. It’s not one I took, of course, but one that was taken of me with my dad. It’s monochrome, faded with age, the kind of picture you might skim past in a box of old family prints if you didn’t know the story behind it. In the photo, my baby face is scrunched into a dramatic cry, and my dad, holding me gently, has an expression that hovers between confusion and adoration. You can tell he’s both amused and a little overwhelmed, probably thinking something like, “What have I gotten into with this fifth child?” And yet, there is an unmistakable tenderness in his posture, a stillness that feels like protection.
That photograph doesn’t speak loudly. It doesn’t scream for attention. But it pulls at me every time I see it. It encapsulates the essence of the relationship I have always had with my dada steady, quiet support system that’s always been there whether or not I noticed. He’s the type of person who shows up without making a scene, who fixes things without being asked, who carries a strength that doesn’t need to prove itself. Looking at that picture transports me to a place of deep safety and belonging, a place where love didn’t need to be spoken to be understood. It’s the kind of image that feels like a secret whisper between my past and present selves.
Nostalgia in Motion: When Moments Become Memory
If I had to name a moment that lives vividly in my heart, it would be from 1998, during my high school years. I was in 11th grade, trying to navigate the emotional labyrinth that is adolescence. My mom had moved across the country, and although we stayed in touch, nothing could replace the physical nearness we had shared. For many people, a few months apart might seem reasonable, but for me, it felt like an emotional drought. I missed her fiercely. Every phone call felt like a small sip of water in a desert of longing.
Then came the day she returned for a visit. I remember standing at the airport, my heart pounding like I was meeting a celebrity. This was back when you could wait right at the gate. As soon as she appeared in the corridor, I ran toward her without hesitation. My body moved before my mind had time to catch up. A family member captured that split the raw electricity of reunion, the joy mid-motion, my wide smile mirrored in hers. I was wearing my favorite velvet shirt, the one I felt truly myself in, textured and soft like the moment itself.
Every time I see that photo, it’s like a portal opens. My senses remember everything airport smell, the buzz of arrival boards, the heat of the terminal, and most vividly, the emotional wave that hit when I fell into her arms. There was something cinematic about it, like a scene from a beautifully understated indie film. And while the image itself is slightly blurred, it holds a sharper emotional clarity than almost anything else I own. That velvet shirt is long gone, but sometimes when I see velvet in a store window, I feel a strange pull at my heart. It’s more than nostalgia. It’s a reconnection with a version of me who was just beginning to understand what love and absence meant.
Photos like these teach you how deeply our physical memories are tied to emotional ones. A texture, a color, even the light in a room can resurrect long-buried feelings. This is the alchemy of photographyturning fleeting sensations into enduring mementos. And this is also why I often tell my clients that a technically flawed photo can be infinitely more powerful than a perfectly composed one. If an image stirs something in you, it has already succeeded. I’ve seen people cry over grainy, dimly lit shots because those images reflect real, unscripted love.
Through the Lens of Love: Growing with the People We Capture
Another photo that lives rent-free in my heart is from the era when my husband Mikey and I were just starting out. Back then, he was the lead guitarist in a local punk band, and I was completely smitten, not just with him, but with the entire scene. We were young, defiant, and deeply in love with the freedom of self-expression. One particular summer afternoon, we found ourselves at Warped Tour. His band had a booth, and I was there doing what I did bestcapturing the vibe and supporting him with absolute heart-eyes.
Someone snapped a photo of us, and while the details are ordinary, the feeling is anything but. The sun was bright and hot on our skin, the air vibrating with music and dust and energy. I was leaning in close to him, probably mid-laugh, probably wearing eyeliner too thick and shoes too impractical. But we were happy. Really happy. That photo is more than a relic of our youth’s a time capsule of a version of us before life added its layers of complexity. Now we are parents, partners, mortgage-payers, schedule jugglers. But that picture reminds me of the spark that started it all. The way we used to dream together at concerts. The way holding hands felt electric.
Over the years, photography has taught me to see more than what is visible. You begin to read faces differently. You can feel the tremble of anticipation before a proposal, the glow of new parenthood, the quiet love of long-married couples who don’t need to speak to communicate. That’s what I try to bring to every session I photograph. My camera doesn’t just document what’s happening. It listens. It senses. It waits for that exact breath when something real bubbles to the surface.
And that’s what separates sentimental photography from everything else. Whether you’re documenting your child’s first step, your best friend’s wedding, or your own quiet Sunday mornings, the goal isn’t perfection. It’s preservation. Emotional preservation. You want to bottle up that feeling and store it somewhere safe, somewhere it can’t be erased by time or circumstance. That’s what great photography doesit presses wildflowers between the pages of our lives and keeps them blooming forever.
When I look at my own collection of favorite images, I see a roadmap of growth. I see who I was and how I’ve evolved. I see love in its many shapesfrom the gentle hands of a father to the wide open arms of a mother, from the flutter of young romance to the deep roots of enduring partnership. These images remind me of why I do what I do. Not for accolades, not for likes, but for the heart. For the emotion that cannot be staged.
Capturing the Heartbeat of Love: Our Wedding in Focus
Every love story begins somewhere, but some moments within that story become immortal through the lens of a photograph. For me, one image from our wedding holds that kind of quiet power. It’s not a posed or polished shot. There’s no grand backdrop or orchestrated scene. In fact, it’s delightfully imperfect. My veil has shifted slightly, giving it a life of its own, and Mikey’s boutonniere looks as though it's barely hanging on after a long day of laughter and dancing. But none of that matters. Because what the photo captures is something far more important than flawless aesthetics.
We’re laughing together, completely caught in a private moment, unaware that the camera is documenting the joy we shared. That unfiltered happiness radiates through the image. We weren’t thinking about how we looked or whether our smiles were camera-ready. We were simply living the moment, together, hearts wide open. And in that honesty, something sacred emerged. That picture tells the real story of our wedding day. Not the centerpieces, the vows, or the playlist, but the way we felt in that fleeting, unscripted breath of time.
This particular photo also reminds me of why I fell in love with photography in the first place. It’s in the candid laughter, the tilt of a head, the way two people look at each other when they think no one’s watching. Those in-between frames, the ones that aren’t rehearsed or repeated, carry the soul of a memory. They say what words often fail to express. That wedding photo became a touchstone for the way I see relationships, both in my personal life and behind the camera.
When I look at it now, I see more than a bride and groom. I see two young dreamers unknowingly stepping into a new life. We had no idea what the road ahead would look like. We didn’t know the depth of love that parenthood would awaken in us or how challenges would test and fortify our bond. Yet, in that image, there’s a calm certainty. An unspoken promise. A sense that we were ready to face the unknown, hand in hand. That belief became the foundation of everything that came after.
A New Life Begins: The Raw Beauty of Fatherhood
As our love story grew, so did our family. The next chapter in our visual journey is marked by a photo that still steals my breath no matter how many times I return to it. It’s an image of Mikey holding our newborn son, Ethan, just hours after he entered the world. The lighting is soft and the setting is simple. Nothing about it is planned or elaborate. Yet the emotion it captures is immense. There’s Mikey, gazing down at Ethan with a look that I can only describe as awe-struck reverence. His face, usually composed and reserved, is completely open, undone by the wonder of meeting his child for the very first time.
This image means so much to me because it holds layers of emotion and transformation. Mikey once told me he wasn’t sure fatherhood was in the cards for him. He had doubts, fears, uncertainties. But the moment Ethan was placed in his arms, everything shifted. You can see it in his eyes. That subtle but profound shift into fatherhood, into something deeper and more selfless than either of us anticipated. The way he holds Ethan isn’t just careful’s sacred. His arms form a shelter, his hands steady yet gentle, as if he’s holding something rare and irreplaceable.
What’s remarkable is how this photo redefined the meaning of intimacy for us. It’s not just about romantic connection anymore. It became about co-creating life, about shared responsibilities and dreams. It was about becoming builders of a new future together. We were no longer just husband and wife. We became teammates in the wild, beautiful task of raising a human. That shift wasn’t just emotional was visible. You can see it in the curve of Mikey’s posture, in the way Ethan rests peacefully in his grasp. It was the beginning of a new chapter, a deeper form of love and commitment that changed us both.
This image, though quiet and unassuming, became a symbol of transformation. It reminded me that the most meaningful photos often aren’t the ones with perfect symmetry or dramatic lighting. They are the ones that catch us off guard, that reflect the truth of a moment without artifice. That one image taught me more about fatherhood, vulnerability, and the quiet strength of love than any book or conversation ever could.
Photographing the Moments That Matter Most
As I’ve grown, both as a person and as a photographer, I’ve come to treasure the raw, unpolished frames of life. The ones that don’t shout for attention but linger in your heart. In a world where so much of our visual culture is staged and filtered, these real moments stand out like rare gems. They carry a weight that perfection can never replicate. They are the moments that feel alive, that whisper rather than scream, and in doing so, say everything.
The candid photo from our wedding and the image of Mikey with Ethan are more than personal memories. They are reminders of what truly matters in photography and in life. It's not about capturing perfection, but presence. It’s about being attentive enough to notice when something real is unfolding, and having the grace to honor it with your lens. That’s the kind of work that speaks to me, that drives me every time I pick up a camera.
I look for the breath just before the smile, the brush of fingers, the long look between people that tells a story words can’t touch. Those in-between moments, so easily overlooked, are where truth lives. They aren’t always grand or dramatic. Sometimes they’re quiet and fleeting. But they are always powerful. Because they reflect what’s real.
Over time, I’ve realized that the most enduring photographs aren’t always the ones we plan for. They are the ones that sneak up on us, revealing something deeper. A truth we didn’t even know we were holding. Whether it’s the joy of a wedding day, the first seconds of parenthood, or a silent moment of connection, those are the frames that live on. They become part of the fabric of who we are.
That’s why I approach every shoot with the same reverence I felt when I first saw those two images. I carry the memory of that spontaneous wedding photo and the quiet awe of new fatherhood with me. They remind me to be present, to look beyond the obvious, to see with my heart as well as my eyes. And most importantly, to honor the stories that unfold in front of me with honesty and care.
When One Becomes Two: The Sacred Moment of Meeting
There’s a single photograph in our family archive that still stops me in my tracks every time I see it. It’s not dramatic or staged, and it doesn't feature perfect lighting or carefully arranged props. Yet, in its quiet simplicity, it holds a gravity that changed the landscape of our family forever. The image captures a fleeting but deeply profound moment: my oldest child, Ethan, meeting his newborn sibling for the very first time.
Ethan, still a toddler at the time, stands barely tall enough to peer over the edge of the hospital crib. His cheeks are soft and round, and his expression is one of raw, unfiltered wonder. His eyes, wide with curiosity, seem to reflect a thousand questions. He doesn't speak. None of us does. His tiny hand hovers just above the baby’s blanket, caught between instinct and uncertainty. Does he reach out? Does he simply watch? In that instant, it feels as though time pauses to make room for this sacred encounter.
Even now, looking at that photo gives me goosebumps. I remember how the room felt, not loud or chaotic, but calm and reverent. It was as though the universe itself was bearing witness. We all instinctively knew that this moment mattered. It was more than just a meeting. It was the very beginning of something lifelong. Ethan, who until now had been the sole recipient of all our love and attention, was no longer alone. His world had expanded to include another soul who would become both his companion and his counterpoint.
This picture is not just a family keepsake. It’s the seed from which their relationship has grown. It’s the foundation of everything that followed. Every wrestling match on the living room floor, every battle over whose turn it is for the front seat, every shared popsicle on a hot summer daythey all trace their roots back to this quiet introduction. This photo is where the story of “us” begins.
Siblinghood doesn’t announce itself with fanfare. It enters softly, often unnoticed at first. But over time, it evolves into something both beautifully intricate and emotionally charged. The complexity of their bond was foreshadowed in that first gaze. They didn’t speak, but something essential passed between them. A recognition. A promise. A silent understanding that they were now tethered by something larger than themselves.
The Emotional Terrain of Growing Up Together
As the years unfolded, so did the layers of their sibling connection. It became a living, breathing thing that shifted with each new season of their lives. There were seasons of laughter, marked by inside jokes and belly-aching giggles over the most ridiculous things. There were seasons of conflict, arguments over toys, turf wars over bedrooms, and endless negotiations about who got the last cookie. But even in the midst of those everyday skirmishes, a deeper loyalty always ran just beneath the surface.
Their bond wasn’t perfect, but it was real. And that authenticity is what made it so powerful. They’ve had days where they couldn’t stand each other and nights where I’ve found them curled up in the same bed, asleep with their arms draped over each other as though their souls had never argued. That duality, the push and pull of siblinghood, is what gives it its richness.
This dynamic has always fascinated me, not just as a mother but also as a storyteller and photographer. There’s something uniquely compelling about capturing these moments of truth. Real family photography should not exist in a world of perfectly coordinated outfits and pasted-on smiles. It should live in the trenches of daily life, where emotions are raw and unfiltered. The best images aren’t always the prettiestthey’re the ones that reveal something honest.
The joy of photographing families lies in uncovering those micro-moments that speak volumes. A sideways glance. A spontaneous giggle. A child clinging to a parent’s leg during a tantrum. These are the threads that weave the fabric of memory. They are the stories that endure long after the flash has faded.
Sibling relationships are some of the most enduring connections we experience. They form the backdrop to childhood and often become the emotional compass for adulthood. Through their ups and downs, siblings teach us how to love, how to fight, how to forgive, and how to come back to each other after disagreement. And it all begins with that first moment of recognition, when one child meets another and something quiet but monumental begins to take shape.
Capturing the Unscripted: Where Authenticity Lives
The final image in this cherished group of family photos could easily be dismissed as just another casual snapshot. It was taken on a sticky summer evening, the sky still glowing with the last traces of daylight. We had set up a camera on a timer, hoping to get a simple family photo before the sun dipped below the horizon. There were no fancy outfits or props. We weren’t trying to create a picture-perfect portrait. We just wanted to be together in the frame.
And that’s exactly what the camera captured: us, together. There we are, slightly askew, laughing without restraint. My hair is wild from the wind. One child is sticking out his tongue, and another is in the middle of a deep belly laugh. My husband, Mikey, is caught mid-chuckle, eyes squinting from the brightness of the joy we didn’t realize we were radiating. It’s messy. It’s imperfect. And it’s completely, unforgettably real.
What makes this photo so powerful is its lack of polish. It doesn't pretend to be anything other than what it isa family, caught in a moment of unfiltered joy. No one is posing. No one is trying too hard. And yet, in that moment of chaos and spontaneity, something extraordinary was revealed. The rhythm of our lives. The unspoken harmony that threads through our everyday. The deep undercurrent of love that persists even when things feel overwhelming.
This image reminds me why I do what I do. Family photography isn’t about perfection. It’s about presence. It’s about capturing those fleeting expressions and unguarded interactions that make your heart ache with recognition. It’s about embracing the raw, unedited beauty of real life and saying, “Yes, this is who we are, and that’s more than enough.”
In the world of curated feeds and highlight reels, these honest glimpses of connection have become rare treasures. But they’re the ones that stay with you. They are the photos that don’t just hang on wallsthey live in your heart. They become your anchor on the hard days and your reminder on the good ones. They speak to the soul because they were never trying to impress the world.
That’s the essence I seek in every shoot. Not the manufactured smiles, but the moments in between. The ones that whisper instead of shout. The ones that capture the tangled, beautiful, messy truth of what it means to belong to one another.
A Life Told in Frames: Why Sentimental Photos Matter
There’s something undeniably powerful about the way a single photo can transport us. It doesn’t just freeze a moment in time. It captures the way we felt, the way we loved, the way we saw the world around us. When I sit down and look at the seven photographs that have defined my life, it's like opening a deeply personal novel. These images don’t follow a timeline or plot, but together they form a kind of emotional atlas. They are more than just pictures. They are pieces of my soul, fragments of the person I was, and clues to the person I continue to become.
The first photo in this collection shows me nestled in my father’s arms, overwhelmed and bawling, my eyes wide with confusion. It’s not staged or polished. It’s raw. That tiny moment says so much about the start of my journey into this world. There’s a photo of my siblings and me goofing off during a chaotic family portrait session. We’re not perfectly posed, and that’s precisely what makes it perfect. It feels real. It feels alive. These images don’t just document life. They define it.
Each photograph I’ve held onto over the years carries a weight that can’t be measured. These are the images I would rescue if the house were on fire. The ones I scroll through when the world feels too loud, too uncertain, too fast. These photos ground me. They remind me where I come from, who I love, and what truly matters. They're the anchors in my story, the visual proof of what makes my life meaningful.
Photographs like these aren't about perfection. They aren’t curated for likes or filtered for aesthetics. They are moments that happened between the chaos and calm. Moments we didn’t know would matter until they did. They are glimpses into a life lived with heart, and they shape the way I experience love, connection, identity, and time.
Discovering the Sacred in the Everyday
Photography has taught me how to see. Not just to look, but to see. Over the years, I’ve developed a kind of sixth sense for recognizing the extraordinary in what most people consider ordinary. A glance shared between parents during a busy breakfast. A toddler wrapping their arms around a tired older sibling. A couple exchange quiet smiles as they watch their children run barefoot through a backyard. These are the stories I feel honored to tell.
Working with families across Portland, I’ve discovered that the most compelling photographs are not the technically flawless ones. They are the ones who capture the truth. They are about presence, not perfection. A photograph that holds genuine emotion can speak louder than any posed portrait ever could. It can remind someone of how they felt in a moment that passed too quickly. It can bring back the smell of home-cooked meals, the echo of laughter, the quiet of a late night in a dim nursery.
I often tell families that the most magical moments usually happen when no one is trying to create them. When the pressure is off and they can just be themselves. That’s when the good stuff happens. The sideways glances, the spontaneous giggles, the unplanned hugs. These tiny gestures, when captured honestly, become treasures. They are reminders of what we often take for granted until it's too late. Parenthood, love, growth, and time all unfold in those in-between spaces, and that’s where I’ve learned to focus my lens.
Every family has their rhythm, their language of love. Some are loud and boisterous, filled with playful teasing and hearty laughter. Others are quiet and gentle, marked by soft touches and knowing glances. My job isn’t to change that rhythm. It’s to honor it. To document it in a way that feels real, respectful, and timeless.
When I revisit those seven images from my own life, I see my entire heart reflected back at me. They whisper the story of a life that’s been full of joy and messiness, struggle and triumph, connection and solitude. These photographs aren’t just keepsakes. They are sacred. They remind me to slow down. To notice. To cherish. Because the everyday is never just ordinary. It is, in fact, everything.
Why This Work Feels Like a Calling
I believe there’s something universal in the desire to hold onto the fleeting. We all want to remember the days that pass by too quickly. We want something tangible to cling to when our kids outgrow their shoes or our parents go grey. We want to press pause, if only for a second, on the relentless rush of time. And maybe that’s why I do this work. Maybe that’s why I feel so deeply connected to capturing life as it is, rather than how we think it should look.
Photography, at its best, is about legacy. It’s about saying, I was here. We were here. We loved. We built something. We mattered. When families invite me into their lives, they are giving me a precious gift: access to their most vulnerable, beautiful, and unfiltered moments. And I don’t take that lightly. I see each session as an opportunity to co-create something lasting. Something that will still mean something fifty years from now.
Every time I pick up my camera, I think about the future. I think about the child who will one day look at a photograph of their young parents and smile. I think about the elderly couple who will flip through their album and remember what it felt like to dance barefoot in the kitchen. I think about the generations who haven’t been born yet, who will one day study these images and see where they come from. This is more than a profession. It’s a form of storytelling that transcends time.
Maybe it all circles back to those seven photos of mine. Maybe those images are what lit the spark inside me. They remind me that photography is not about gear or lighting or settings. It’s about love. It’s about truth. It’s about presence. And when I get it right, it’s about helping someone else see the beauty in their own messy, wonderful, ordinary life.
As I continue this journey, I carry those seven images in my heart. They are my compass, my inspiration, my why. And as I photograph other families, I hope to give them something just as meaningful. Because somewhere out there, another family is writing their own story in snapshots and fleeting moments. And if I can help them hold onto those moments a little longer, if I can help them remember who they are when life feels uncertain, then I’ve done what I was meant to do.
Conclusion
Photography has always been more than capturing moments; it's a form of emotional archaeology art of excavating feelings buried in the simple, quiet, unscripted fragments of everyday life. As I look back at my most sentimental images, I realize they’re not about perfection or precision; they’re about authenticity, presence, and truth. They speak a language beyond words, softly narrating the nuances of love, connection, and transformation. They offer glimpses into the quiet bravery of parenthood, the thrill of youthful love, the tender embrace of family bonds, and the steady comfort of enduring relationships.
In a world obsessed with curated visuals and staged realities, it's these raw, imperfect images that resonate most profoundly. They're powerful because they invite us to feel, to remember, to relive what mattered in those fleeting moments. Each photograph is a whisper that says, “This was real. This mattered.” They remind us that the beauty of life isn’t found in grand gestures or polished moments but rather in the messy, spontaneous, unguarded instances of genuine emotion.
As I continue documenting stories, my camera remains a faithful listener, attuned not just to what I see, but to what I feel. I aim to preserve those intangible emotions that anchor us to our identity and heritage. Every family I photograph becomes part of my own journey, reaffirming why this work matters: because life moves swiftly, and photography lets us pause, hold tight, and revisit what we cherish most deeply.
Ultimately, these photographs are about the kind that outlives trends and aesthetics. They're the images we'll turn to when we need reassurance, grounding, and reconnection. They remind us of our humanity, our love, our beautifully imperfect lives. And as long as there are stories to tell and moments to savor, I'll keep pressing the shutter, capturing life's quiet the fleeting truths that bind us to one another and to ourselves.