For years I've chased the ultimate career; something that pays well. Something that my kids would be proud of me for.

Nothing ever felt right.


Maybe it's my attention deficits, maybe it's my imposter syndrome.

Or both..

Or neither..

But I never felt good enough for the paths I was on.


I've tried so hard over the years to chase the identity that faded when I became Mum.

Everyone around me had their niche; something they were known for. What's mine? Would I ever have one?


Growing up, we owned several clear storage tubs filled to the brim with photos we intended to sort into albums. Every once in a while (every week if you ask my parents, who instantly tell me now I'm not allowed to look if I don't pack it away after), I would pull out these tubs and reminisce in all the memories.


Now I get to tell the stories of my childhood to my own children, as the photos lay sprawled across the loungeroom floor. They lay in piles of what I've looked at (so others know they can have a turn), what to look at next, and what I didn't need to bother with (what seemed like hundreds of photos of the same building on a holiday my parents took before I was even born. Everyone has an album like that, right?).


See, I had tried a few times over the years to dabble in photography. But the camera wouldn't leave my home, and all (I had to show for it was a few inactive Facebook pages.

I got hung up in the technicality of it all. I felt like I should be able to explain the complete inner workings of a camera and have the ability to build one from scratch to justify my talent.

It wasn't until I let go of those preconceptions and took a look at my work from another perspective that I was able to see photography for what it's supposed to be.


Art.


The art of emotion.

The art of memory.

The art of storytelling.


I spend most of my sessions in search of all those tiny perfect moments.

The moments in between the forced smiles and the posed portraits.


I look for the awkward laughs between the poses.

Partners lovingly readjusting hair.

Parents playing peek a boo and singing songs to encourage smiles and laughter.


I look for the emotions that will convey your story.


A story that will one day be sprawled across the loungeroom floor by generations to come.