New Beginnings…

I’m carrying around this newfound love of photography very carefully. It feels so fragile right now - like it could burst at any moment. I’m sure that from the outside, it seems absurd. It’s just a camera, after all. I’ve known how to use it for years.

But it has, in fact, been years since I loved it as much as I do at this very moment and the fear that this love will vanish is all too real.

My photography journey started after my daughter, Ava, was born. Documenting her became a deliberate part of my life, and so did carrying around my DSLR camera. I absolutely mopped up all the information I could. I learned the technical aspects of my camera, sure, but what I loved most was learning how to make my images both technically AND emotionally perfect. How to compose an image to get the most out of every moment. How to edit an image to evoke the most emotion. How to document our lives in the most beautiful way possible.

As I got better, others asked me to take their images and I jumped at the opportunity. I got asked more and more until finally, I decided to turn my happy place into a little business venture.

Photography was never my full-time business - just a little side hustle. I dabbled in different aspects of photography, but portraits we’re always where I felt most comfortable. It’s what I knew my clients wanted and after a few years, as I got better and better at giving my clients what they wanted, I slowly started to realize it wasn’t what I wanted. I resented my business. I resented my camera. I even resented my clients. As I look back on it now, I think what I really resented was losing my sense of self. Photography had started as a way to document my own family, and create my own vision. Turning my hobby into a business slowly sucked away my creativity and eventually, my sense of fulfillment and purpose. When I shut my business down, I didn’t think I would tuck away my camera too. But I did. For years.

After that, when people would ask me to take out my camera, I could feel myself cringe on the inside. That reaction made me feel guilty. It’s just a picture after all! But every time I would oblige the ask, I walked away feeling as if I was being taken advantage of, even though intellectually I knew that wasn’t the case. So I distanced myself enough so that eventually, people stopped asking. I didn’t take out my camera at all. No pictures of my kids, other than on an iphone, for years. They were getting older and didn’t want me to take them anyway so it felt like an easy transition.

Until it wasn’t.

For the past year, I’ve been searching. Something was missing. I couldn’t explain it to my husband, exactly. The missing link. I just knew that in my heart, I felt unfulfilled. I was missing my own personal sense of purpose.

The Kitchen Sink Project was born from that feeling. I’ve thrown a number of ideas up against the wall like spaghetti over the past year thinking of ways I might fill my cup. I’ve fostered puppies. I’ve learned to make charcuterie boards. I've attempted flower arranging. I’ve thought about buying and flipping houses. I’ve considered eliminating people from my images all together and trying my hand at photographing real estate. I’ve literally thrown so many different ideas at this feeling, trying to figure how to fill the void. Quite literally, everything but the kitchen sink.

Seven days ago I found myself looking for an image. I knew I had posted it to my Flickr account at some point. It had been so long since I had logged into my Flickr account I couldn’t remember what email I had used to set it up. When I clicked on “forgot password”, I secretly crossed my fingers, hoping I hadn’t used my business email address since that email account had been deleted from my iphone ages ago. Thankfully, I hadn’t. And then something magical happened. I stumbled across the portfolio I had submitted to CM Pro back in 2015. The one posted here. At that point, I had taken on a few clients, but my images were still largely of my children. They were for me. They were my vision. They were beautiful. I saw them in a way I couldn’t see them before. Something clicked deep inside of me and I knew I had to pick up the camera again. I knew it was the missing link.

It’s been 6 days since I picked up my camera again. I’m like a sponge - I quite literally can’t get enough.

And I’m terrified. Terrified that my passion for this thing I love so much will vanish again.

So be patient with me, please. This feeling I’m having is kind of like having a newborn baby all over again. You’re filled with excitement and joy and you just can’t get enough of it. You nourish it. Protect it. Love it, and hope it grows into the thing you know it can become. Except, I don’t know what this will become yet. And that’s OK. For now, I’m relishing in the excitement I feel holding that camera back in my hands and creating images I love, and for now, that is enough.