Fuck Golden Hour

For 15 years, I've been photographing men who hate it, women who spend the entire session trying to get their kids to conform, and following other top family photographers by suggesting positions, colours and outfits to wear on the day. All in the name of image and branding.

Using the word 'natural' to sell my work felt fraudulent because no matter how 'chill' these images look, one—to two-hour sessions require specific direction. Either side of that perfect shot is a whole lotta talk and instigation—every lifestyle shoot (to a fair degree) is manipulated or staged.

My creative juices were dry as a nun's muff, so I didn't charge my camera for three years. If people enquired, I'd tell them my camera was broken.

Then, one day, I discovered the award-winning documentary family photographer Kirsten Lewis. And all my creative dreams came true.

It's what was missing from my work, but I had no knowledge of this genre or that it was even possible in a photographic setting. It has changed the lives of the families I've captured, and it has also changed me.

It requires enormous patience. There has been no other time in my life when I have had to be this still.

This observant.  

And I witness life between the lines. I see the connection, vulnerability, chaos, and underlying family dynamics at the core of each individual.

Now, instead of directing a bunch of strangers dressed in beige on a sandy beach during golden hour, I get to exist quietly in the shadows of home life, providing a platform to tell their deepest and most intimate family story.

I do not manipulate light, play or communication.

And it's stunningly hectic.

Tears and train wrecks, split-second exchanges, eye and body contact, spontaneous joy, gestures of love, shadows, weather, different rooms, toys, family get-togethers, meals, bath time, games, connection, and conflict.

Losing control of my subjects and their surroundings has, in fact, given me far more control over my creative work.

And I get to connect with my family in a way that I've never connected with strangers in my entire life. There's something liberating about getting 'up close and personal' with strangers. Some days, it feels like we've crammed a lifetime into one day.

For the families, they see themselves in a whole new light.

They witness the undercurrent of who they are individually and as a family unit. How they interact behind the scenes, and how they relate to each other energetically.

They learn to appreciate the chaos, the nothing moments, and the days at home—and witness what plain old 'being together' looks like on camera.

It's as if they're seeing it for the first time—an almost 'outer body' experience.

It's absurd.

For decades now, social media has created painful and unrealistic expectations. It has caused us to lose focus and groundedness, shattered honesty to pieces, and warped our perception of life compared to others. It's had us searching for photographers who can help paint a pre-empted picture of who we think the world wants to see.

Through documentary family photography, we reconnect, remember, and reflect on what has been missing, on what we desire and long for. It is returning to who we have always been and being proud to share that visual story.

In a world that demands perfect photos, pretty aesthetics and appropriate order, this is a genuine, honest and authentic 'fuck you.'