A few mornings ago I stopped to photograph a tiny shell sitting in the edge of a retreating wave.
It wasn't especially beautiful, or rare. In another few seconds the water would wash over it again and someone else would walk straight past without ever knowing it had been there. I don't really know why I stop, but I always do. I just know that photography has slowly taught me to notice things like that.
When I first bought a fairly good camera, I was fascinated by people. Then, travelling through India in my twenties, I found myself completely captivated by colour, movement and the emotion that seemed to exist everywhere I looked. I carried my camera almost everywhere, trying to hold onto little pieces of what I was experiencing.
Over the years my camera followed me through so many different seasons of life. Living overseas, becoming a mama, photographing my own family and the people I loved around me. Later came weddings, families, musicians, dance floors, and celebrations. More recently, quiet mornings on the beach with dogs charging through the waves, surfers disappearing into the ocean at sunrise, and the ever-changing coastline I now call home.
Looking back, I can see there has always been a common thread. I've always loved the big, wild and emotional moments, but it's the quieter ones that stay with me. The way someone instinctively reaches for another person's hand or the wind lifting a veil just enough. A hand caressing the face of a lover, and the joy of a dog running so freely it is impossible for me not to smile. The light filtering through the leaves sometimes leaves me speechless.
These moments are easy to miss when we rush from one thing to the next. My camera has taught me to slow down just enough to see them.
When I returned to Australia, there was a time when I barely picked up my camera. Life had changed in ways I hadn't expected, and I wasn't sure where photography fitted anymore. Then I began walking the beach most mornings. Then I wasn't looking for photographs, I was just looking for somewhere to breathe.
Slowly, without really noticing it, I began noticing again. How the tides change, how sometimes the shell next to the piece of coral is just perfectly laid out in colour and form. The tiny details in the sand and the rhythm of this beautiful place I now get to call home.
I think that's why I photograph the way I do. Whether I'm documenting a wedding, a family, a pregnancy, or a morning by the sea, I'm always hoping to preserve something that feels real. The feeling of a moment that seems so ordinary today, but is, just extraordinarily beautiful in it's simplicity.
Photography has given me so much more than beautiful images. It has given me a gentler way of moving through the world, and reminds me every day to pay attention.
Thanks for slowing down with me.
