Easin' On Down The Road...

I'm pretty good with the written word, but not so much lately. Luckily, photography doesn’t require them.

For quite a while, the camera and I took a break. Not the dramatic, “finding myself” kind. Life simply stepped forward and handed me a level of responsibility I could not have prepared for. I lost my sister, and soon after, my attention turned to caring for my elderly father.

Photography had to wait.

When I finally picked the camera back up, there was no big creative plan. No studio. No production. Just a beach, some open air, and my husband Aster looking out at the Puget Sound like he was contemplating something far more profound than what we were having for dinner. So I photographed him from behind. There was something wonderous about capturing someone staring out at a vast body of water.

For a portrait photographer, this felt oddly liberating. No expression to chase. No mood to manufacture. No “can you look natural?” conversations.

When the face disappears, the image opens. No emotional instructions...the viewer is free to decide what’s going on. Where is he going? What is he thinking? Should we follow, or respectfully mind our business? Call the cops?

The photographs feel intentionally unfinished, and I mean that in the best possible way. They leave room: Room for interpretation. Room for wonder. Room for projection. Room for feeling.

Not every portrait needs to explain itself. Some are stronger when they withhold just enough to wake up curiosity. There is a quiet authority in restraint. From a purely practical standpoint, asking someone to keep walking is much easier than asking for one more natural expression.

Let me be clear, photographing someone from behind is not exactly revolutionary. This has been done before. It's been done many, many times, but I was enjoying myself, and Aster enjoyed the experiment as opposed to the formula of studio work. We both did. We still do.

After the past several months, rediscovering the simple act of noticing light, space, movement, and stillness felt less like a creative breakthrough, and more like returning to something steady and familiar. No grand reinvention. Just a reminder that I love what I do.

Besides, a little restraint is kinda hot. Check it out: