I wish I could photograph the moment before someone says what they really mean.
It usually happens around minute 27. The eyes are halfway done. We’re in that in-between space where people forget they’re being observed. That’s when the real stories come out. The wedding jitters. The body image ghosts. The grandmother’s compact they still use because it smells like her. The things they’d never say while looking in a mirror but somehow say anyway while sitting in front of one.
It’s pattern recognition. It’s learning to read the difference between someone who wants to be seen and someone who hopes to disappear.
Every face tells you something. About who they used to be. About who they’re trying to become. About the gap in between.
No two sessions are the same. Some people want transformation. Some want restoration. Some just want to feel like they exist.
So I keep my brushes clean. I keep my ears open. I stay curious.
Because the work is in the permission we give each other to show up, not as flawless, but as real.