We pass these photographs every day. In our phones, on a wall, or in a frame on a dusty dining room table. We may glance at them, but how often do we really see them? Time moves like a camera’s flash, careening forward leaving scant seconds to notice the life inside those images. The love, beauty and perfection. The souls that we adore. And in that moment, we chide ourselves for our inattention… for neglecting to appreciate the living art of these memories. These people. These gifts.
All given so humbly by the woman behind the lens.
The woman never sought praise or recognition. But, merely to create something real. Heartfelt. And genuine. Something that, truthfully, held a striking resemblance to her own spirit. To capture a snapshot in time and bring out its love. Its humor. Its joy. She was a storyteller in her soul, and our lives were her inspiration. And each story she told was a testament of her own sincerity.
All so openly shared by the woman behind the lens.
The woman saw in us what we didn’t even see in ourselves. A possibility. A strength. A hope. In her work, we saw these traits reflected back to us. In ways that we didn’t expect. And, somehow, because of that, we became that person she saw. The better person. The stronger person. The happier person.
All because of the woman behind the lens.
Yet, the woman knew that we’re busy, that we’d gather her work into a drawer, onto a holiday card, or post it on our social media pages… and maybe we’d forget. But, just as she knew that we’d quickly move on, she also knew that one day we’d pause. We’d take another look that would fill our hearts once more. And we’d remember.
All thanks to the woman behind the lens.