Seasons of Life
Photographing the chapters we’re living — not just the ones we celebrate.
There are seasons of life we prepare for. We plan for them. We anticipate them. We mark them with milestones and dates.
And then there are the seasons we don’t realize we’re in until they’ve already passed.
As a family photographer in Phoenix and Mesa, I’ve noticed that the images families treasure most aren’t always the ones created for big moments. They’re the photographs that quietly hold a season as it truly was — imperfect, ordinary, and deeply meaningful.
This year, I’m beginning a personal documentary project called Seasons of Life.
The Season of Becoming
This is the season when everything is new — and nothing is predictable.
The days are slow, the nights are long, and time feels both stretched and fleeting. Hands are always full. Movements are careful. The world revolves around small rhythms: feeding, rocking, waiting.
In this season, photographs don’t need direction. They need patience.
Documentary photography allows space for stillness here — the quiet weight of a sleeping newborn, the way light falls across a room that feels forever changed.
This season isn’t about perfection.
It’s about the beginning.
The Season of Motion
This is the season where life rarely stops moving.
Curiosity spills into every corner of the house. There are messes that reappear minutes after being cleaned. There is laughter, frustration, repetition, and wonder — often all in the same hour.
In this season, children don’t slow down for the camera — and they shouldn’t have to.
Photographing this chapter means observing instead of directing. It means letting moments unfold naturally and trusting that meaning lives in the in-between: the pauses, the play, the fleeting calm.
This season is loud, tender, and fleeting.
The Season of Becoming Yourself
This is the season that often slips through unnoticed.
Teenagers don’t want to perform. They don’t want to be instructed. They exist somewhere between childhood and adulthood — forming identities, testing independence, and quietly pulling away while still needing connection.
This season requires respect.
Documentary photography gives teens the space to exist as they are — not as they’re expected to be. It captures the subtle ways they move through the world, the quiet confidence, the uncertainty, and the growth happening beneath the surface.
This season is quieter — but no less important.
The Season of Gathering
This is the season shaped by togetherness.
Time slows here, not because life has less motion, but because it is shared more deliberately. Meals linger. Conversations repeat. Hands reach across generations without ceremony.
In this season, grandparents are often the quiet anchors — present, observant, steady.
Photographing this chapter is about noticing what happens when generations share space: the way stories resurface, the comfort of routine, the unspoken understanding that time together is both ordinary and precious.
Nothing needs to be staged.
A familiar kitchen.
A shared walk.
A moment of rest side by side.
These photographs aren’t about nostalgia.
They’re about presence.
This season reminds us that memory is built not in grand gestures, but in time spent together.
The Season of Absence
This is the season no one plans for.
It arrives quietly or all at once — through loss, illness, change, or the absence of someone who once filled the frame. The house feels different. Time moves differently. Ordinary routines carry a new weight.
In this season, photography is not about documenting everything.
It’s about honoring what remains.
Sometimes that looks like an empty chair.
Sometimes it’s a familiar space that no longer sounds the same.
Sometimes it’s the way people hold each other a little closer — or not at all.
This season asks for gentleness.
There is no expectation to perform, to explain, or to make meaning too quickly. Documentary photography allows space for grief without forcing resolution. It holds presence without asking for smiles.
This season is quiet.
And it matters.
What This Project Is (and Isn’t)
Seasons of Life is:
documentary-focused
minimally directed
rooted in observation
honest and unposed
It is not:
a styled session
a highlight reel
a performance
This project values presence over polish.
Why I’m Sharing This Project
Because I hear the same reflection again and again:
“I hated the saying ‘the days are long the years are short’ when I was in the thick of it but it is so true.”
“I didn’t realize how much I’d miss that stage.“
“I wish I had taken more photos of mom before she passed.“
“I wish I was in the frame more.“
“Now that I am in my late 40s, it was so silly of me to worry about my look when I was in my early 30s.“
This project exists to remind us that meaning isn’t reserved for milestones. It’s built quietly, day by day — in the seasons we’re already living.
Participating in Seasons of Life
Throughout the year, I’ll be documenting families in different chapters of life — each one representing a unique season.
I’m also selecting one family for a year-long project, photographed once per quarter, to document how a season changes over time.
To apply to be part of the project, fill out the application form below.
Even if you are not looking to participate, this post exists as an invitation — to slow down, to notice, and to value the chapter you’re in right now.
One day, the season you’re living in now will feel distant.
The routines will change.
The house will sound different.
The rhythm of life will shift.
Photographs won’t bring that season back — but they can help you remember how it felt.
Summary:
This essay introduces Seasons of Life, a documentary family photography project in Phoenix and Mesa that honors different stages of family life through honest, unposed storytelling.
