I've been a photographer for about two decades now, counting from the time I covered my own graduation shoot back in university. Long before I registered a company, before Redhill Forum, before any of it had a name, I was already someone people asked to hold the camera.
When I first started, it was really about pursuing a passion. Enjoying the process of doing what I love, which really is taking photos of people. But as I got older, I've come to realise that photography is less about the camera, and more about the people in front of it.
The camera, at some point, started feeling less like a tool and more like a prop; something that gives me a reason to engage with people. To get them to smile, to pose, to look at you. What I think about more now is why the shot matters. Is it a fleeting moment worth capturing? Or a story we're trying to craft together? Camera technology has made it easy to take a technically good photo. What's harder, and what I actually care about, is taking a photo worth keeping.
Over the years, I've picked up on the nuances. The unspoken parts of this work that nobody tells you about when you start. And there's one thing in particular that's stayed with me.
Every now and then, it could be a wedding, a family studio shoot, or a family event, an older member of the family, usually a grandparent, will take me aside and ask for a nice photo of themselves.
When I was younger in this career, I'd just oblige and snap away without giving it much thought. It was just another shot on the list. But as I got older myself, I came to understand what that request actually meant.
These are people trusting me with something that matters deeply to them; to give them a photo, a frame, that's dignified. A photo that gives them a quiet form of closure; the knowledge of how they'll be remembered.
Recently, I attended the wake of a close friend's father. The photo displayed at the wake was one I had taken. His family thanked me afterward and they told me he loved that photo. That mattered to me more than I can easily put into words. It's a reminder that this work fulfils something beyond profit. It outlives the session it was taken in.
Reflecting on this journey, I'm already in my forties, and a father of two. Building this studio is no longer about scaling some photography empire, but a means to make a living from doing what I love. I think there are so many established brands out there already doing an exceptional job.
I'd like to think I'm building something closer to an extension of my own home. A place people can walk into, feel comfortable in, and walk out of with photos of themselves that they actually love; whether that's a young family with kids, or a grandparent who just wants one proper photo taken of themselves while they still can.
That's what The Portrait Room is, to me. Not a business trying to be the biggest. Just a place trying to get it right, for the people who trust us with our craft.
