Between the Frames: What You Don’t See

Between the Frames: What You Don’t See

Most of the work happens long before the camera ever comes up.

Before anyone is ready.

Before the moment feels certain.
Before I ever decide whether I’ll photograph it at all.

I’m paying attention to the things that don’t always translate into an image —
the way someone’s shoulders drop,
the pause before they say something they weren’t planning to say,
the shift that happens when they realize they don’t have to perform for me.

This is the part you don’t see.

I’m listening more than I’m talking.
I’m watching how the room feels, not just how it looks.
I’m choosing when to wait — even when it would be easier to step in.

Sometimes that means not lifting the camera right away.
Sometimes it means letting a moment pass without trying to capture it.

Not everything needs to be photographed to matter.

Between the frames, I’m holding space.
Giving people time to arrive as themselves — not as a version they think they should be.

I’ve learned that when I don’t rush the moment, it often gives me exactly what I wasn’t looking for.

And when I don’t interrupt it, people soften into something honest.

That care doesn’t always show up in the final image.
But it’s the reason the image feels the way it does.

So when you look back and feel something —
when the photo feels familiar, or steady, or true —
what you’re really seeing
is everything that happened when no one was watching.