Posts in family films
Unfolding magic over the steaming stove and in the fading sunlight on a quiet evening at home.

I love these film and photographs because they were made for a family making the most of the minutes that matter.
I made it for a mother pursuing her passion while living her love, crafted for a father's tender heart of strength. The imagery in it is honest sacrifice and sincere devotion, bringing light to the one they together, treasure most. Because for them, these years will be made up of moments like gems, tucked in crevices of time, pure and precious and priceless.
This is a motherhood session from Allison Corrin in Kansas City.

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Samantha’s graceful art of mothering her little women.

As a wise woman once said, "The art of mothering is to teach the art of living" and her masterpieces will carry her grace into history because with gentle guidance and tender touches as brush strokes across the lives of her heart made flesh, she makes rich beauty of each moment as it slips quietly into legacy.This is the motherhood film of Samantha on a quiet morning in her studio with her little women.

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While snowflakes fell and the night closed in, Orion Blake was born.

It's not often that words fail me, but as I sit here, humbled in tears by their tears, having been there myself five times over, and yet still can't seem to wrap enough verbiage around what I witnessed that night.This moment steals the breath from my lungs as my heart rushes back to how it all was. Because life is from the beginning and always, a gift. This man, whose life has already been marked by courage and sacrifice, as he always has, and always will, stayed beside the woman he loves side, her rock, wrapping comfort around her through the night and into the morning and across the hours of another day, wiping her tears, hearing her before words could be formed. And she, steadfast through the pain for the sake of her son, never questioned her path, never doubted her strength within, working through the dark and as snow fell around them, eyes closed, soul unwavering through the suffering for the longing, steady for who their arms would finally hold. And then there was the hover between warmth and light, drawn out by his father, pulled to breast by his mother, their son was earthside, his first breath, what we all held our own for, the gasp of cold in his lungs, exhaled in cries as melodies of miracle.  

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Three sisters at home on a cozy winter day.

I'm one of three sisters myself, a mom of three girls now as well, so I know it all well firsthand. I understand how these days are forging the path for forever friendship, paving the way for memories held in a sacred space.And even more deeply, even more truly, I believe that as grandiose as this legacy will be, for right now, the roots look a lot like these moments, hand in hand, held close and warm, the sweet and simple treasures of the ordinary everyday.

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With tears and joy and touch and light this is twenty seventeen in review.

“Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything as beautiful, for beauty is God’s handwriting.”Reflecting just as I did last year to pause for gratitude and let it all rush back in. To let the light seep into the quiet places of the heart, let the salt settle again, the tears of hope anchored promises and new worked for new beginnings, to let the breeze of wonder and celebrations refresh the soul once again, to let the color of rich moments where soft flesh pressed up against the heart that has always known and fingers grazed against each other as they found home within each other. To remember the treasure of the now that was and in it held everything and still to believe that the best is yet to come.

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After school in the space of their home on a brilliant autumn afternoon.

Three years ago they invited me into their space, into the innocent and wonder and delight of young motherhood. You can see the session here.And while some call time a thief, for others, they make it their alchemist. Because since the years since I was with this family last, time has made house a home in a way that can only be called sacred. This is the space where tears are cried and feelings are hurt and all of humanity is hashed out. The space where stories are made and told, laughter is hearty and deep and with a look, all is known. See fifteen years ago it was just them, young and in love, choosing each other, promising always. And now in a blink, they are here, celebrating over homework, cheers-ing through soccer games. Here they are finding the treasure of romance made richer with the familiar. And thus, this is the art of what they have together made- after school, in the space of their home, on a brilliant autumn afternoon.

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Loved and adored and held ever so tightly, this is Baby Vinn.

I'm not one of those who tells the little ones not to grow up. Because when I see the wrinkles of skin folded around knobby, wobbly newborn knees, flakes of heaven's kisses peeling off furrowed brows of slumber, watch them held in wonder by their siblings guarded ever so closely by parents serenading them with reminders to "please be gentle", my heart swells with the knowledge that this is only the beginning.Because like handcrafted tapestry, their tender hearts have been woven together. The texture is deep with nuances of exuberance and introspection, the color rich with innocence and affection.

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