I’m Not “Just” a Photographer, I’m an Artist
You know that moment when someone asks, “So, what do you do?”
And you can feel them waiting for a safe, digestible answer, something they can nod politely to and move on.
And sure, I could say I’m a photographer. Or, if I really want to make them squirm, a boudoir photographer.
But even that doesn’t come close to what I actually do.
Because what happens in my space isn’t about a camera.
It’s about connection.
It’s about creating safety in a world that profits off our insecurities.
It’s about helping people return to themselves, fully, audaciously, tenderly.
The Myth of the “Just a Photographer”
It’s funny: people think photographers just push a button and hope for the best.
As if the magic begins and ends with the click.
Nah.
The click is the exhale, the result of ninety minutes of trust-building, of vulnerability, of coaxing the truth out of someone’s shoulders, their spine, their breath.
I’ve spent over $20,000 learning how to do this work, not just in technique, but in holding space.
How to see a person when they’re trying not to be seen.
How to turn fear into art.
How to use my voice, my energy, and my presence to remind someone they’re already enough.
This isn’t photography.
This is emotional labor. This is artistry. This is witnessing.
“So… What’s Your Real Job?”
And then comes the question that burns like acid wrapped in a smile:
“So, what’s your real job?”
That one always hits deep.
Because this is my real job.
Making people feel safe in their vulnerability, that’s my career.
Helping people see themselves through kinder eyes, that’s my calling.
This is the longest “job” I’ve ever had.
And the thought of not doing it anymore?
It makes my soul ache in places I can’t even name.
Because I know what this work does, I’ve seen the way someone’s whole body softens when they finally see themselves without the filter of shame.
I’ve watched people cry not because they hate what they see, but because for the first time, they don’t.
How could I ever walk away from that?
The Art in What I Do
When someone steps into my studio, they’re not entering a photo shoot.
They’re stepping into an experience designed to remind them they’re alive.
I’ve studied body language, trauma-informed care, the psychology of self-image, and how to dismantle internalized shame.
Every song on my playlist, every pause in my direction, it’s intentional.
My camera doesn’t make the art.
It witnesses it.
So, No. I Don’t Call Myself a Photographer
Because a “photographer” captures what they see.
An artist reveals what’s been hidden.
I don’t just take photos.
I hold space. I midwife transformation. I translate energy into image.
So when someone asks what I do, I tell them the truth:
“I’m an artist. I create experiences that reconnect people with themselves.”
Because that’s what this is.
It’s not just a career, it’s devotion.
The photos are just the receipts.
Artistry Isn’t a Title: It’s a Pulse
If you’ve ever been in my space, you know: it’s not about the pose. It’s about the permission.
It’s about unlearning shame and remembering your own damn power.
And that?
That’s not something you can call a hobby.
That’s something you build a life around.
So, no I don’t say I’m a boudoir photographer.
Because what I do is bigger than that.
It’s art.
It’s reclamation.
It’s human.
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