Marie Claire beauty pages with Sinden Dene …

Here’s some evidence of the beauty images I create with Sinden Dene.

He is such a delight to work with.

Watching him create raw, beautiful skin, make up artistry is like watching magic happen!

Marie Claire beauty pages …

It’s always a genuine thrill to see your work staring back at you from the glossy pages of Marie Claire Australia.

Marie Claire is such a beautiful magazine, aimed squarely at the thinking woman.

In 2023 its even more special for me.

This post is dedicated to my retoucher Ellen Chernevich.

I started working with Ellen approximately 8 years ago. I was one of the first fashion and beauty photographers she worked with, her career at this point was just starting.

Ellen has always been so easy and delightful to work with, I love her.

She was born and raised in the Ukraine, where she resides to this day.

This was a fact that was irrelevant at the beginning of our working relationship. At that point it was unthinkable to imagine that soon her homeland would become a war zone.

These innocent women and children, completely without their consent now live surrounded by blood shed and terror.

These days when I send my images off to post, I am proud my hard earned money goes to support the career of a woman coping with war and violence.

War is such a sad aspect of humanity.

When will our species learn and grow beyond fear, greed and hate?

Thank you Ellen for everything. You are forever in my thoughts.

Nic

x

A firecracker full of talent …

What an incredible human, what a talent, what a ride it was being friends!

Leiane was the first Sydney make up artist I linked up with, upon my return to NSW.

She was a friend of the first make up artist I worked with in Perth and he set us up to start working together. That was the best thing that could have happened at that point in time.

Her skills and experience pushed me to move to the next level in my career and for that I am forever grateful.

Leiane had enjoyed a celebrity make up artist career in LA and had just arrived home to Sydney for a short moment.

Her talent is boundless and her personality sparkling.

Together we not only created beautiful images, we became close friends.

The adventures we went on together will remain in mind as some of my best times in Sydney.

Eventually she had to return to LA to her place working with Hollywoods best, I missed her. I still do.

I will forever be grateful to have met her and had all the laughs we had whilst doing the one thing in the world we love to do.

Thanks Leiane.

x

Beauty photography …

Out of all the beauty images I have shot in my career.

This is by far my favourite.

I shot this beauty image as part of a fashion editorial to be published in a magazine in NZ.

These images represent my love of working with and bending natural light.

I love the way natural light wraps around the body, especially the face.

This editorial was shot in the backyard of my terrace house, we were playing with light and shadows.

8 pages shot in 2 hours.

Marie Claire August 2023 …

Delighted to have my beauty photography feature in the beauty pages of Marie Claire Magazine Australia; August issue.

Looking forward to repeating the joy in the November Issue.

#watchthisspace

The art of the journey …

The task of writing this blog and making it have value has been daunting, but a real invitation to me.

Unexpected!

Unexpected is a word I often use to describe myself.

I actually really welcome the unexpected, after my initial overpowering resistance eases. Haha

So I set myself the goal of creating a journal which I hoped would inspire others to relentlessly pursue their dreams, forever, until your last breath.

To know beyond the shadow of a doubt that if I can do it, you can too!

This is not lip service, this is a belief I have always held about humanity and we need the reminder now more than ever.

I love the beauty editorial image above.

The make up artist who created this magnificent look was such a ball of energy.

We went to LA together and shot a plethora of super models and famous actresses.

We worked 14 to 16 hours a day for nearly 2 weeks. We shot until we dropped. Gave our all.

We made incredible friends, whom we will keep for life.

On our last night after we wrapped the job, one of these stunning actresses took us to the Chateau Marmont, which is where she lived for a year or so when her house was being renovated.

We had a hell of an adventure!

2 Aussie Mums dancing at a secret VIP night club.

To access it, we had to be welcomed through a red velvet rope and walk down secret hallways behind the kitchen at a famous LA Hotel.

It was so abstract, that at one point I worried perhaps I was being sold into white slavery. But I was on the ride.

I am always ride or die! We were going in, so we were going in together, come what may.

Little did we know that upon return to Sydney the make up artist would be diagnosed with a serious illness.

Then a year or so later I would fight for my life 4 times in a row, I told no one with the exception of my immediate family.

My own Mother died not knowing I had been so close to death over and over, I wouldn't let her worry. I know her, if she knew she wouldn’t sleep. It was covid and she would be stressed enough. Then if she stressed, Dad would stress.

The ordeal pushed my children close to nervous breakdown.

Shredded my life.

Yet, I got lucky. I survived each one.

My first surgeon became one of my closest friends: family in fact.

Andrew is my little brothers age.

Sadly the make up artist wasn’t so lucky.

I will not mention her name or the details of what I went through. When the timing is right I will share my story, but not just yet.

I am a walking miracle.

Still to perform 1 last tiny trick with Andrew and Christobel’s assistance of course and then I will publish it all; with the hope it helps others heal.

Miracles belong to everyone, not just me.

Perhaps it is this journey which has embedded the deep sense of gratitude that now exists in my psyche.

I have always been very self aware about what draws me to toward beauty and fashion photography.

I love that via my talent, others dreams come true.

That sound I hear on set of sheer joy, when the make up artists see their hard work materialise on the computer screen.

Witnessing a client’s excitement as their campaign comes to life.

Its energetic; high vibration.

A resonance that fills the room.

That’s what I love about shooting beauty and fashion.

This thing that I take for granted because I can just turn up and do it; it has the power to make others so happy.

I survived, so I see purpose in that.

I yearn to see as many people’s dreams come true as possible.

Life is short and the creation of happiness is so very easy.

x

Straight from Streeters agency London to me …

The ever divine, Sinden Dene!

I fell in love with this man the minute I met him and even more in love with his Portfolio.

When Bobby left for Sydney, I was thrilled for his career success but heartbroken to lose him from my team.

I never told him, but I literally couldn't stop crying.

Then a surprise phone call saved the day.

An incredible international session stylist/make up artist fresh from London had ventured into my agents office, then waltzed into my life.

I remember every moment of my first meeting with Sin.

We met up over quiche and tea.

We both brought our portfolios. His polished English accent was intoxicating.

He passed his portfolio over the table and I went into shock.

Magazine tears from Vogue Italia, Numéro, Vivienne Westwood Campaigns, the most divine photos I had ever seen in my life!!

I closed the portfolio and clutched it to my chest.

Sinden ever so politely requested to now view my portfolio and I shook my head. Meek, with huge deer caught in the headlights eyes.

He said “Please may I see your book Nicole?”

I replied “No I don’t want you to see it” in a small, sad voice.

He asked “Why not Nicole?”

I replied with such vulnerability “I have never seen a portfolio as incredible as yours Sinden. Mine isn’t good enough. Italian Vogue for goodness sake!”

That sweet man, who had chatted with me for quite a while prior to this moment, about life, family and career. Responded with sincerity and such kindness.

He stated with brutal honesty. “Nicole, I would swap my portfolio and entire career for your marriage and children”

Aww what a beautiful thing to say. With that I exhaled, handed my portfolio over and closed my eyes.

He looked through, liked what her saw and identified we would make a strong team.

The rest is history. We have been working together for over 15 years.

Sinden Dene is one of the most talented creative artists anyone could hope to work with.

We still work together to this very day.

Watch this space … Sinden and I just started shooting together again and we have a shoot already booked in.

I look forward to posting the pics.

The images above are 2 pages from a beauty editorial titled Heavy Metal.

I love you Sin, you are the Yin to my Yang. x

Tia Blanco…

One of the greatest perks of my job is working with beautiful and exciting people.

I have had the great pleasure of photographing Tia Blanco numerous times.

For those unfamiliar with Tia, she is a world champion surfer, celebrity vegan and a total force of nature.

This is one of my favourite portraits of Tia. It was a really beautiful day in my life.

Tia was competing in a surf comp and much like me, she is an animal lover. She is enamoured with my apricot Groodle, “Ms Matilda Sooky Lala” aka “Muppet the Wonder Dog”.

I can’t remember the precise reason. There was a complication with her accommodation, either it was a long drive or something was happening?

So I invited Tia to stay at my house, she could crash in Jimi’s room.

I had to text Jimi and kindly request he stayed at his then girlfriends house overnight.

I knew Muppet was going to be thrilled to get more hugs from the divine Tia, however what I didn’t anticipate was the explosion of excitement that occurred after that text went to my son.

You see Jimi’s girlfriend was a devout vegan and happened to be one of the hundreds of thousands of Tia’s loyal followers on her vegan instagram account.

So all of a sudden there were unexpected texts to Mum aka me whilst I was on the shoot. It seemed excitement was in the air.

Jimi’s girlfriend and her best friend, both “enthusiastic” Tia Blanco fans, were desperate to meet Tia.

Long story short, we finished the shoot and ended up taking Tia, Jimi and the girls out to dinner at Newtown.

I have never seen girls so excited and ask so many questions.

That was a cute moment. I love those career perks.

That and never having to purchase make up for years at a time because stunning clients keep giving it to me! So lucky.

:)

Big hugs to you Tia!

Thank you for making my Jimi the hero that day. It was a beautiful evening.

Metamorphosis …

Now was finally the moment to exit the cocoon and metamorphosise into a beauty photographer.

Suddenly whilst swamped in wedding bookings and kids work it was time to get brave.

Time to side step into Fashion and Beauty.

This was a terrifying prospect for me.

I was always in the deep end paddling as fast as I could and I hate to fail.

So I procrastinated.

A song kept following me around in these first years of metamorphosis, Gwen Stefani “What ya waiting for”

Every time I got into the car that song was playing.

The universe was pushing me, once again I had no choice.

So I dove right in and worked tirelessly to meet my potential.

As ususal, I got lucky.

I met international make up artists fresh from careers in NY, Europe and the UK.

When that first pivotal make up artist jetted off to greener pastures, another touched down from Streeters agency London.

My relationship with each of these make up artists was vital to the creation of my standard of work, particularly in Beauty.

I could bend natural light like a magician but I had never stepped foot inside a studio and switched on a flash head.

I knew absolutely zero about studio lighting.

I am always told I give my make up artists too much credit for my career but I am not being modest.

Beauty and Fashion are a team effort and I understood the mechanics of the situation.

They recognised that I could light and that precision was a big part of my process.

They needed me to be of their standard immediately to make their time with me worth it.

I thrive under pressure like that.

I was grateful to have them on my team.

So I listened intently to everything they said. I learned, adjusted and evolved into what they needed me to be,

Those years were a gift. You can’t learn that at University, that has to be experienced, day in and day out.

Under the careful, all be it brutal at times, mentorship of someone who is already working at the top.

This beauty story is actually titled Metamorphosis, the lighting is all me but the creative direction is straight from the powerful mind of Hendra.

The images above belong to a set of 4 images which depict butterfly wings and the series secured me my first ever magazine cover in NY.

They later won the make up artist, a finalist place in Val Garlands international make up artist, colour competition.

Val Garland is a world renowned make up based in London.

I loved creating with every make up artist I met in Perth.

To each of you, thank you. x

I Do …

The next phase of my career also happened by accident, who knew?

Well actually, I am probably quite predictable at this point.

My life was something that was happening ‘to me’ and I just had to paddle fast.

To be completely honest, I love adventure and get a bit of a rush from the adrenaline.

We were flying in and out of the outback.

I was booking kids work and feeling so excited that people would give me money to do something I loved so much.

I had won numerous awards which felt abstract but I rolled with it.

Honestly, I was just trying to keep up.

I was so excited to have a house which we were renovating, swiftly turning it into a nest for my little babies.

I used to love to sit on the back step and watch the huge WA thunder storms roll in. That smell of rain.

I am the type of person that loves all the little things in life.

Magic exists in the tiniest of things.

That’s a secret many people sometimes overlook.

I was just as excited by the pansies I grew in my garden as I was with these incredible awards I won.

Life was exciting.

I was doing the grocery shopping with the children when I was offered my first wedding job.

It really is more of a testament to how friendly I am, more than my skills level at that time.

Theresa was the beautiful woman who worked the register at the fruit shop and after one look at Paris’ hair, she asked who did the haircut.

I was shocked. I had cut Paris’ hair.

Theresa proceeded to attempt to book me to do her hair for her wedding day, my response was to laugh for a very long time.

Thats an extremely bad idea Theresa, but thank you!

You see I had cut Paris’ hair with pinking shears, after a virulent head lice outbreak at her school.

It did look amazing, I somehow managed to cut it from waist length to a Gwyneth Paltrow ala ‘Sliding Doors’ do, but I was no professional!!

Paris is drop dead beautiful which helps exponentially.

Looking back I think Theresa was more reacting to Paris’ angelic beauty than she was to her fresh cut.

However, after seeing my photography work,

(which was photos of frogs??? omg, hahaha)

Theresa asked me to shoot her wedding and for some insane reason I said yes???!!

To my relief I actually did a great job.

Then very shortly after this moment, a make up artist asked me to do her favourite client a favour.

She had been double booked and with only 6 weeks til the wedding, she had no photographer. All the best wedding photographers were booked.

I did the favour.

The most beautiful Bride ever! I got sooo lucky every step of the way.

I constantly received all the breaks.

I didn't realise at the time that the Bride was an undercover narcotics detective working in Melbourne… but that did explain the odd nature of the very few calls I received from her.

To this day I still adore her!

The wedding was divine and I shot an organic, pinnacle image that set up my wedding photojournalistic photography career in Margaret River.

I proudly hung that image, enlarged to poster size and framed in my consultation room.

There is stayed until the day I left Western Australia.

Just before leaving Perth to return to Sydney, I called that client and asked if I may give it to her to keep.

She raced over.

I actually love the fact that it belongs to her now, after all those years supporting the creation of my wedding career.

Helping it flourish. That is where it belongs.

It forever sits with the beautiful Wife and Mother who created the moment.

It was amazing, so many brides I booked thereafter wanted a shot just like hers.

You see the groom swept her up spontaneously in his arms, he was a strong, gorgeous guy.

She was very fit, so like a ballerina she just fell backwards into a flawless, graceful pose and I pressed the button.

Click … a perfect never to be repeated, organic moment depicting two beautiful souls in synch.

I am still a little haunted by the moment I picked up the 20 reels of film that comprised their wedding day photography.

I was a nervous wreck, beside myself with the mere idea that I would disappoint them. They were so lovely and it was incredible pressure.

I asked the staff to please look at the images, as I lay face down on the counter… what a drama queen ... hahaha.

I begged the pro lab staff member to just tell me if the photos were ok or if I had to leave the country in shame.

The staff member said ..

“These images are amazing Nicole, some of the best wedding images to come through this lab in fact!”

I was taken aback. I made them promise me that they weren’t lying to me just to be kind.

Beyond this point I spent the next decade shooting high end destination weddings in Margaret River. Amidst the most spectacular vineyards and beach locations the world can provide.

My assistant during this period of my career was a civil engineer, he was terribly over qualified for the job but totally dedicated to supporting my dreams.

At the end of each and every wedding I paid him with a kebab, sometimes chips upon request. :)

Whilst those Margaret River days are long gone. They will never, ever be forgotten.

They overwhelm me with a deep sense of gratitude, which is the foundation of grace.

The image above is from one of my favourite weddings. Such a beautiful couple.

Shot at Saracen Estate, Margaret River.

This image is shot on digital and it has zero editing. It’s as shot.

I love the moment.
Everyone was happy and the entire bridal party were a pleasure to work with.

In my mind I hold every couple in this perfect world where all their dreams came true thereafter.

Yet in reality I know some brides pasted away already, some very suddenly and unexpected.

Some are divorced and some live with the sadness of never being able to have children together.

But they all had such perfect wedding days, full of joy.

They gifted me the opportunity to capture those moments for them and for this I am so grateful.

Thank you x

Malpractice, Whooping cough, 3rd degree burns, near death at Christmas, countless surgeries thereafter.

My beautiful baby boy, always fighting for his very life!!! … PART 4

Countless surgeries thereafter …

The funny thing about trauma is that you experience it suddenly, dramatically and then once the event has passed you fool yourself that the trauma has disappeared. Its over.

Not so.

In the following years Jimi had numerous surgeries.

Trips to the ER were frequent with middle ear infections until his case was taken on by the head professor of ENT at Princess Margaret Hospital.

Countless grommet surgeries.

He was an unusual worst case scenario.

Each time he went under general anaesthetic was like having my heart ripped out and he was re traumatised.

Looking back now I do not know how I fit living in the outback into my little circus of parenting?

Jimi had hydrocele surgery.

Which for me, was where the trauma triggers really reappeared.

In this instance we had a stressful, poorly timed event happen the evening prior to that first surgery after the drama at Christmas.

I was very anxious about facing another hospital visit and more general anaesthetic. My poor baby!

As I paced around my hallway I noticed torch light in my driveway. Only to find neighbours freaking out in my front yard. They had run over my cat!

Off to the 24 hour emergency vets we go.

Next day hospital.

As is the tone of my life, it all ends up a black comedy.

I had 40 minutes where Jimi was in theatre to call the vets and check on my cat, who was also in surgery.

I found a pay phone, in the private hospitals day surgery admissions waiting room.

There was a line of immaculately dressed women nervously awaiting cosmetic surgery.

It was all so upsetting I had to call my little Brother.

Unfortunately hidden just underneath the tough surface, I am a sook!

Shhh, thats a secret, don’t tell anyone.

I feared that the moment I heard Jamie’s voice, my stoic shell might crack wide open and that’s exactly what happened.

I burst into tears as I told him about Hamlet.

(Note to self, next time you name a cat after a tragic figure from Shakespeare, don’t be surprised when he meets with foul play!)

I explained to Jamie through uncontrollable sobs …

“They do not know if he will make it. He is in surgery right now. This is going to cost me a fortune. What am I going to do if he dies. I love him sooo much!”

Then a soft tap on the shoulder, the receptionist had walked over and was suggesting I use the phone in their office.

It’s more “private” she said in a hushed voice.

Then gestured to the women who were awaiting their procedures.

As I cast my eyes over I saw a line of horrified faces, white and motionless.

I announced unceremoniously, still sobbing.

“I am so sorry! My cat got run over. Hamlet is in surgery. They don’t know if he will pull through.”

Just as I finished the sentence and the row of women finally exhaled. My name was called over the intercom.

“Mrs Doran please come to recovery room 5”

My attachment to shooting the best children’s portraiture and valuing that aspect of my career just as much as beauty and fashion, is now very clear to me.

My Mother always said Nicole was born to be a Mother, but no one warned me how hard I would need to fight to stay a Mother.

I just happen to embody this talent.

Am the vessel it flows through.

Giving that talent to as many parents as possible so together we freeze time, freeze joy and true happiness is the gravity that always brings me home.

The image above is from a series of images I shot secretly over numerous weeks.

I wanted to shoot the perfect sunset portrait of my children so they could surprise their Dad for Fathers Day.

Every time I saw a certain type of cloud in the sky, the kids and I raced to the beach.

Wonderful images were created.

Time was frozen forever.

Fly on little wing …

My not so tiny now, “little Jimi Hendrix”.

Love you forever

Mumma x

Malpractice, Whooping cough, 3rd degree burns, near death at Christmas, countless surgeries thereafter.

My beautiful baby boy, always fighting for his very life!!! … PART 3

Near death at Christmas…

This was one of the most unforgettable nights of my life.

If you knew my life you would really brace for impact!

It was Christmas, which to this day is my favourite time of year.

Paris and Jimi Axl had the best Christmas, as always.

We spent Christmas dinner at my little brother’s future in-laws, I felt so grateful and excited for the invitation.

I had no family backing me in Perth, which is really hard when you are a Mother raising small children.

Suddenly Jimi became sick, very sick.

He was throwing up and getting so much worse. By the time we got home I felt quite panicked.

I told my then husband that I felt we absolutely needed to take Jimi to the hospital, he is very sick.

The response to this statement was a nasty growl; a blunt, cold and abrupt reply.

“I am tired, I am going to bed, if he is still sick in the morning maybe we can take him then!”

The remark shocked me, it was almost aggressive and very upsetting.

He had been drinking but it was so selfish and awful.

I swung into protective mode. I told him: fine, but can you go sleep in Jimi’s bed!

Jimi is staying here with me, where I can watch him.

Watch him is exactly what I did!

At first he fell asleep.

Shortly after he awoke, threw up again and cried.

My goodness I felt alone but I leaned into my courage.

I called a help line, it was called the Koala Kids helpline.

A phone line parents could call if they were worried about their sick children.

It allowed you to speak to a nurse at the Princess Margaret Children’s Hospital.

The nurse I spoke to was wonderful.

I described his symptoms, then I said something obscure.

I said,

“I have zero medical background but he wouldn’t have an obstructed bowel would he??”

Her response was pronounced.

She said “That’s a very specific thing to suggest”.

I back peddled and said, “Of course, I don’t know why I said that.

I am sorry. I am just so anxious. I am terrified!”.

She was caring and beautiful. She totally understood.

I went back to bed, where Jimi was sleeping soundly.

Whilst I sat there and watched him breathe I made myself a promise. I would last until morning as Mickey had asserted, if Jimi slept.

However, if he threw up just 1 more time, I will drive him to the ER myself.

Sure enough, soon after, he woke, threw up and cried.

I bundled that little toddler up and exited the house.

Didn't even pause long enough to put him in his child seat.

I gently tossed him into the passenger seat, wrapped in the huge queen sized doona. I strapped the seatbelt around him and drove that car like I stole it!!!

All the tenacity I inherited from my Mother kicked in.

NO FEAR!

The thing about parenting is that when you take your sick baby to the ER it’s an ordeal.

5 hours is the least you can hope to wait. You’re exhausted and worried out of your mind.

It’s not fun, but that’s parenting … welcome to adulthood.

To this day I say 1 thing to other parents.

The only thing worse than waiting for 5 or 7 hours in the ER … is going to triage and being sent through immediately.

This is what happened on that Christmas evening, Jimi in my arms, hurt, in pain and dying.

Clearly I have an almost photographic memory for some things. Especially anything steeped in great emotion.

It was a skeleton staff and the triage nurse looked scary. Like a bikie. He must have been 6 foot 6, shiny bald head and long grey goatee down to his naval.

I was anxious and slightly terrified of him, but I answered his questions. He was AMAZING at his job, thank you God!!

He asked to see Jimi’s lower abdomen, and as I pushed his pjs down I was shocked to see a huge bulge protruding from there.

Which I had not seen and the nurse anticipated.

He sent us calmly to the next phase, a bed in ER.

There another male nurse attended immediately.

He put cream on Jimi’s forehand and a plastic bandage over that, stating:

“just in case your son needs surgery”

Everyone was calm in an eerie way that made me intrinsically know I should panic, but that’s exactly what you can’t do in front of your critically ill toddler.

I knew something was very wrong. I asked many probing questions as to what was going on.

I was reassured in a calm manner which gave me intense anxiety, rightfully so. That the ER doctor would attend soon and he could explain everything.

This usually means waiting for hours.

In this instance the ER doctor shocked me by arriving within minutes.

He told me they had already called a surgeon.

The belief was that Jimi was suffering from “a Hernia that has abstracted his bowel.”

The only thought that crossed my mind was panick. It’s Christmas, what if the surgeon has been drinking.

Naive to the end Nicole!!! My god!

I was reassured that on call surgeons don’t drink today.

30 minutes later the surgeon arrived. Now is where the story starts.

BRACE FOR IMPACT!!!!

The moment the surgeon arrived it was action stations.

Jimi was wheeled on his little bed down the corridor and into a small treatment room.

I was told it would be best for Jimi if they pushed the part of the bowel back into its position.

I was oblivious as to what this would involve or the unbearable pain my baby would need to endure.

3 nurses and a doctor were in the room.

I don’t know what is was about Christmas but all the nurses were male and all built like fridges.

I was tiny, dwarfed by them and I felt small in every single way.

I had insisted on being there in that room, there was hesitation from the medical staff that I didn’t initially understand but nothing keeps me away from my babies when they are scared or in need.

They told me to stand at the end of Jimi’s bed.

I stood above his head, my hands gently cradled his skull and I maintained constant eye contact.

Smiling and telling Jimi that everything was ok, lying through my teeth.

I was terrified and had to focus on hiding my fear from being visible in my eyes.

The male nurses held his arms and legs down, with force. The doctor pushed the bowel back into place.

The process felt like it took forever!

In moments like these, time refuses to budge.

I honestly don’t know how long we were in that room?

The trauma was sudden and impacted all involved.

Jimi started screaming and crying.

It wasn’t just what he said, it was his desperate pleading and the plain fact that I could do nothing to stop it or protect him from the agony.

All I could do was stand there and lie. Staring straight into his eyes.

He cried non stop, calling out to me..

“Mummy, tell them, I don’t have a baby in my tummy!”

“I promise Mummy!!”

“Mummy, I promise I will be a good boy, please Mummy, make them stop!!”

This pleading went on and on, over and over.

It was emotionally excruciating. I felt like I was going to die, I had to maintain my composure, not cry, not show fear, maintain eye contact.

I said, “it’s ok Jimi, it’s almost done. They will finish soon.”

“You’re being such a brave boy!!”

“I am here baby, Mummy is here and I won’t let go!”

I just stared into his terrified eyes.

The thing that started to topple me was that as Jimi continued to scream and plead, the nurses started to leave, they were in tears.

I think just 1 left.

It’s a blur.

All I know is that I then had to hold Jimi down.

It was too much for 1 of these fridge sized men, too upsetting. It was too much for anyone.

I had no choice but to bunker down and hack it.

Funnily enough, I don’t remember the next few hours. Its totally blank.

They took him to surgery, I was with him until he went under.

I was always the last thing he saw going under anaesthetic and the first thing he saw coming out of anaesthetic.

He was always scared, almost as scared as I was, I just hid it better.

The rest is a wash of no memory.

I remember going into the ward with him numerous hours later. I slept in a chair next to his hospital bed.

I remember the surgeon telling me how lucky it was that I brought him in when I did, had we waited til morning Jimi would have surely died.

My little champion dodged another bullet.

This post is dedicated to all the sole parents out there who are dealing with every challenge or crisis alone.

Please do not feel married couples do it better.

WE DON’T.

You are AMAZING!

I have nothing but massive respect for you all.

You are doing an impossible job that 2 parents struggle with, but you are excelling all alone!!!

This goes out to 1 individual in particular.

You know who you are and I am so proud of you!

Those 2 babies are incredibly lucky to have you.

Just keep swinging for the fences. You are built to win.. Keep WINNING!

With respect!

N. x

Malpractice, Whooping cough, 3rd degree burns, near death at Christmas, countless surgeries thereafter.

My beautiful baby boy, always fighting for his very life!!! … PART 2.

Whooping Cough …

In a year when babies were dying across the country of an unexpected outbreak of whooping cough.

Jimi Axl, 5 weeks old, started coughing.

He was 1 week shy of his immunisation.

My Jimi was one of the unlucky ones, once again.

As if that tiny infant had not been put through enough hell already!

This was harrowing to watch and experience as a Mother.

However, looking back now, it was the least of what he would endure.

It only lasted a few weeks. It was touch and go there for a moment.

I had my Mother by my side and her Mother, my beloved Oma.

Three generations holding watch over this tiny soul.

Once again, fighting to live, to draw breath.

He recovered.

11 babies died!

3rd degree burns…

What wasn’t mentioned earlier or rarely uttered before.

When Mickey was away at the job interview whilst I lay in the hospital with undiagnosed pneumonia and enduring surgery for appendicitis I never had.

He was in WA, at a coveted dream job interview.

He got the job offer.

Of course he did.

He is and always was absolutely brilliant, an IQ off the charts and embodied limitless potential in this world.

However, regardless of the job offer, after my near death experience I refused go, I simply couldn’t.

I was now acquainted with mortality.

I realised my Mum and Dad would one day die.

So whilst I never truly aligned with Newcastle, the place of my birth, I couldn’t leave my parents behind.

We stayed.

Fate intervened as she always does in my life.

A heartbreaking family incident happened and I had no choice but to leave.

I was utterly crushed.

A few weeks into the WA experience I went to a night class.

Photography.

Right up until the moment I got into my car, I almost couldn’t leave. Sounds ridiculous but I had never left my babies with anyone but Oma or Mum. I had this awful feeling something would happen to Jimi.

Mickey hadn’t been left to bath him and I had a bad feeling.

I felt guilty, stupid and unfair for feeling this way.

He was a good person and a great Dad.

I was being irrational. So I went.

I came home from that class to find a note on my door …

“Baby gone to hospital, from ambulance driver.”

I actually think I went into shock. I flew to the car, drove in the dark, in a city I had no familiarity with.

By some miracle I found the Hospital and the burns unit, then all of a sudden just steps away from the nurses station, I saw stars dancing around in front of my eyes, like you see in the cartoons.

Down the wall I slid, onto the floor.

Clearly I passed out.

The nurses, got me onto my feet, gowned up, and I was shown to my babies room.

He sat in a pastel yellow tiny button down the front school uniform shirt … I remember every minute detail.

Jimi was sitting In that hospital crib.

He saw me, I will never forget this moment.

He stood up and cast forward his arms, little hands wrapped in huge bandages, and called in a broken voice.

“Mumma!”

The tone babies makes right before they cry.

I bolted across that room and picked up my baby.

Telling him it’s ok now. Mummy is here… and there I stayed.

For ten days.

I only remember leaving the burns unit once, later that night when Jimi was asleep.

I found a pay phone and called my Oma, I sat on the floor of that hospital and sobbed.

I was telling Oma how scared I was and that I didn’t know if I could do it.

Cope, here, by myself.

She told me of course I could, pull it together! She was just a phone call away.

She told me everything would be ok and I believed her.

In that burns unit there were 2 babies, both 7 months old with 3rd degree burns to their hands.

For anyone lucky enough to be unfamiliar with burns, the daily changing of the bandages is a horror show.

Being in the children’s burns unit was particularly traumatising. Children crying and babies screaming in pain every morning as the bandages are changed. With nothing you can do to help them.

Your baby knowing he is next.

As I write this I flash back to that trauma.

The nursing staff always left Jimi until last because he was so easy during the dressing change process.

The other 7 month old baby screamed at the top of his lunges, poor little soul.

It was hell to hear. I distracted Jimi as best as I could.

Jimi never screamed.

He has an extraordinarily high threshold for pain, like I do.

They gave him something to take the edge off the unbearable agony and he was so brave, he just looked sad.

He said the same thing every time.

“Mumma, ouch!” and then started to whimper and cry, just a little.

Ten days later we both walked out of that burns unit.

Although we were advised on day 1 that the severity of the burns made it likely Jimi would need surgery. Skin grafts.

He healed miraculously, no surgery needed.

He had scars that completely disappeared by his teenage years.

The image above is one of the first professional infant portraits I ever shot.

Captured on my first digital camera.

This image won me an AIPP award.

It is shot in natural light, at Matilda Bay Foreshore.

Malpractice, Whooping cough, 3rd degree burns, near death at Christmas, countless surgeries thereafter.

My beautiful baby boy, always fighting for his very life!!! … PART 1

I have often wondered what made me ignore Max Pam’s insight?

Who wouldn’t want to be told they are a fashion photographer?

Clearly me?! WHY?

I defied agents whom I worshipped and didn’t feel worthy of. I was advised to hide that I was a children’s portrait photographer but it was my passion.

Why Nicole?

This is my conclusion to why I had to and still have to be a children’s portrait photographer. Why I am compelled to follow my voice creatively, why it matters, if only to me.

Why I had to add my kids work to my brand as a Beauty and Fashion photographer and why I feel it’s equal to my Beauty work.

After all, this is my journey til the end.

A daughter of a professional Mother and a Father I worshipped so much so, I named my son after him.

Though proudly married, I refused to relinquish Dad’s identity from my name.

McCluskey aka James McCluskey is an integral part of my identity.

My Jimi is the 4th James in my bloodline.,

Even with my beauty and fashion career happening, children’s work remained a deep passion.

I am drawn to it like a gravitational pull.

All I can fathom is that it is intrinsically linked with my own journey as a Mother and how profoundly grateful I am to have not lost my baby.

The procession of near misses built a knowing that time isn’t something you take for granted and Motherhood is a fragile gift that not everyone gets and not every Mother keeps.

Malpractice …

My battle started before Jimi was even born.

Getting him into this world was the greatest challenge I had ever faced.

As things do, it happened suddenly.

I woke struggling to breathe. I was in agony, like an elephant was playing a grand piano on my chest.

I laid there in agony for hours, not wanting to wake Mickey, he had work in the morning. I just tried to breathe and not panic!

I was approximately 24 weeks pregnant with my second child, for me pregnancy was very challenging and quite dangerous, but I wanted a boy to go with my perfect little girl.

I wanted Mickey to have a little boy.

After many days in hospital, still no diagnosis, pethidine administered 4 hourly for the pain relief.

I got very unlucky!

A surgeon, aka “the Blade” by the nursing staff, took on my case.

He stood at my bedside, I was foggy on the meds, in extreme pain.

Unfortunately due to bad timing, my former husband had gone away on a trip, a job interview, his dream job during this ordeal.

Mum and Dad were there at my side. I was too sick to know who was there to be completely honest.

Bluntly the surgeon stated the tests were inconclusive, but he felt it could be appendicitis. He offered to operate on me.

He can’t do keyhole surgery because I am pregnant, so I will have a scar.

I will lose the baby but look at it this way, without the surgery I am likely to die.

Looking back now I think who cares about a scar, I actually wear that scar with great pride. It represents my victory.

The surgeon stated that he would be around for a short period of time, think it over.

I cried but I didn’t feel I had a choice.

The surgery went forward. I survived, baby intact but I was no better, actually I was worse.

To this day I can’t tell you what exactly happened next.

A woman turned up, said very little, put me into a wheelchair and wheeled me down to X-ray.

Left me there with paperwork on my lap. The staff there looked surprised.

I stood barefoot, weighing nothing, weak, fresh surgical scar, in unfathomable pain holding that metal sheet up in front of my baby.

My arms shook, my legs trembling, I was close to passing out and tears of determination streamed down my face.

I did not have the strength to stand but I refused to let that metal sheet lower, if it killed me I would protect my unborn baby.

The gratitude I have to that unknown woman can not be expressed in words.

The x-rays came back and the source of my illness was finally determined.

Pneumonia, not appendicitis. It was never appendicitis.

I was later told that the surgeon had me booked in for gallbladder removal next.

I was nothing more than spare parts to that monster and I would have perished.

After a few days of IV antibiotics, I got my fight back.

Checked myself out of that hospital, AMA. (against medical advise).

My Mum had to go to battle to get my released. She backed me.

My poor Mother.

I can’t remember exactly what was said, but she was advised that she might be taking me home to die, I was not out of the woods yet by any means.

My survival wasn’t guaranteed. She would only be bringing me back to hospital.

I was likely to lose the baby at any moment, that is if I lived and best case scenario; should I manage to carry my son to full term he would most likely be still born.

I limped out of that hospital with my Mother holding me upright.

This is her story as much as it is mine.

She was the strength I come from.

A long line of strong women all born onto the same vineyard in the Black Forrest.

Gundelsheim, Germany.

She was beside herself that day, she had to get her best friends support to keep it together.

I went home to my childhood house, tucked under the strong wing of my Mum and Dad.

To keep me out of hospital they had to get the GP to do a personal favour. He visited me every morning and every afternoon to give me an injection of Maxolon, anti vomiting medication. I was too ill to come to the surgery.

I suffer from hyperemesis gravidarum during pregnancy.

I weighed 44 kgs, couldn’t eat, sleep or walk.

The fevers were insane and caused such nightmares complete with hallucinations.

One night I came quite close to dying, you can tell when death is coming. I was so tired of fighting, I was ready to give up.

My fever wouldn’t break and Mum sat next to my bed side.

She begged me to fight, she said you just have to keeping fighting.

We both cried. Somehow I lived through that night and from there I started to heal.

It took months to recover but eventually I was ok.

On April 18th after a 3 hour easy labour I gave birth to James Axl Doran, just under 4.5 kgs.

Little Aries, perfect in every way.

Nothing wrong with him, not in the slightest.

A few moments after he took his first breath in this world, the nurse put him in that awful plastic hospital crib and as I looked over at his little face, it started to crumple.

I leapt out of that birthing bed and swept him up in my arms.

I said in a hushed voice

“Are you going to cry, don’t cry, it’s ok. Let’s dance. Do you want to dance?”

There was a radio playing in my room, I turned it up and we danced. He didn’t cry. We have been dancing ever since.

To this very day James Axl Doran aka Jimi Axl is an incredible dancer, he is the most incredible human I have ever known, and he is my baby, until the day I die!

This post is dedicated to my Mother; Irene Ursula McCluskey.

Mum left this earth in April 2023.

Had it not been for her, both myself and Jimi Axl would have perished back then.

Thanks Mum, you taught me how to be strong, at all costs!

The image above is shot on colour film. It is one of the first portraits I captured of a child that was not my own.

Right down to the wire the awards almost didn't happen in my life…

I got the images custom printed, mounted to specification, filled out the paperwork and went to the pro sales camera store that was the selected drop off location.

There I saw a Central Tafe students entry and started to cry.

It was a polaroid lift and It was so stunning!

I had to ask a staff member what that even was, it looked like art. To this very day I still haven’t done a polaroid lift.

I asked if I could take my photo entries back, I was embarrassing myself by entering, I am a first year student.

Standing there with tears in my eyes, I must have looked completely forlorn, the divine staff member refused to give the images back and reassured me I wouldn’t embarrass myself.

A few weeks later whilst playing on a beach with my children I received a completely unexpected phone call to tell me I won the awards.

All 5 entry photographs won a place in the book and that book was something I discovered later sitting for sale at the Art Gallery of Western Australia.

I was featured in many newspaper articles and a few magazines. Advertising agencies called me in and I was offered the Ugg Boot campaign.

Within weeks I was gone, whisked back to life in the outback once again.

The image above is a Black and White version of the cross processed photo that was one of the set of five images that won the award.

It is taken during a day at the beach when we took our children to swim at Cowaramup, just next to Margaret River.

Its the first reel of film I put through my first professional camera; which I had taken to the beach in its box with the lens, also in its box.

I swiftly read the instructions whilst watching the kids paddle at the waters edge.

Upon sighting a cloud formation float in, clicked the lens on to the body, threw film into the camera back and shot some images of my ever patient muse, Paris-Elisabeth.

Four images of Paris and one image of the punks graced the pages of Site Unseen, Student Photographer of the Year Awards book.

This time disappeared as suddenly as it arrived..

After 4 years living all over the Western Australian outback, Mickey got a lucky break.

Little did I know how life changing it will be for me.

Mickey was given the project manager position on a major city road project, that meant 12 months in the city, what a gift.

I had been studying a double degree of psychology/women’s studies by correspondence with the intention of becoming a feminist writer, the next Naomi Wolff.

I grabbed this very rare opportunity with both hands, choosing an elective you can’t really do justice to via correspondence.

My University days studying photography began here.

Fate has driven my career every inch of the way, destiny pushed me out of my stubborn resistance.

Clearly it was never my intention to become a photographer, so the universe needed to intervene.

My lecturer was Australia’s best music photographer and by assignment 2 she took me aside and in a blunt, passionate way she stated ..

“Nicole whether you know it of not, you are a photographer, quit whatever you are studying now and go to Central Tafe and study photography!”

Of course I argued and told her I was going to be a feminist writer.

Then more bluntly she stated her opinion. Saying she didn’t give a rats arse what I thought I was going to be, I am a photographer!!!

What an amazing woman. I am so grateful to her.

Mickeys projects’ timeframe was extended and I had an extra 6 month in the city.

I decided I would study photography for the next 12 months.

I bypassed Tafe and studied at another university. Completing as many photography units as possible in the 12 months I was gifted.

Once again fate swept in, my lecturer at Uni was an iconic Australian Photographer.

Max Pam, one of Australia’s most respected and revered art photographers.

His work sold in galleries in NY and Paris, Max was quite the cool dude.

My history was studying in an essay driven tertiary environment

I had no headspace for an artistic learning experience.

I proceeded on auto pilot. Always excellence driven and highly competitive when placed into a classroom, I am a self confessed marks junkie.

I chase the HD. That’s what I did, I chased the high distinctions.

Sometimes when I look back I feel regret, perhaps I missed a golden opportunity to grow as an artist.

Or even cognitively process that I was an artist.

However facts are, I did not even consider myself an artist, it’s still hard for me to embrace that label today.

Though I clearly am an artist and I actually hail from generations of artists in Germany.

Max was standing in the lecture room handing out the first assignment and when I got to the front of the line, I did something 100 % random and unexpected.

I will never forget this moment, though I must confess its only in recent times I think back and recognise the social faux pas of the exchange!!

I threw my hand on my hip and with attitude I asked an impertinent question.

“So Max, what does it take to get a HD?”

Oh my god, who was that young Mum?

The sexual innuendo was lost on me, because that is not what I meant but I didn’t consider how it must have sounded.

He looked shocked then said

“Bring me nudity”

Hearing this request from Max, I suddenly became the shocked party, but I rolled with it!

He gave me what I wanted, I had the goal posts, off we go to shoot nudity!

This young naive Mum fresh from a life of toddlers and solitude in the outback; she simply didn’t take photos of people naked.

I wanted that HD, so naked photography Max got!!

Black and white shots of the frisky Danish class mate who kept asking me out inappropriately, to be precise.

To my surprise not only did I get that first HD, I got Max’s attention and secured his interest in my photography talent.

Further HDs followed, I won a place on the honour role first semester and then again second semester and then the Deans list by the end of that year of study.

My analytical mind decided Max liked to push the boundaries, so I studied subcultures.

Nudity isn’t my thing to this day.

I focused on telling the stories of people who walked to the beat of their own drum, I respect that and loved every second.

I shot drag queens, rockabillies, psychabillies, and was welcomed inside a huge drug dealers operation after a police raid that resulted in many children being beaten.

Humans are incredible and everyone welcomed me into their lives so their stories could be told via the images captured.

I learnt so much during this time and I guess in a unique way, I did go on my own artistic journey.

One of the things I am proudest of, is that I recognised the rarity of this moment in time.

Acknowledging that the camera is the most powerful back stage pass you can wield.

After careful thought I decided to take my children on the adventure with me.

They went back stage with the drag queens and witnessed very masculine burly men transform into gorgeous glamorous stage divas.

They met the incredibly colourful punks and danced with the rockabillies.

I didn't take the children into the drug operation of course, but I told them about the photos and what I thought of the bruised and battered kids, sharing their sadness and anger.

I wanted Paris and Jimi, still so little, to grow up around people who all looked different.

I grew up in a multi lingual home so I was used to being different and I loved it!

I wanted them to develop a love and understand of those who look unique. To my delight they did grow up that way.

They see and accept the person beyond the facade. They are both utterly kind to all and I am so proud of them. I am truly thankful for this opportunity Max gave me to enrich the upbringing of my children’s development.

My last assignment was a photo essay, I was to provide 6 images and tell a story.

I had travelled from nudity, through subcultures, swapping from black and white as my medium to cross process.

By the time the last photo essay assignment arrived I had landed in the under ground Perth punk music community. What a ride!!

I would look after the babies through the day, juggled lectures when needed and school pick ups.

Cooked dinner for Mickey. Put the kids to bed, then fly out the door to the uni dark room, printing for a few hours, then I followed the punks around.

I shot the assignment cross process, at one point I borrowed Mickeys road building lights to experiment with. This resulted in one of my first ever awards.

Even though the lighting gel that was placed on the lights to neutralise the extreme orange, tungsten colour cast. Had in fact started to melt and fell half way off the lights at the time I clicked that shot.. arts is journey.

The punks were active in the night from about 11 pm onwards … let the crazy adventures begin. I loved them!

They were very young, creative, colourful, talented, passionate and kind.

At the end of this photo adventure I handed in approximately 116 cross processed images (all hand printed under Max’s careful supervision) of the Perth underground punk music community.

I got my HD and landed on the Dean’s list!

Max took me aside and said some amazing words.

Two things;

He wanted me to enter an awards the uni likes their ex 3rd year students to win and this …

Max offered sincere condolences, he had hoped and tried to shape my talent into art photography to no gain. He stated with frustration “Nicole you are a fashion photographer, you might as well move to Sydney and go sell your soul!”

I was confused by the statement, ever the independent thinker, I simply replied.

“I am going to be a kids photographer Max but I will enter those awards.”

He chose the images.

The image above is a favourite of mine.

It was shot at the South Perth foreshore.

That’s my Jimi Axl, squiggling around in the sand refusing to stay still. He is laughing at me as I begged him to stop moving. He looked so cute in his blue checked budgie smugglers.

Shot on transparency film for my commercial photography assignment and yes I got a HD.

Hello flame red dirt, searing heat and death adders …

Another twist of fate prevailed and due to a sad family event it was now time to leave Newcastle forever.

Mickey and I decided to pack up as many of our belongings into the Pintara I bought selling frames and trusses for my Dad, whilst studying at uni and cross the country.

Imagine a 6 month old baby, a vibrant 4 year old and a married couple, 25 and 29 years old, madly in love, heading West.

On New Years Day the road trip into the unknown was on.

Driving from Newcastle to Perth.

Mickey, ever the adventure junkie made our trip, which was fraught with deep sadness for me, into a holiday.

We went the long way around, via the Great Ocean Road.

The kids saw the glow worms. We camped the whole way.

We stopped at Esperance, the children swam in crystal blue waters and ran in powdery stark white sand.

We were on a romantic holiday, concluding with the birth of a new life.

Our car was so jam packed that I couldn’t even see Mickey,

Paris’ doll house was wedged between the drivers and passengers seat and we held hands over the top of it.

We first lived at the backpackers in a family room, if I remember correctly we had $100 in our bank account when we arrived in Perth.

I loved it there, Perth was a dream come true.

Within weeks we experienced our first set back, whilst I was out at night class, photography class ironically.

Due to a faulty oven door Jimi sustained 3rd degree burns on his tiny hands and I spent 10 days at the Princess Margaret Children’s hospital burns unit.

I felt so alone but I never left my babies side.

A few months later we were off on another, even bigger adventure.

The Western Australian Outback.

Kalgoorlie!!

Red dirt, arid landscape and amazing skies.

I spent many years in and out of the outback, Kalgoorlie twice, Marble Bar, Sandstone and Leinster.

Death Adders, extreme heat and tank water that made me sick immediately after I drank it.

This was an amazing time in my photography journey.

It’s the skies that inspired me. The clouds, the storms all set against the red earth.

Perhaps the endless open spaces were a metaphor for me, regarding life and my career?

Endless possibilities that stretched out to the horizon; a horizon even if you walk all day, every day, you never reach.

I think back on it now and think how fearless I was, crazy fearless!

I used to pack the little ones into the car and drive 40 minutes out into the middle of nowhere, I discovered an abandoned sheep station with amazing back drops.

Rusty shearing sheds, weathered timber fences, old farm buildings.

I would load the camera with black and white film and shoot portraits of my beautiful babies.

I was hyper focused on black and white film and how it strips back all which is superfluous. I was soon to add cross processing to my obsessions.

I distinctly remember one afternoon throwing the kids and camera gear into the car in blind panic. The sky had suddenly turned to an almost black, cloaked in dark green haze, a huge storm was charging in.

Hail clouds! 

Lightning splintering down from what seemed like everywhere.

The wind was squalling from every direction, gusts the could move you as you walk.

It was approaching twilight and that’s is when the Kangaroos roam.

It isn’t the safest time to drive and you need to stay vigilante.

That day however, I had to drive that station wagon like a bullet bolting down a barrel. The storm chasing right behind us. It is that moment you must decide, what’s worse, a roo smashing through the windscreen and tearing me to pieces. Or hail smashing all over the car, flash flooding and being stranded with Mickey totally unaware of where we were.  

Put the pedal down and pray!!

Those outback days were the ultimate adventure, sometimes scary but absolute freedom. 

Where my love for environmental portraiture was born. 

A gift. 

The image above is a cross processed double exposure, shot in Sandstone, a few kilometres from the sheep yards.

It features Paris-Elisabeth, my most giving photography practice subject.

Thank you Paris-Elisabeth Eden!

Love you forever,

Mum x

When I first made the decision to include a blog on my website, I decided I would tell the story of my life via my journey into photography.

The stages of my career are illustrated by the images I captured at that particular moment in time.

This is the story of the adventure I have been on, without even knowing I was on it.

And so it begins … my life long love affair with photography, my beloved career and the very core of my identity.

Through a twist of fate, whilst pregnant with my second child, I was given my first SLR camera, a Pentax with a Sigma lens.

At this point I was a stay at home Mum, 25 years old and married to the love of my life, Mickey.

We had a new born baby boy whom I had nearly lost carrying to term and a 3 year old little girl.

Mickey, a 6 foot 4 civil engineer/surfer, worked in Sydney at the forestry commission and we lived very contently on a tight budget in our first home.

Every day as a Mum was a happy little adventure and when money allowed, I could purchase one reel of black and white film.

It was such a luxury to buy that reel of film and so exciting to have it processed.

A little piece of magic.

The image above is from one of those first reels of film.

My Jimi Axl, shot at Scarborough Beach, Perth, Western Australia.

I took my children to play at the beach every day and that limestone rock Jimi is sitting on, was affectionately named the Bat Mobile.

Lacking money didn’t stop us 3 from having fun every day!!

At this fledgling stage of my career, I had no real technical skills to speak of.

So much so, that I did not even realise I could turn off the on camera flash.

I did however have good timing and could really see the moments as they past by my lens.

The flash in this image haunts me to this day!!!

But you have to start somewhere and I am so very grateful for this image.

I took my film to be processed at a small pro lab and after going there for a short time the owner took me aside.

He said “Nicole you should become a professional photographer.”

I will never forget that day.

I didn’t feel complimented, I felt confused.

As I walked the children home, his words whirled around in my head and I distinctly remember thinking, I can not be a professional photographer, I am a Mother!

Whatever this thing is, that people have referred to as talent when they look at the images I produce, has been present from the very first reel and I am ashamed to say I have given it no regard.

At the time I simply couldn’t see it.

However, my endless passion about being a Mother and for my children, kept me seeking the capture of those organic, never to be repeated fleeting moments that happened each day as they grew and thrived.

For some reason I have always had an innate sense that the clock is ticking.

An awareness time isn’t endless.

Very few things are forever. So I wanted to freeze time. Just stop the world for a second.

Now that I look back I see all I took for granted and am so grateful I have each and every image; especially every precious memory these photographs spark.