09/23/2024
Digitals from the studio.
I remember being a few weeks postpartum, still learning how to exist in this new life as a mother, and climbing into the bath with Arthur, my belly was soft and squishy, and as self conscious as I felt I couldn’t have “sucked in” for the life of me 💀
My husband helped us get settled, helped me hold up my tiny, slippery baby, laughed with me as milk poured from my b***s. I turned and told him I had never felt so much like an animal. Truly. Even during labor, I was so deep into the process I had no conscious thoughts. I was barely able to access conscious thought, let alone consider what I felt or looked like.
But sitting in that bath, naked, uncurated, and decidedly unsexy, I recalled every image of monkeys and bears I’d seen, flopped over in exhaustion, caring for their young. I cried a lot in those early days, imagining every woman before me who had gone through this same experience. Every animal who birthed in nature and kept walking. The cave women who didn’t have Frida Mom or Stanley cups.
When I photograph mothers, stripped down to their skin, it is a conscious reconnection to mother nature. To our most uninhibited. A way to show women their beauty spans further than the makeup aisle, the it-girl clothing brand, the baby carrier. As you emerge in motherhood the layers of self that held up your identity are ripped away, to pave a new path forward.
A lot of us fight against it. But the women who are brave enough to step in front of my camera and make the decision to embrace this energy of creation, make space for more of us to radically accept and welcome a new way of being— which, if we’re honest, really feels like the oldest thing in the world.