Belly Beauty

            Growing up, I had some really interesting and enriching experiences that helped shape the work I do today. For many years, I would take the bus to East Oak Lane and study fine art in the home of a family from church.

            I loved my art teacher. I argued with her all the time but I learned a lot. When I was in high school, I got there early and cleaned in exchange for lessons. Walking through that perpetually cold and dark house, where every surface had a permanent fine dust and every breath was filtered through a haze of charcoal, I felt like I was in a magical haven. I loved being there early, steam-cleaning floors, vacuuming up debris from the walls that were falling into disrepair. My teacher was eccentric and strange and reclusive but her love for art, her students and teaching was undeniable.

            I remember the day she showed us a documentary on the work of a famous artist who painted nude women during the Renaissance. Again, a member of our church, our teacher had to proceed with trepidation. I feel I owe a great deal of thanks to her for the way she honored the beauty of God's creation in the human body and taught us to do so as well.

            In many ways, that is what appeals to me about mother-centric photography. Pregnancy, birth, motherhood are all part of a celebration of feminine beauty. Our culture is pervaded with an overly-sexualized image of femininity. We've forgotten how to honor bodies as God's beautiful creations without treating them with a measure of shame or perversion.

            It's a question I've had long discussions about. When we admire the great works of DaVinci or Michelangelo, surely we know that they weren't painting from their imaginations. There is a debate of ends justifying means and honestly, I don't know who is right. I know that I am not offended when I look at those paintings. To me, they are beautiful. And that leads me to believe that it is not wrong to use photography to capture that same innate graceful beauty.

            Becoming a mother has made me appreciate this so much more. How our bodies are designed to carry, develop, deliver and sustain life. We are these incredible works of art at every stage. We are fearfully and wonderfully made. And I believe that that is worth celebrating.

Longwood Gardens & Stevie Wonder

 On the 27th, Nathaniel and I visited Longwood Gardens with Nathaniel's mom and step-dad.  It had been years since I last visited and there was a dreamworld-nostalgia at every turn.


It was a very cold night and the wind was whipping snow up into our faces, so we spent most of the time inside, where the Christmas tour had me convinced that every room was the most beautiful.

It's so important to have beauty in your life.  I was fortunate to be raised by parents who understood this value.  From a young age I was exposed to a variety of art classes and spent a lot of time at home creating sketches and various crafts.


My parents had a modest collection of paintings, charcoal drawings and sculptures around the house.  Even the polished, deep honey-colored floorboards or the hand-made cabinets that my dad worked on were an affirmation that the human soul needs beautiful things.

When I moved out of my parent's home, I lived for a while in a poor neighborhood in West Philadelphia.  My apartment was on top of a nail salon and constantly smelled of polishes and chemicals.  Looking out through the bars on my living-room window I could see the pub across the street where middle-aged men and women danced slowly to the sounds of The Supremes or Stevie Wonder, long into the night.  I used to take the bars off the window when my roommates weren't awake and balance in the old wood frame, just listening to cars go by while Signed, Sealed, Delivered wafted from the open door across the road.


I have carried some things with me from the room I grew up in all the way to the little home I have today with my husband.  Little trinkets, seemingly meaningless.  Things that are beautiful to me.  They help me remember that my soul has been fortunate.  Even above the nail salon at 2 am in West Philly, I still was able to find Stevie Wonder.