Erin Hesser | March 25, 2026
There’s
a photograph I return to often, two girls balanced on an old stone bridge in
the English countryside, caught between those years of childhood and becoming
teenagers. The hills roll endlessly behind them, soft and green, like a
painting that was never meant to end. One of those girls is me. The other is my
sister. What you don’t see in the frame is the person who made that moment
possible, my dad, standing just a few feet away, his well-worn and heavy-as-heck Nikon camera lifted to his eye.
My dad rarely vacationed without that camera. It was as much a part of him as the way he’d pause to take in a view just a little longer than
everyone else. Not just on vacations and birthdays... but even if it didn’t seem to matter, he was there documenting it. Not in a staged,
“everyone smiles” kind of way, but in the in-between moments.
As a kid, I didn’t fully get it. I just knew he was always watching, not in a distant way, but in a deeply present one. He saw things. He saw us. And somehow, through that lens, he taught me to see too.
That
photo on the bridge is a perfect example. It isn’t posed in the traditional
sense. We’re not lined up or polished. No coordinated, or preplanned matching
outfits with monochromatic fashion-conscious color scheme. My sister’s stance is
casual, mine is a little uncertain. There’s movement, imperfection, life. And
yet, it feels composed, balanced in a way that makes the ordinary feel
intentional. That was my dad’s gift: turning everyday moments into something
quietly profound.
He never called it “art.” To him, it was just taking pictures. But over time, I
realized he was doing something more. He was elevating vernacular
photography, the kind that lives in family albums and shoeboxes, into
something closer to fine art. Not because of loads of expensive lighting or
elaborate setups, but because of attention, patience, and heart.
He taught me that the best photographs aren’t forced; they’re noticed.
They’re felt before they’re taken.
As I grew older and picked up a camera of my own, I found myself chasing that
same feeling. Not perfection, but truth. Not spectacle, but softness. I started
to understand that photography isn’t just about capturing what something or
someone looks like; it’s about honoring what it felt like to be there.
Erin Hesser | March 15, 2026
There’s a common belief in family photography that the ultimate goal is the perfect smile, the bright, camera‑ready expression that says, “Everything is wonderful.” And yes, smiles are beautiful. They’re warm, familiar, and instantly uplifting. But they’re not the only emotion worth capturing, and they’re certainly not the only ones that tell the truth of a family.
My style of photography isn’t hyper‑focused on getting kids, or families, for that matter, to smile on command. In fact, I intentionally avoid forcing it. Because the most meaningful images rarely come from posed perfection. They come from the in‑between moments: the soft smiles, the thoughtful pauses, the stubborn frowns, the bursts of laughter, the quiet curiosity, and yes… even the tears.
Those moments are where the real story lives.
Children are whole human beings with a full emotional range, not little performers meant to deliver a single expression on cue. When we allow them to simply be, we open the door to photographs that feel honest, textured, and deeply alive. A child looking up in wonder, clinging to a parent’s hand, melting into a hug, or working through a big feeling, these are the images that stop us in our tracks years later. These are the moments that remind us who they were, and who we were with them.
I don’t photograph families to prove they were perfect for a split second, I photograph them to remember who they really are. The soft smiles, the stubborn moments, the wonder, the overwhelm… all of it is part of the story. Real emotion is far more beautiful than a forced smile.
Families, too, are more than their smiles. They are connection, movement, chaos, tenderness, and the quiet ways we show up for one another. When I photograph a family, I’m not chasing a perfect pose. I’m watching for the way a parent brushes hair out of a child’s face, the way siblings lean into each other, the way a toddler’s expression shifts from shy to silly in a matter of seconds. These are the moments that carry emotional weight, the ones that make you feel something when you look back at them.
A posed smile is lovely. I promise we will always strive to get that classic group pic with smiles, bright eyes, and no one blinking! However, I will also be looking for real moments that are unforgettable.
So when you book a session with me, know this: I’m not here to manufacture a mood. I’m here to witness your family as you truly are. I’m here to capture the full spectrum of your story, the joy, the softness, the intensity, the authenticity. Because those are the images that last, those are the images that matter.
And those are the images that will mean even more with time.
Erin Hesser | February 20, 2026

When photographing pets, most people instinctively shoot from above, the classic “human looking down” perspective. But the magic often happens when you flip that instinct upside down and get low. Really low. Two techniques that can transform your pet pics are the low‑angle view and the worm’s eye view. While they’re related, they’re not the same, and understanding the difference can dramatically change the mood, emotion, and storytelling power of your images. Let’s break it down.
Both angles look upward, but the degree of “upward” is what sets them apart.. A low‑angle shot says, “Look at this amazing pet.” A worm’s eye view says, “Behold this legendary creature.”
A low‑angle view is taken from below the subject’s eye line, but not necessarily from the ground. Think of kneeling, crouching, or sitting at a low height. You’re still looking upward, but you’re not flat on the floor.
A low‑angle view is perfect for:
Making pets look confident or heroic
Emphasizing stature or presence
Creating a sense of importance without distortion
Adding drama while keeping proportions natural
In pet photography, this angle is especially great for dogs who love to pose, cats perched on furniture, or any animal that benefits from a little extra “wow” factor
A worm’s eye view takes the concept of “low” to the extreme. This perspective is shot from ground level, as if you were a tiny creature looking up at the world. The camera is often placed directly on the floor, sometimes even angled sharply upward.
This technique:
Makes pets appear massive, powerful, or larger‑than‑life
Creates a sense of awe or whimsy
Exaggerates height and form
Adds a playful, surreal, or even epic quality to the image
In pet photography, a worm’s eye view can turn a small dog into a towering hero, a cat into a majestic creature, or a rabbit into a mythical forest guardian. It’s dramatic, bold, and incredibly fun.
Pets live close to the ground, literally. Shooting from their world creates intimacy, connection, and authenticity. But choosing between a low angle and a worm’s eye view lets you shape the story:
Want your pet to look noble? Try a low angle.
Want them to look epic, whimsical, or hilariously powerful? Go full worm’s eye.
Want variety in your gallery? Mix both.
These perspectives also help you avoid the “same old pet photos” that everyone takes from above. Instead, you’re creating images that feel intentional, artistic, and emotionally rich.
Experimenting with camera height can completely transform your images. A low‑angle view adds strength and presence, while a worm’s eye view adds drama and wonder. Both perspectives invite viewers into a world where animals aren’t just subjects — they’re characters with personality, power, and story.
Umbrellas invite movement, laughter, and those beautifully unscripted moments we all love. Think twirls, peeks from behind the canopy, dramatic silhouettes, or even a few joyful jumps in the rain. Let the day be filled with fun, candid shots, and a few perfectly posed moments too.
So celebrate the charm of this everyday object. Embrace the color, the motion, the unexpected angles, and the stories that unfold when you hand someone an umbrella. Sometimes the simplest props create the most magical images.
Here’s to a day full of creativity and maybe a little rain for good measure.
