“A muddy face and a sticky hand

Windswept hair and a pocket full of sand

Missing teeth, a mischievous grin

Curious smiles and that angelic skin

Running and jumping as they look to the skies

Life itself reflected in those big, bright eyes

Pure joy, all heart, innocence defined

Childhood is Heaven and Earth intertwined.”

-Anne Oswald

I remember. I remember that I was in a field. I remember where I was standing. I remember that I was a child. I remember the golden light in the sky, the way it shone down upon the long grasses that I walked through like it longed for me to see them in all of their sunbathed glory. I remember the way it felt on my hands as I ran through the grasses and let their sharp ends pass over my fingertips. I remember how the wind first sounded, like it had waited for me to arrive and once I had it whispered softly into my ear as it passed through my hair and traveled alongside me as I ran freely. I remember believing that if I ran fast enough the wind would help lift me and I would take off flying into the magical evening sky. Most of all I remember my mom watching, smiling. When I smiled, she did too. When I stared intently at something, she did too. My happiness and wonderment was her happiness and wonderment and I remember thinking that that moment would last forever. Nothing else in the world mattered. Nothing else existed. This WAS existence. There was the sun, and the dominating blue sky, and the rough earth beneath me. There was the warm breeze, and the birds gently singing along to the tune of its melody. My eyes were wide with curiosity at the nature around me and my imagination overflowing with possibilities. My feet were beautifully soiled with the Earth on which I’d walked and my tangled hair full of nature’s debris blew back and forth as I talked. I talked to the birds, I talked to the sky, I sang to the grass, and dreamed I would fly. I don’t remember where we had come from, and I don’t remember where we were going to next, but I remember that moment. I was a child, and my mom joyfully observed as I made that field, and the world, my playmate. It was my friend, and I it’s companion. I was a little girl, still existing in that world of youthful innocence and perpetual fascination. A world that my mom must have known does not last. For she lived every moment in that field as I did, she felt the texture of the ground on her feet as I did, and heard the same soulful song of the birds as I did. As the same breeze would greet her she would laugh aloud and would look up at the skies as I spoke to a cloud. It was real, it was joy, it was simple, and it was extraordinary.

It was childhood. It is now a memory. Life IS memories. It is a series of moments like these that are strung together to make up one’s life. Those that happen in the Springtime of one’s life are what some may consider the most miraculous of all, for my mother describes this memory of ours just as she would describe witnessing a miracle. She was in the presence of something so pure, so true, so innocent, yet so fleeting, that she believes the Heavens themselves were watching with fascination. Childhood. The beautiful imperfection of my disheveled hair, the curiosity in my adventurous smile, my sun-kissed complexion, my gap-toothed smile, my spirit, my heart, hers too.

…These sentimental trademarks of a growing child and the sweet innocence of youth is what makes documenting a child’s journey through life’s milestones such an extraordinary thing. Time moves fast, children grow into adults, and that world of youthful innocence and perpetual fascination slowly fades, and all that we have to remember our children as they were are our memories and our photos. We have the ability to take control of these memories and ensure their survival. How wonderful a gift it is to give ourselves a beautiful glimpse back into that world we all once inhabited. To be inspired by and reminded of our children as they were, in an image.  Not just a snapshot. Not just a photo. But a portrait. A most authentic visual translation of an individual’s spirit. A most sentimental piece of art.

A portrait has the potential to be an incredibly powerful and communicative thing.…

a wordless story,

an unintentional dialogue,

a secret disclosed,

a soul revealed,

a spirit discovered,

and a realness uncovered.

When captured with gentle deliberation and an ever-observing eye, a portrait can reveal a child’s personality in its realest and most intimate form. This gentle deliberation and ever-observing eye is that of the photographer’s, whose job it is to seek out these moments and capture them artistically, in the right place, in the right lighting, and with the overall desired aesthetic effect. It may take only seconds to snap an image, but to do it correctly takes years of hard work, dedication, skill, and passion. Creating timeless and artistic portraits of your children that you can treasure for a lifetime takes preparation, perspiration, and inspiration, like all art. A portrait of your child can act as a portal, a doorway, a time machine, so that you can forever preserve your memories of them, and revisit, reminisce, and remember what you cherish most in this world.

-Annie