A few months ago, if someone had asked me what kind of photographer I was, I probably would have answered pretty quickly.
A family photographer.
A maternity photographer.
A storyteller.
But if they had asked me why I photograph the way I do, I’m not sure I would have had such a clear answer.
Recently, I completed Natalie Gildersleeve's course called The Intuitive Artist and it involved creating a body of work that reflected something deeply personal. Something that felt true to who we are as artists. What I didn’t expect was that the project would end up teaching me just as much about myself as it did about photography.
What Happened When I Started Photographing My Own Children
The original concept seemed simple enough.
I wanted to create a project about seeing the world through a child’s eyes.
At first, I took that very literally. I found myself lying on the ground looking up at the clouds, photographing from lower angles and trying to physically see things from my children’s perspective.
The problem was, it wasn’t really working. The images felt forced.
The more I tried to photograph how children see the world, the more I realised I was missing the point.
Then one afternoon, while watching my kids play, it hit me.
Children don’t experience the world differently because they’re shorter than us.
They experience it differently because they haven’t yet learnt to stop noticing it.
And suddenly, everything made sense.
Children Feel The World Differently
As a mum of four, most days feel like controlled chaos. There’s always somewhere to be. Someone needs something. The washing never seems to end. There are lunches to pack, emails to answer, dinner to cook and about a hundred things happening in my brain at any given moment.
Somewhere amongst all of that, I think I forgot what it felt like to simply be present.
Not intentionally. Just gradually. The way most adults do.
But children are different.
They don’t care if they’re running late. They don’t spend their days thinking about their to-do list. They’re busy noticing.
The feel of the wind out a car window.
The way sand runs through their fingers.
The excitement of choosing their favourite lollies at the market.
The feeling of cold water splashing against their skin.
The shape of clouds.
Creating exciting play spaces out of the most ordinary items.
They’re completely immersed in whatever they’re doing.
And the more I photographed my children, the more I found myself slowing down and noticing those things too.
The Photos That Meant The Most
Some of my favourite images from the project weren’t technically perfect.
In fact, some of them are blurry.
There are photos of my children throwing water balloons at each other on the trampoline.
Photos from an evening at the beach (it was actually my son Jude's 7th birthday) where the kids were splashing in the water as the sun disappeared.
Photos on a train ride into the city.
Photos of dolls lined up in morning sunlight.
A torch under a chin inside a cupboard.
Small moments that would probably seem insignificant to anyone else.
But that’s exactly why they mattered.
The project wasn’t about creating perfect photographs. It was about capturing what childhood feels like.
Messy.
Curious.
Joyful.
Wild.
Connected.
The Unexpected Gift
One of the biggest surprises of this project was how much it changed my relationship with my children.
Not in some huge dramatic way.
But in the little moments.
For weeks, I wasn’t photographing them as “my kids”.
I was observing them.
Watching what caught their attention.
Watching what made them laugh.
Watching how differently each of them moved through the world.
And honestly, I’m so grateful for that.
As parents, we’re often so busy caring for our children that we don’t always get the chance to simply sit back and see them. This project gave me that opportunity. It helped me connect with them in a way I wasn’t expecting. And in many ways, it helped me reconnect with myself too.
Why This Photography Project Changed Me
The final project became known as Through Your Eyes.
But in the end, it wasn’t really about seeing through my children’s eyes at all.
It was about remembering that I once saw the world that way too.
Before life became busy.
Before I learnt to rush.
Before I became focused on getting from one thing to the next.
It reminded me that there is beauty in ordinary moments.
That connection matters.
That curiosity matters.
That slowing down matters.
Most of all, it reminded me why I picked up a camera in the first place.
Not to create perfect images.
But to preserve how something felt.
And for that, I will always be grateful.
Justine x
