Meet Janae
Alexandria, VA and the Washington, DC region.
You're part of this too.
I didn't start this because I love photography.
I started it because I was missing from my own story.
I’m a parent. I know how easy it is to disappear from your own photos.
Not intentionally
Just, slowly.
Somewhere between kid’s birthdays, family reunions, the major holidays and dance recitals, things start to get missed —
And then one day, you realize you’re not in any of the photos.
She/her
Parralel parks any car.
Scared to fly.
Collects pottery.
Tap photos to learn more!
1
I'm a minimalist. I think I have read most of the minimalism books available!
4
My preferred method of commuting is by bike
3
I grew up in the Florida Keys and lived a very Jimmy Buffet life.
2
I like to do hard things, just because they are hard
ONCE I HAD KIDS OF MY OWN, I WAS TOO
OVERWHELMED
TO FIND THE TIME (OR FREE HANDS) TO DOCUMENT OUR MOMENTS.
You know the feeling: taking kids out for a neighborhood bike ride just to end up with your hands loaded up with the bikes that kids no longer feel like riding, a crying baby on your hip, and your last remaining finger gripping the dog leash. Last thing I can do is worry about photos.
When my oldest was four, his preschool asked for a family photo.
To my horror, I did not have one.
Not one photo of all of us together as a family of 4.
Not because I didn’t care. Because no one was documenting me in it.
from the bedroom to the kitchen to the park
You deserve to exist in your photos
Not just in the background. Fully in it.
Motherhood ruined "perfect" for me. In the best possible way.
I'm an engineer by training. I spent years thinking in structure and precision, and I bring both to work that is, by design, anything but staged. What I make isn't a photoshoot. It's a record — of who your family is, in a year you don't get back.
I am not chasing a curated aesthetic — I’m after photos that mean something and I know how to do it artfully.
I am not interested in asking you to perform a perfect version of your life in a distant field at golden hour. You can hire anyone for that.
I am looking for the profound beauty in the reality you already inhabit. The geometry of your kitchen floor when the toys are scattered. The specific way your child holds your hand. The unpolished, un-styled truth of your days.
THESE DAYS, YOU GET TO BE THE HERO OF YOUR PHOTOS
Because the last thing you need is a to-do list 20 tasks deep before even considering booking a session.
I'm an Alexandria-based documentary photographer serving families across Northern Virginia, Maryland, and Washington DC. I document families as they actually are — not the version they think they're supposed to be — so it's easy for you to be in the frame.
Let's capture all the things that take exactly zero planning.
Popsicles in the backyard.
A walk to the playground.
Dress-up from the kid’s closet.
Building the tallest magnet-tile tower possible and knocking it down.
Skateboarding in the driveway.
A trip to the coffee shop.
We're getting rid of what keeps you out of photos:
- No obsessing over outfits or locations
- No inconvenient pilgrimage to a distant field
- No convincing dad
- No bribes or rewards for cooperative behavior
None of that makes a photo matter....
Instead:
- Everyone wears what they want.
- We stay where your life actually happens.
- You do what you’d normally do.
The session isn't something you "get through" —
it's something you actually enjoy
Because the special parts about your family don’t need planning to be worth capturing.
For those who want to stay a while
My uncurated life
Here’s the version of me you don’t get in the headshots. I live an unaesthetic life — and I think that's the point.
My own family, on film
If you opened my fridge
There should be Diet Coke.
There is no Diet Coke.
We drank it all in moments of weakness.
Instead,
three gallons of milk stand guard
because my daughter’s primary fuel
is chocolate milk and pancakes.
We lineup leftovers,
undeniable evidence of the time spent cooking
meals that no child ate.
We keep them anyway.
Like sad plastic trophies of parenting,
Proof that we really, really tried.
They sit stacked next to a small tub
of live worms,
Worms destined for fishing.
Worms who frankly,
are the only ones in this house
who actually want to eat the leftovers.
If you saw us on a perfectly normal day…
You’d see us outside.
Kids tearing through the yard,
in and out of the house,
Kids soaked from the garden hose
because they were washing rocks.
Highly valuable,
extremely ordinary rocks,
they’ll later stash somewhere inside.
The reason
for the holes in all our pockets.
Each one special,
in their own version of ordinary.
So I own them, (forever) now,
Just….. so many rocks.
A trip to the garden center
ending with three new plants
we’re optimistic about
and completely unqualified
to keep alive.
An evening at Lake Cook
Casting lines.
I don’t do fishing,
and I definitely don’t do worms.
But that’s what dads are for.
Greek takeout on the drive home.
Because on a perfect day,
I won’t have to cook.
It would look like a really good day.
And it is.
Just with a meltdown over shoes,
and a blanket tucked in the wrong way,
tears because someone copied someone else,
and hostage level negotiations over a bath.
Three rejected meals,
and at least one kid insisting they’re still hungry
from the food
they didn’t eat.
If you SAW UNDER MY BED
You’d find a bin of clothes
from a life before kids.
I keep them
for the smaller version of me,
who had the time and energy
to care about that.
She’s not gone.
She just looks a little different now.
I keep them for “someday.”
We all know
that day isn’t coming.
Don’t tell that to my ego.
It’s still coming to terms
with elastic waistbands.
According to my resume
It boldly say “Engineer!”
in a highly professional,
bullet-pointed font.
Structure, logic,
Perfection.
But capturing life by photo
is the work I actually love.
Untame, emotional,
Imperfection.
I don’t rush it.
I take on fewer families
on purpose.
Because this matters too much
to treat it like volume.
If you knew my like a friend
You would know,
my memories are more temporary than yours.
I have memory loss.
Most of my life doesn’t live in my head,
the way yours might..
It lives in fragments.
Facts.
Things I (sometimes) know happened,
but cannot actually picture anymore.
So I live in the now.
Which mostly means
I don’t hold a grudges
because I simply cannot remember
why I was mad.
I don’t take photos for Instagram.
I take them because
they’re the only way
to hold onto my life.
Proof
that any of this
actually happened.
The childhood i barely have photos of
Growing up in the Florida Keys
was a sun-soaked Jimmy Buffet song.
Which is why my Christmas lights
always go up with
Mele Kalikimaka and a margarita.
Barefoot in the streets,
Swimming feral in the ocean,
Between mangroves
no one watching too closely,
(except the needlefish)
with zero photographic evidence.
Which is why
you’ll only find this solitary dance recital shot.
(I peaked early in that outfit)
This is an anthem to bring back
the 80’s childhood,
… Just with more photos.
I lost my dad in my twenties,
and my mother
hates the camera lens.
A feeling I now
can certainly relate to.
So there isn’t much
to go back to.
Photos are like that.
You don’t realize
how much they matter
until they’re all you have.
So take the photo,
Even if your hair looks weird
(Especially).
If you know how i feel...
You’d find a woman
who feels completely lost
most days.
Missing the hobbies
I used to hold.
In place,
I hold a handful of rocks.
Trying to remember what I like,
outside of everyone else.
Wondering why this body feels
so foreign,
and not totally in love with the marks
motherhood gave me.
Consumed by my kids’ needs,
and somehow
still loving them more.
But fundamentally.
Deeply.
Never wanting to cook another
single.
meal.
ever.
again.
Figuring it out as I go,
forever whispering “what in the actual F*ck,”
Fueled by caffeinated soda,
mild panic,
and unpredictable decluttering rages,
just like everyone else.