Back in the old days, If you were a baker and needed a new table, you’d barter with the carpenter to make you a new table. Maybe you’d bake him a fresh loaf of bread every day for the next six months. Maybe ten, depending on how nice the table was.

The baker knew how to bake. They knew how much wood they needed to use to get the oven hot, but not too hot. They knew how much flower and grain was needed to make a loaf of bread. They didn’t know much, if anything, about box aprons and side stretchers and how to turn a baluster on a table leg.

Back then, people were craftsmen and artisans. They were specialists. If you were a blacksmith, you were expected to know everything about the craft. If you were a baker, you knew the magic of baking bread. And if you wanted a loaf of bread, you wouldn’t go to the blacksmith.

Then, the industrial revolution happened, and things that once were crafts? Became commodities. Commodities are a basic good used in commerce that is interchangeable with other goods of the same type. A bushel of wheat is a bushel of wheat no matter if it comes from Alberta or Azerbaijan. And slowly, things that were made with those commodities—say, bread from the wheat—became commodities, too.

Things that once were handmade and custom made just for you became mass produced and mass marketed. It drove the price down, yes, but it also drove the craftspeople out of business. Instead of employing a local artisan to make your daily bread, you can go not to the market but to the SUPER market, and buy a bag of Wonderbread.

Wonderbread is … fine, but it has been stripped of all the traits that spark joy in bread. It is not made with love and care. It has not been made with different types of flour to change the flavour subtly. It has been made on a factory floor in Lenexa Kansas, at a rate of 150 loaves a minute, where each loaf is a replica of the last. Everything looks the same, smells the same, feels the same and tastes the same. Want a loaf of sourdough? You’re not going to find Wonderbread sourdough. Or french bread. Or cheese and jalapeño loaf.

The same industrialization has happened in the photographic industry. Remember school pictures? Sit exactly this far from the camera. Tilt your head exactly like this. Smile exactly like everyone else smiled. Click. Next.

Sit exactly this far from the camera. Tilt your head exactly like this. Smile just so. Click, next.

Click. Next.

Click. Next.

Artisanal Photography

That’s where I come in. While there are lessons to be learned from industrialization, my goal is to create Art. To be a photographic craftsperson. To create Artisanal Photography.

My goal is to create custom art for each person who wants a shoot. To not try and force people into some pre-defined mould of what is boudoir photography, but to capture what is unique about them.

That’s why before each shoot, I meet with each person to talk about their hopes, dreams, aspirations for the shoot. Sometimes it is merely “I want some sexy photos of myself,” or “I want a gift for my significant other.” Sometimes the reasons are more complex: you’re about to head in for a mastectomy, or you just want to remember who you were at this moment in your life. But the goal is the same; to take amazing, one of a kind images of each person, to create works of art for each client and to seek to capture the ineffable that lies within each person who winds up in front of my camera.

This is not a comfortable place to be, but art is rarely comfortable. Indeed, art is a process of stepping outside your comfort zone to do something that you’ve never tried before. Of coming up against the walls you’ve built for yourself, then crawling up and over to see what’s on the other side.

But while it might challenge you, it might force you past where you are totally comfortable, I promise it will be worth it.