I only smoke after yoga and medieval reenactments, and I think banana yogurt is wildly underrated. I’m also one of those sit on a bus and watch people types. The quiet voyeur. I notice things. How someone pulls at their sleeve when they’re nervous. How laughter lingers for half a second before it disappears. It’s probably a bit nosy. But it’s also how I see the world.

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My work is best described as emotional editorial photography with clean compositions, soft movement, and honest emotion. I pay attention to the in between moments just as much as the big ones, because that’s usually where the story lives. I’m always chasing that flicker. The part of someone that appears before they realise they’re being seen. The soft, brilliant, messy human truth of it all.

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As a kid, my bedroom floor was chaos. Paper scraps, glue sticks, crayon streaks ground into the carpet. I made mess to make sense of things. I still do. Only now it’s called photography.

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I’m a wizard with wedding dresses. I can lace one up while feeding a toddler half a banana. I’ve given the father of the bride an emergency haircut with nail scissors, walked the dog, popped out for milk, ferried stranded guests when the car died, tied ties, pinned buttonholes, and blown up balloons with fresh lipstick still on. My bag is basically a survival kit. Plasters, painkillers, safety pins, snacks.

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I’ve danced the conga with a camera in one hand and caught confetti mid air with the other. I don’t flap. I don’t fuss. I just quietly get sh*t done while documenting the bits you didn’t even realise were happening.

Peace and Tea,
Becs