Growing up, one constant in our family home has always held our treasured memories.
Old trunks we’d collected (probably from the side of the road – “one man’s junk”) FULL to the rim with boxes of photographs and art and frames and film. Treasures full of treasure.
Stacks of photographs
Between the warm manilla pages and blue laced albums.
Shuffled through fingertips, gathered every birthday (traditionally of course) and embedded in my memory.
These photographs tell stories. Messy, ordinary, silly and tender stories of our lives, the love that surrounds us then and always. How we’ve grown and arrived here.
Without them I wouldn’t know my Parent’s big cheesy grin on the day they were married or my Great Grandparents in their home. Dad’s rockstar haircut, blonde Mum and I in the pool, countless childhood halloweens, holidays, camping trips and back to school porch portraits.
They’re totally honest and raw and flawed and gorgeous and everyone is either fighting for the spotlight or sticking out their tongue in rebellion.
All I dream of is seeking and collecting these truths for you. Serving you memories that tell the story of love and life that we could never replicate.