Every Portrait Begins Before I Pick Up My Camera | Janice Smith Photography
Every Portrait Begins Before I Pick Up My Camera
When people imagine a portrait session, they usually picture the camera.
The lights are set. The backdrop is in place. The photographer begins giving directions, searching for the perfect expression.
But that’s not where my portraits begin.
Long before I lift my camera, the portrait is already taking shape.
It begins with a conversation.
Not a conversation about what to wear or whether you have a “good side.” Those details matter, but they aren’t where meaningful portraits are created.
The conversation I’m interested in is about you.
Who are you in this season of your life? What brought you here? What do you hope to remember years from now? How do you want these portraits to feel?
The answers rarely come all at once. Sometimes they appear in the stories people tell. Sometimes they’re hidden in a quiet pause or an unexpected laugh. Sometimes it’s simply the way someone lights up when they begin talking about the people—or the dog—they love most.
Those moments tell me far more than any pose ever could.
Photography, for me, has never been about arranging people into beautiful compositions. It’s about paying attention.
Every person carries themselves differently. A woman stepping into a new chapter of her life stands differently than someone who is still finding her confidence. A family with young children moves with joyful chaos. A couple who have spent decades together often communicate without speaking at all. The bond between a person and their dog has its own quiet language.
No two stories are the same.
So why would every portrait begin the same way?
Because of that, I don’t begin by thinking about poses.
I begin by observing.
I notice the way someone naturally sits when they relax. I watch how they smile when they forget I’m paying attention. I pay attention to the quiet moments between conversations, because those moments are often the most honest.
Those are the expressions that can’t be manufactured.
Those are the portraits people recognize as themselves.
Every creative decision that follows—the light, the background, the wardrobe, the composition—is guided by the person standing in front of me. None of those choices are made simply because they look beautiful. They’re made because they support the story we’re trying to tell together.
People sometimes ask if I’m waiting for the perfect moment.
The truth is, I’m waiting for the honest one.
The moment someone stops wondering what they look like and simply allows themselves to be present.
That’s usually when the portrait reveals itself.
Questions I Ask Myself Before Every Portrait
Before I ever press the shutter, these are the questions quietly guiding my work.
What story is this person living right now?
What do I want them to remember about this season of life?
What makes them feel most like themselves?
Where does the quiet truth appear?
What will this portrait mean ten years from now?
Those questions shape every decision I make.
They remind me that I’m not simply creating an image for today. I’m creating something that may be looked at decades from now by children, grandchildren, partners, and friends. A portrait has the ability to become part of a family’s history, and that’s a responsibility I never take lightly.
At the beginning of every session, I ask myself one final question.
How do I want this person to feel when they see themselves?
Not while they’re standing in my studio.
Not when they first scroll through their gallery.
But years from now, when they come across that portrait again.
I hope they don’t see perfection.
I hope they see themselves.
I hope they remember who they were, what they loved, and the season of life they were living when that portrait was created.
Because by the time I lift my camera, my work is no longer about taking a photograph.
It’s about recognizing something that has been there all along.
And once that connection has been made, pressing the shutter becomes the easiest part of the process.
The cover portrait for this essay is one of my own. I believe every portrait artist should experience what it feels like to stand on both sides of the camera.
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