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The abbreviated version:

Camille is a New York-based photographer working in analog film & digital mediums.

Her work is characterized by its warmth, tenderness, and painterly richness. She specializes in fine-art, documentary-style weddings & emotional imagery for brands with heart. She would be tickled pink to work with you.

The lengthy version:

Hi, and welcome. The story starts in one particular cabinet of my parents' home, which is to say, it starts in my childhood. In that cabinet resided boxes upon boxes of print photographs. Some were from a few years prior (I remember the quizzical feeling I'd get as a young child witnessing how I'd grown), but many dated back to my parents' childhoods, my grandparents' weddings, my great-grandparents' hazy summer afternoons in South Louisiana. In my own hazy summers in the very same place, a generation or three later, I'd let hours fly by huddled over these boxes, devouring them.

What enamored me so thoroughly about these images were two elements, and each foreshadowed the path I would ultimately follow. The first was the ineffable magic of the film photographs from the 40s, 50s, 60s, and on. There was a quality to them that gave the sense that the image was stuck right in that moment; that the camera not only documented, but somehow enhanced the memory. (Spoiler: my primary camera is a Hasselblad from the 1960s.)

 

The second was a feeling that has come to inform everything I do as a photographer. As I pored over photo after photo— many the "throw-away" images that never got framed— I began to understand both my ancestors and myself as something real. My aunt floating on her back in a swimming pool in the 60s. A distant cousin in the 70s running to catch a school bus. My Daddy in the 80s eating a bowl of cereal, jeans rolled up, feet in the pool. The photo my mom snuck of me before my fourth birthday party, clandestinely stealing a finger of icing from the cake in the laundry room. All of these photos tell the same story— one of beauty in mundanity, one of people seeking gladness in one form or another, one of deep tenderness.

 

A few years later, I got my first film camera. It followed me into the passenger seat of first dates, to school dances, to midnight drives through my hometown blaring Lover's Spit. When my beloved brother Joseph died to cancer in 2015 (I was 17 at the time with a camera as my safety blanket), I learned with acute intensity the everlasting treasure it is to make photos of our loved ones— not just posed for party pics, but in the creative embrace of the thing they love...when they belly laugh, or dance, or make a silly face, or even when they cry. This human experience we're gifted is one of vast multitudes, and each have merit in their own right. Thus, photographing my life was how I metabolized both the romance and the grief of those years. It was a way of carving out a space for beauty. More than a decade later, these continue to be true.

 

Through a cocktail of magic and luck, this documentation eventually evolved into my career. And now here I am, making photographs the best and truest way I know how— with tenderness at heart, and in honor of the photographs that made me the photographer I am.

Thank you so much for reading. It would be my delight to create with you.

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