Abigail Tandy Maye Stout
May 2005
It's been just over two years since I started this little photography business and I'll be the first to say there have been quite a few hard learned lessons along the way, but none so much as the ones taught to me by a little girl named Abi.
It was May 2005 when my girlfriend Leah called me from the Montessori school where she works to ask me to take some pictures of the kids for an end-of-the-school-year project they were working on for their parents. At the time photography was simply something I enjoyed doing and was good at. I thought it would be fun so I agreed. Despite not knowing what the heck I was doing, I had a great time setting the kids up in the garden and snapping a handful of shots of each of them. I made a 4x6 print of one picture of each kid and passed them on to Leah. I didn't think too much about those pictures after that, except for one day later that summer when I was cleaning up my hard drive and deleted all of them, thinking to myself "Why would I ever need these again?"
By the following winter I had started doing photo shoots for pay and was working hard to get my business rolling. It was January when I received another phone call from Leah who called to ask if I still had the digital files of the pictures I took of the kids the previous spring. I couldn't imagine why she would need them until she told me that Abi, one of the little girls whose picture I had taken, had died in a tragic accident over the weekend. The picture I had taken of her was a favorite of her parents and they wanted to use it for her obituary and memorial service and they needed a better original file to work with than the 4x6 print. I was certain I had deleted the files but said I would scour my hard drive for them, just in case.
The conversation left me stunned and hurting for Abi's parents, for my friend, and for all the children at the Montessori who lost their little friend. I wanted so much to be able to help her parents. I wanted even more to be able to give them all of the other photos I had taken of their little girl that they had never seen that I had so naively disposed of. Mostly I was angry and screaming inside, "This is wrong. This is NOT why I take pictures of children."
I'd taken pictures of so many children in rapid succession that day that it wasn't until I saw the picture I had taken of Abi in the newspaper that I was able to recall her face. I felt horrible when I read her father's words in the article describing how unique his little girl was, how everyone she ever met was touched by her presence. "How can I possibly not remember this child whose picture I took?" I berated myself. I didn't realize it yet, but his words would eventually ring true for me too.
I'm amazed by the way one picture capturing a single moment in a person's life can be so powerful to the life of another. I only have a horrible scanned copy of it now but this single photograph of Abi has shaped my career as a photographer more than any other I've taken. Of course now I keep an archive of every image I create during a photo shoot but it goes far beyond this. When I saw this photo again for the first time after her death, the first thing I thought was "It's not really a very good picture- I wish I had done better." But when I mentioned this to people who really knew Abi, they said "No, Sandi... it's perfect. It's Abi."
What I didn't understand at that time is the most poignant lesson I learned from the loss of Abi Stout: as a photographer I will never view the images I create of my clients with the same eyes as those of that person's loved ones. It is because of this that I am careful about which images I delete (and it is the reason why my clients receive so many images from one shoot!) As much as I want to and as hard as I try, I just can't know for sure which picture is going to capture the expression that melts your heart or brings tears to your eyes. This is the reason I advocate an ongoing relationship with my clients- the more familiarity there is between us, the better able I'll be at anticipating your facial expressions and thus capturing the essence of your family and children. As I always say, anyone can take a picture of what you look like. My goal is to create pictures of who you are.
It's been two years today since the world lost little Abi Stout and my thoughts have been with her parents all day. I got the chance to meet and work with Karen and JB a couple of months ago when I offered to do a newborn shoot with them and their new baby girl, Aurora. I was nervous as heck going into this experience but it was absolutely wonderful to talk to them about Abi and I remain so thankful for the opportunity to be able to express to them what their little girl meant to me. Seeing this photo of Abi framed and displayed in their home is an experience I'll never forget.
Thank you, Karen and JB for welcoming me into your home and sharing your world with me. Yours really was the most emotional photo shoot I have ever done and I am a better person for it. I think you are both truly incredible people and Aurora is so fortunate to have you for parents. I wish the three of you a long lifetime of smiles : )
It was May 2005 when my girlfriend Leah called me from the Montessori school where she works to ask me to take some pictures of the kids for an end-of-the-school-year project they were working on for their parents. At the time photography was simply something I enjoyed doing and was good at. I thought it would be fun so I agreed. Despite not knowing what the heck I was doing, I had a great time setting the kids up in the garden and snapping a handful of shots of each of them. I made a 4x6 print of one picture of each kid and passed them on to Leah. I didn't think too much about those pictures after that, except for one day later that summer when I was cleaning up my hard drive and deleted all of them, thinking to myself "Why would I ever need these again?"
By the following winter I had started doing photo shoots for pay and was working hard to get my business rolling. It was January when I received another phone call from Leah who called to ask if I still had the digital files of the pictures I took of the kids the previous spring. I couldn't imagine why she would need them until she told me that Abi, one of the little girls whose picture I had taken, had died in a tragic accident over the weekend. The picture I had taken of her was a favorite of her parents and they wanted to use it for her obituary and memorial service and they needed a better original file to work with than the 4x6 print. I was certain I had deleted the files but said I would scour my hard drive for them, just in case.
The conversation left me stunned and hurting for Abi's parents, for my friend, and for all the children at the Montessori who lost their little friend. I wanted so much to be able to help her parents. I wanted even more to be able to give them all of the other photos I had taken of their little girl that they had never seen that I had so naively disposed of. Mostly I was angry and screaming inside, "This is wrong. This is NOT why I take pictures of children."
I'd taken pictures of so many children in rapid succession that day that it wasn't until I saw the picture I had taken of Abi in the newspaper that I was able to recall her face. I felt horrible when I read her father's words in the article describing how unique his little girl was, how everyone she ever met was touched by her presence. "How can I possibly not remember this child whose picture I took?" I berated myself. I didn't realize it yet, but his words would eventually ring true for me too.
I'm amazed by the way one picture capturing a single moment in a person's life can be so powerful to the life of another. I only have a horrible scanned copy of it now but this single photograph of Abi has shaped my career as a photographer more than any other I've taken. Of course now I keep an archive of every image I create during a photo shoot but it goes far beyond this. When I saw this photo again for the first time after her death, the first thing I thought was "It's not really a very good picture- I wish I had done better." But when I mentioned this to people who really knew Abi, they said "No, Sandi... it's perfect. It's Abi."
What I didn't understand at that time is the most poignant lesson I learned from the loss of Abi Stout: as a photographer I will never view the images I create of my clients with the same eyes as those of that person's loved ones. It is because of this that I am careful about which images I delete (and it is the reason why my clients receive so many images from one shoot!) As much as I want to and as hard as I try, I just can't know for sure which picture is going to capture the expression that melts your heart or brings tears to your eyes. This is the reason I advocate an ongoing relationship with my clients- the more familiarity there is between us, the better able I'll be at anticipating your facial expressions and thus capturing the essence of your family and children. As I always say, anyone can take a picture of what you look like. My goal is to create pictures of who you are.
It's been two years today since the world lost little Abi Stout and my thoughts have been with her parents all day. I got the chance to meet and work with Karen and JB a couple of months ago when I offered to do a newborn shoot with them and their new baby girl, Aurora. I was nervous as heck going into this experience but it was absolutely wonderful to talk to them about Abi and I remain so thankful for the opportunity to be able to express to them what their little girl meant to me. Seeing this photo of Abi framed and displayed in their home is an experience I'll never forget.
Thank you, Karen and JB for welcoming me into your home and sharing your world with me. Yours really was the most emotional photo shoot I have ever done and I am a better person for it. I think you are both truly incredible people and Aurora is so fortunate to have you for parents. I wish the three of you a long lifetime of smiles : )
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