Irine

More please.

As I crossed the mountains that separate the great sprawl from the San Fernando Valley, slowly, almost imperceptibly, the thick white air and sky became gradually more transparent, as pixels of blue appeared, light, solid green leaves giving way to dappled, and the sunshine finally appearing.

I was photographing a Russian Jewish family following a referral of a friend of mine. And mother of two, with a noble career as an Occupational Therapist, Irine, is one of the most unconsciously beautiful woman I've ever met. I love here how the leaves become almost a part of the dress and it's one of my favourite images of beauty, ever. Isn't that a wonderful thing about portraiture, that I can stare, unabashedly and study the features that come together so symmetrically to create beauty, without it being rude. Funny. Her doting husband of 12 years, high school sweethearts, their stunning boys, E and A, the uncle, and both sets of grandparents. Oh to be able to have that experience of immediate family living close by! I've had the pleasure now of photographing a few Jewish families this year, all great practice for our neighbours who have entrusted me to photograph their son's Bar Mitzvah next month, my first, days after my first wedding. Is it not a gorgeous compliment at any shoot when you are the one to whom they are referring to as "the professional" as they turn for advice on where best to shoot. I may look around for that person, but at that precise moment, it's me. All the time I'm learning what I most love and which I guess is evidenced in everything I've done this Spring: a sprinkling of light from a background of grass, trees and flowers and images which are pretty. And to spare you the challenge of imagining how beautiful the children of such a union would be, come and see them here.

I shot for just an hour, maybe 700 images, had terrible camera failure during these rose shots (OMG), and 2 CF card errors, so I'm guessing my 40D needs a bit of TLC. It's done a lot of mileage for sure in the last year since it first hit the road with me.

Then, back in my car, U2's No Line on the Horizon boomed out and I sang my sweet heart out, and as I approached the Santa Monica Mountains which separate the LA basin and The Valley, and I could see the brownish haze ahead of me, the bright gorgeous sun and blue skies gradually disipating, pixel by pixel, invaded by the purple-white haze, until the last speck of sunshine was gone for good.