The Lens of Beginnings

Some moments in life don’t seem significant at the time, but looking back, you realize they shaped everything. For me, photography was always there, even before I understood its impact. I was drawn to it before I could explain why—before I even knew what a career was.

I still remember the first time I stepped into Still Images Photography as a child. The flash of the lights. The click of the shutter. The way the photographers worked behind the camera, controlling the scene like artists at an easel. It was mesmerizing.

At home, I wanted to be just like them. My upstairs playroom became my first studio. I lined up my stuffed animals, posing them as if they were real clients. I imagined families coming in, smiling, laughing, creating memories that would last forever—just like the portraits my own family had taken when I was young. It didn’t matter that my camera was imaginary. The dream was already taking shape.

In sixth grade, everything shifted. That Christmas, I unwrapped a gift that would change the course of my life—a DSLR camera. My very own.

Well, technically, I found out about it a little early. My brother discovered it hidden in my parents’ room, forcing my mom to break the news. That moment was a double revelation. Not only was I getting my first real camera, but I also learned Santa wasn’t exactly real. A tough moment for any kid, but the excitement of the camera outweighed everything else.

It was a $500 camera, but to me, it was priceless. I wasted no time. I needed a name, a brand. And what else would I call it but Dawson Images Photography? At that point, I thought all photographers followed the same naming pattern because Still Images Photography was the only studio I knew. That name was my only reference, my guiding star.

My brother was the athlete in the family. I was not. But I still wanted to be part of his world, to belong. So I did the next best thing—I photographed his travel baseball team.

That’s where I found my place. I might not have been out on the field, but I was there—capturing every moment, every win, every loss, every celebration. I was the team photographer.

Over time, I improved. My photos weren’t great at first—I mean, I was 12 years old, using a beginner camera—but I pushed forward, learning, upgrading my gear little by little. Eventually, I became the go-to photographer for the entire team. Years later, I would photograph every single one of those boys’ senior portraits. That baseball team wasn’t just a job; it became a family of people who supported

me long after the games were over.

One of the baseball moms had a baby, and she asked me to photograph the newborn session. I said yes, not knowing what I was getting into.

Newborns don’t pose. They don’t follow directions. They don’t look at the camera when you need them to. I quickly realized that while I loved photography, newborns weren’t my thing. But something about that session hooked me—not the subject matter, but the feeling of delivering a portrait that someone truly cherished.

Not long after, I entered some of my images into a local art show. That’s when I met Tracy, a headshot photographer from Atlanta who was one of the judges. She noticed my work, and I was thrilled. Someone in the industry—a professional—thought my photos were worth something.

She brought me into her studio and taught me everything she could about camera settings, lighting, and the technical side of photography. It was a whole new world, and I soaked up every bit of knowledge she shared.

Another person who shaped my journey was Pam, my eighth-grade English teacher. She had a passion for photography, and one day, she invited me to second-shoot a wedding with her. That experience changed how I saw photography. Pam had a way of storytelling—she captured details that mattered, like the stained-glass windows in

the church because she knew they held meaning for the bride. She showed me that photography wasn’t just about taking pictures; it was about telling stories.

As high school ended, I thought photography would just be something I did on the side. My original plan was agricultural sales or finance—a safe career, a steady path. But then, something unexpected happened.

I started college at ABAC, and suddenly, my photography business exploded. Five to six sessions every weekend. Clients were pouring in. I was making money. Real money.

Photography had become more than a passion. It was my career.

But the success came with a cost. The workload overwhelmed me. The stress triggered my mental health struggles. Some days, I would drive to class, sit in my car, and not be able to bring myself to walk inside. The pressure of balancing school, business, and life was crushing. I didn’t know how to handle it. It caused me to express my anger issues and take it out on my family, the ones closest to me.

Things shifted one day in the ABAC chapel. I was sitting in a talk, listening to a speaker give advice on life and career, and something he said stuck with me:

“If you’re good enough, you’re old enough.”

That phrase changed my mindset. I had been waiting—waiting to be older, waiting to be more experienced, waiting for permission. But I didn’t have to wait. I was good enough now.

From that moment on, I leaned into photography with full confidence.

That’s when I discovered Kira Derryberry and Mary Fisk-Taylor and their podcast, Get Your Shoot Together. Their advice radically changed my business. They weren’t just talking about photography; they were talking about how to build a sustainable career, how to love your clients well, how to create an experience that mattered.

Then, I met them in person at Professional Photographers of America (PPA) Imaging USA. I was so excited to see them in real life that I’m pretty sure they thought I was a stalker. But they were incredibly kind, and meeting them felt surreal—a full-circle moment where my mentors became real-life connections.

From there, I kept pushing forward, learning from Gregory Daniel, a luxury portrait artist in Florida. He taught me the art of running a high-end business—how to market, how to sell, how to give clients an experience and product unlike any other.

This is only the beginning. The next chapter of my business is unfolding, and I can’t wait to see where it leads.

Looking back, I see it all so clearly. Every moment, every mentor, every challenge—it was all leading here. Photography found me when I was just a kid playing in my upstairs studio. And now, it’s my life.

And that? That feels like a God thing.