What a Quiet Film Reminded Me About Time, Childhood, and Photography

I watched a film recently that stayed with me long after the screen went dark. Not because it was dramatic or loud — but because it was honest. The kind of honest that feels almost uncomfortable at first. About time passing whether we’re ready or not. About building a life moment by moment, only to realize later how much of it has already slipped quietly into memory.

The film was Train Dreams.

And it didn’t try to impress me. It simply observed.

Some stories don’t rush to explain themselves. They don’t tell you what to feel. They allow moments to exist — small, ordinary moments — and trust that their weight will be understood later. That’s what this film did. And somewhere in its stillness, it reminded me exactly why I photograph childhood the way I do.

Time Doesn’t Announce Itself

Time rarely warns us when something is about to become memory.Childhood feels endless when you’re inside it. Days blur together. Seasons come and go. A dress is worn again and again until one day it suddenly doesn’t fit. A hand reaches for yours without thinking — until one day it doesn’t.

There is no moment where life pauses and says, this matters.

You only realize it later.

That quiet truth is what stayed with me after watching this film. And it’s the same truth I carry with me every time I photograph a child or a family.

Why I Photograph Gently

I don’t photograph childhood to make it bigger than it is.

I photograph it because it is already enough.

I’m drawn to the in-between moments — the pause, the softness, the way children move when they aren’t being asked to perform. I don’t need perfection or forced smiles. I need honesty. Because honesty is what survives time.

Some of the most meaningful photographs are the ones that feel almost too simple at first glance. A child holding a balloon. A sibling leaning into another without realizing it. A mother standing still while everything around her moves.

These are not dramatic moments.

They are real ones.

And real moments are the ones we miss the most later.

Photographing for the Future You

There’s something the film reminded me of very clearly: we don’t document life to preserve it exactly as it was. We document it because memory fades. Because the details soften. Because one day, what feels ordinary now will feel impossibly distant.

Photography doesn’t stop time.

It simply witnesses it.

When I photograph children, I’m thinking about the future version of you — the one who will look back and remember not just how your child looked, but who they were. Their spirit. Their softness. Their way of being in the world at that exact moment.

That’s why I don’t chase trends.

That’s why I don’t rush sessions.

That’s why I photograph childhood like a story that deserves to be told quietly and honestly.

Some Stories Only Ask to Be Witnessed

Train Dreams didn’t try to convince me of anything. It trusted the viewer to sit with what was shown. To feel the weight of time without being told what it meant.

Childhood asks for the same respect.

Some stories don’t shout to be remembered.

They simply ask to be witnessed.

That’s how childhood feels to me.

And that’s why I photograph it gently.

When you’re ready to preserve the ordinary — I’m here.

Dee
Shooting Star Photography
Serving Philadelphia, Mainline, Northern Delaware, and all of Southern New Jersey.