Lens & Sensibility: ten years, two worlds, and a camera that saved me

🇪🇸 Puedes leer esta entrada en español aquí.

Ten years have passed since I launched Lens & Sensibility, my third baby, the one that gave me the chance to fully experience my passion for photography.

The turning point: becoming a mother

Truth be told, I never had any artistic talent, beyond writing and the novel sketches I scribbled as a teenager. I've always been passionate about language, especially my own, and my dream was to become a Literature teacher. Life's twists and turns, along with various conditioning (like that of my high school Literature teacher, who told my parents I'd end up unemployed if I followed in her footsteps. Traitor), led me to study Translation and Interpreting first, and then Marketing, while working as a translator and copywriter at a bank.

During my years in Swiss private banking, I remember one of my managers writing in my dreaded annual review that I was a very creative person. It was the first time anyone had told me something like that and, although nothing changed in that moment, the comment resonated deeply and stayed hidden in some corner of my mind.

When I got pregnant with Inés, a much-wanted pregnancy that was difficult to achieve, the opportunity came up to work at university as a translation lecturer. At the time, I held a senior marketing position that, although I loved it, came with a frantic, stressful pace that didn't fit well with the mom life I had imagined.

Deciding to leave my great job at the bank took months of reflection, pros-and-cons lists, endless conversations with family and friends, and a good dose of courage. In the end, I resigned during my maternity leave, took the chance to extend it a few more months, and started working as a lecturer at the university when Inés was eight months old.

When I think back to that time, I remember having a kind of fog in my head, probably from the lack of sleep and the difficulty of keeping up with a new job while doing everything I could to survive every virus Inés picked up at daycare.

The loss of my father

I survived the first academic year, but during the end-of-year lunch with my colleagues, my mother called to tell me they had found a tumor in my father's lung. Stage IV cancer. A couple of internet searches made it clear there was nothing to be done and that it was only a matter of months. Those months passed far too quickly, and we only had time to spend Christmas with him, tethered to his oxygen tank. Inés had just turned one.

The year that followed was strange. Anyone who has grieved someone that close will understand when I say that life goes on, that in a way I was relieved not to see him suffer anymore, and at the same time, the pain is sharp — it catches you when you least expect it: on a trip with friends, at a work dinner… And then there are all the dates: his first birthday without him, the first Christmas without him, and the sadness of knowing your daughter won't remember him.

I was sad. And far from my family.

Discovering photography

That's when — I honestly can't remember how — my first reflex camera fell into my hands. I had always loved photos; I have countless albums from my childhood and teenage years, and I used to spend entire mornings looking at my parents' wedding photos, but I knew absolutely nothing about photography.

It was love at first sight with that camera, though mixed with a bit of a love-hate feeling from not knowing how to use it. What I noticed right away was that it gave me a lot of peace to forget my sadness and focus instead on the beauty around me: my daughter Inés, Switzerland's stunning landscapes, our travels…

Photography became an obsession. I started following every online class I could find; I learned from other photographers' tips on Instagram (what a beautiful community we built back then); I carried my camera everywhere. When I look at the photos from that period now, I feel so much tenderness, because honestly they're pretty bad — but I'm proud that I learned something from scratch, on my own, with no goal in mind other than enjoying it.

Three years went by and I was just as passionate. I went from course to course, posted my photos on Instagram, always nervous and hopeful about whether people would like them. When a professional photographer praised one of my photos, I'd be over the moon.

From hobby to profession

Then I got pregnant with Théo — another pregnancy that took its time, largely because after my father's death I was too overwhelmed to think about having another child, so we decided to wait (which, depending on your age, isn't necessarily a great idea, but it is what it is). That pregnancy gave me wings: I was bursting with inspiration, energy, and more courage than usual. Around that time, some of my photos were selected in photography contests, everyone kept telling me I should pursue photography professionally, and — most importantly — I was still just as passionate, if not more so, than when I first picked up the camera.

So, near the end of that pregnancy, I decided I wanted to try launching myself as a professional photographer. I was thrilled but also terrified: a translator and translation lecturer suddenly becoming a photographer; I felt the fear of what people would say and complete impostor syndrome.

Even so, that pregnancy with Théo made me unstoppable: I spent hours and hours searching for a name for my little photography business until I landed on Lens and Sensibility — which couldn't have suited me better, with its nod to Jane Austen's novel, the wordplay, and the sensitivity I feel defines my photography style. I started organizing everything to begin shooting professionally during my maternity leave.

First steps as a photographer

Two weeks after my C-section, I was shooting Théo's newborn session with help from my photographer friend Phil Maly. Four weeks after giving birth, I had my first family photo session, with my friends Alex and Barbara. When Théo was six months old, I took the whole family to Florida for a mentorship with a photographer I admired, Twyla Jones. I kept going like that for a while, learning and doing free sessions for friends and acquaintances to build a portfolio that included more than just my own kids. During Théo's naps, I suffered with WordPress to build my website, and I started a blog to share my experiences as a mom and my love of photography.

Looking back with the perspective these past ten years — and everything I've lived through — have given me, I can now see it was a crazy life and I was exhausting myself. But I was so excited that I kept finding energy from nowhere, determined to make my dreams come true.

Once the website was ready and I had a solid enough portfolio, I started posting ads in mom groups, introducing myself and offering maternity, newborn, and family photography sessions at reasonable prices. I wonder if that strategy would even work today, but back then quite a few moms reached out, and that's how I started booking paid sessions.

Collaborations and growth

At the same time, my Instagram account kept gaining followers, and the blog began catching the interest of some children's brands in Switzerland and Spain (Petit Stellou, My Little Room, Minimalisma, Benjie, Lasticot, Stadtlandkind…). I started collaborating with them on children's fashion, home decor, and toy photography projects. Many of those brands are run by inspiring women entrepreneurs who have since become friends. Thanks to them, I have wonderful photos of my kids from over the years, and thanks to them too, I probably gained a level of visibility I never would have reached by photographing families alone.

The years went by and my motivation never dipped. Every year brought more clients, families, and brands; my mind was constantly buzzing with ideas — mini sessions, multi-brand collaborations, photography classes… Whatever I dreamed up, I made happen.

Opening my own studio

The biggest step for my small business came three years ago, when I decided to open a studio in my home. Until then, all my sessions had taken place outdoors or at clients' homes. But I felt I needed a space decorated to my own taste, where I could welcome clients without them having to worry about tidying their house before a session — especially for maternity and newborn sessions.

At first, I looked into renting a studio, but the spaces I found were dreary and lacked the natural light I love to work with. That's how I came to the conclusion that I already had the perfect space — in my own home. I talked it over with Philippe, who has always supported my crazy ideas, and I set out to create a space that would represent me and radiate total calm.

I had no idea whether it would work: it's not a huge space, and my house is in a village on the outskirts of Geneva… I worried that people wouldn't come, or that they'd be disappointed once they saw it. And yet, from the very first moment, it was a complete success. Families traveled from Geneva, Lausanne, and even farther cities; the studio turned out to be versatile enough to let me create a wide variety of sessions, and most families upgraded their packages to keep all the photos from our sessions.

In 2023 and 2024, I'd dare say I had built a successful, profitable photography business — all without giving up my job at the university or raising my two kids.

Life's setbacks

And then life stopped me in my tracks. In late 2022, I'd had a benign tumor in my breast, removed in a minor operation that, in theory, wasn't supposed to cause any future problems. A year later, my breast was dotted with small lumps. It was the same benign tumor as before. The problem was that it's not a well-known type of tumor; there's very little research on it, and given how it had spread, no one could guarantee it wouldn't turn malignant. My doctors recommended a preventive mastectomy.

The shock was brutal. I experienced the whole thing as a huge injustice, and I struggled deeply with the idea of removing a breast preventively. But after going back and forth and weighing the pros and cons, we decided to go ahead with the surgery, which meant a strict two-month pause.

Luckily, everything went well, and suddenly I found myself at home, alone, with absolutely nothing to do but rest and recover. Going from the frantic pace of university and photography, working every weekend, never letting my mind rest (it was always buzzing) to being immobilized with so much empty time ahead was an incredibly hard experience. I realized I was completely exhausted, on the verge of full burnout, and that keeping up that pace long-term was simply impossible.

Those months were a nightmare and, at the same time, a gift from life. Through therapy, meditation, and exercise, I understood a lot of things — above all, that life isn't just about work, and that I needed to make a change.

Ten years later

Over the past two years, Lens & Sensibility has kept bringing me so much joy. I've continued to enjoy photography, but with a much healthier handle on my energy. I started improving my processes, saying no to projects that didn't excite me, setting aside weekends for my family and myself, camera-free — and I arrive at Lens & Sensibility's 10th anniversary feeling calm, grateful, and fulfilled. I've found out that I've photographed more than 100 families. And if I factor in that I've photographed many of them year after year, the total number of sessions I've shot over these ten years is insane.

Thank you for being here

Thank you so much for reading my story, and for being by my side — whether from the very beginning or just recently. I hope we can keep enjoying photography together for many more years to come.