On new equipment, the beauty of separation, and the small changes that shape how we see.

There’s a particular feeling I’ve been chasing in my photographs. Something about the way a person can exist within a frame while the rest of the world seems to soften around them. A little more depth. A little more intimacy. The ability to take an ordinary moment and give it the visual weight it deserves.

I think I’ve found another piece of that puzzle.

Recently, I added the Fujifilm XF 56mm f/1.2 R WR to my camera bag, pairing it with my Fujifilm X-T5. And almost immediately, I understood what I’d been missing.

A Different Way of Seeing

Most of my documentary work has been photographed with wider lenses, particularly my 18mm and 23mm. I love what those focal lengths allow me to do.

They let me step into a family’s world. They preserve the environment, the movement, the relationships between people and the spaces they inhabit. The toys scattered across the floor, the morning light coming through the kitchen, the little details that make a home recognizable years later.

Those details matter to me. They’re part of the story.

But sometimes, I want to tell a smaller story within the larger one.

A child’s expression. The way a mother’s hand rests against her baby’s cheek. A quiet glance exchanged between two people.

The 56mm gives me a different way to approach those moments.

The Beauty of Separation

One of the first things I noticed was the depth.

At f/1.2, the lens can produce a beautifully shallow depth of field, allowing my subject to stand apart from the background without losing the atmosphere of the photograph.

It’s not simply about making everything behind someone blurry. It’s about directing attention.

I love photographs that feel dimensional, almost as though you could reach into the frame. Images where light, shadow, texture, and focus work together to create a sense of presence.

The 56mm brings me closer to that aesthetic.

There’s also something wonderful about the perspective of a short telephoto lens. Faces feel natural, backgrounds become more concentrated, and an otherwise busy environment can become a quiet composition.

For the kind of portraiture I’m drawn to, that’s exciting.

Documentary Photography Doesn’t Have to Be Wide

One of the things I appreciate most about documentary family photography is that it doesn’t have to follow a single visual formula.

Sometimes the story needs the entire room.

Sometimes it needs only a face.

My wider lenses will always have an important place in my work. They’re essential for photographing families interacting naturally, especially in the unpredictable environments of real homes.

But the 56mm allows me to be more selective about what I include in the frame.

Rather than replacing the documentary approach, it expands it.

I can photograph the beautiful chaos of childhood and then turn my attention toward a single, fleeting expression.

Both images belong to the same story.

Finding the Look of Paper Windows

As Paper Windows Photography continues to develop, I’ve been thinking a lot about what makes an image feel like mine.

I’m drawn to rich shadows, dimensional light, honest color, and photographs that feel nostalgic without looking artificially aged.

I want the images to have substance. I want them to feel like memories, but with all the beautiful detail and imperfection of real life intact.

Equipment alone doesn’t create that.

But the right tools can make it easier to translate what you see in your mind into the photograph in front of you.

The 56mm feels like one of those tools.

What’s Next

I’m especially excited to explore this lens in my motherhood, childhood, newborn, and portrait sessions.

I can already see how it will complement the wider documentary images I love making, introducing moments of stillness and intimacy into the larger narrative.

And perhaps that’s what excites me most about photography: the feeling that there’s always another way to see something familiar.

Sometimes it takes a new perspective to recognize what you’ve been looking for all along.

— Paper Windows Photography