The Woman in the Photograph
NAPERVILLE - WHEATON - GLEN ELLYN - ELMHURST - GENEVA - ST. CHARLES - BARRINGTON - BARTLETT PHOTOGRAPHER
“What Remains” by Alicia Staley Johnson
Happy Sunday my friend!
This week didn't unfold quite the way we had planned.
Every portrait session on the calendar was postponed because of the extreme heat and the poor air quality drifting down from the Canadian wildfires. Normally, I would have spent my week behind the camera, but life had other ideas.
Instead, my days became filled with what we've come to call here at Our Cozy Compound, beautiful interruptions.
I found myself juggling a different type of week.
Doctors appointments with one of my children that is feeling under the weather.
All while entertaining my grandson with every construction truck known to man.
The heat was so intense that even the garden was left to fend for itself for a few days. Thankfully, everything is hanging in there, and I'm hoping for cooler temperatures soon so I can get back outside with my morning coffee and watering can.
We also celebrated one of those tiny milestones that somehow feels so big. My sweet grandson, Easton, started solid foods this week. It's amazing how something as simple as a first bite can remind you just how quickly these little ones grow.
Thankfully, the week also ended on such a joyful note. This weekend we welcomed our dear friends, the D'Agostinos, for dinner. We spent the evening making homemade pasta together, complete with Laura's grandfather's secret Italian sauce (or gravy, depending on who you're asking!). There is something wonderfully therapeutic about gathering around a kitchen island, flour dusting the countertops, sharing stories, and lingering over a meal made with your own hands.
Looking back, the week wasn't what I had planned.
But then again, some of life's most meaningful moments never are.
Somewhere between family, friendship, and a little unexpected quiet, I found myself sitting with a photograph that had more to teach me than I ever imagined.
A few snapshots from some of our perfect daily interruptions.
Soft Focus: The woman in the photograph
The woman in the photograph was unfamiliar to me.
That may sound like an odd thing to say about a photograph of yourself, but it was the only thought I could muster as I stared at the images my husband had taken of me two weeks ago.
We were visiting Portland's beautiful International Rose Test Garden. The light was soft, the roses were in full bloom, and after spending enough years beside me, Dan knows his way around a camera surprisingly well. He captured beautiful photographs.
The photographs weren't the problem.
The woman looking back at me was.
Or perhaps that's not entirely true.
It wasn't disappointment I felt first.
It was disorientation.
For a few quiet moments, I found myself studying the photographs almost as though I were looking at someone I had just met. Not because I didn't recognize my features, but because I didn't recognize the passage of time.
Inside, I don't feel dramatically different than I did ten or fifteen years ago. I still get excited about traveling somewhere new. I still lose track of time wandering through a garden. I still laugh too loudly with my grandsons. I still cry over beautiful music and meaningful books. My curiosity hasn't aged. My heart hasn't aged.
And perhaps that's what catches us off guard.
Our souls move much more slowly than our faces do.
I don't think we talk about this enough.
Perhaps women feel it differently, but I suspect it's true for many of us. We don't want to seem vain or self-absorbed. We want to believe we've made peace with the passage of time. So instead, we quietly carry these thoughts alone.
We catch our reflection in a store window.
Someone tags us in a family photograph.
We open an image on our phone and, for just a moment, wonder...
Is that really what I look like?
Not because we're ugly.
But because the face looking back at us no longer matches the person we've always known ourselves to be.
Just as I was starting to make peace with what I looked like... now this is happening.
That's the heartbreaking part.
Acceptance keeps moving.
You finally make peace with forty.
Then you're fifty.
You make peace with that.
Then, for women, menopause changes everything again.
It's like the finish line keeps moving.
The irony, of course, isn't lost on me.
I have spent more than thirty-two years convincing women they are beautiful.
I've photographed thousands and thousands of them.
I've watched mothers apologize for wrinkles.
Teenagers apologize for acne.
New mothers apologize for stretch marks.
Women in their sixties apologize for the softness beneath their necks.
Almost every person who has stood in front of my camera has pointed out something they wished they could change before I had even lifted my camera.
And every single time, I found myself thinking exactly the same thing.
I wish you could see what I see.
I've silently thought those words thousands of times.
The young woman convinced no one could look past the blemish on her cheek.
The mother who believed pregnancy had somehow made her less beautiful.
The grandmother apologizing before we had even begun because she no longer liked her neck or her hands.
Every one of them was measuring herself by the smallest details while everyone who loved her saw something infinitely larger.
Not once did a child ever look at their mother and wish her forehead were smoother.
Not once did a husband fall in love because of perfect skin.
The people who love us have never loved us that way.
Somewhere along the line, we simply convinced ourselves they did.
Because I never saw the flaw they were apologizing for.
I saw their laugh.
The tenderness in the way they reached for their child's hand.
The kindness in their eyes.
The strength that quietly revealed itself the longer they forgot the camera was there.
I saw an entire life written across a face.
Then, for one brief moment...
I stood on the other side of the camera.
And I couldn't see myself the way I've always seen everyone else.
Perhaps the hardest person I've ever had to learn to photograph with compassion... is myself.
Photography has taught me something over the years.
Photographs tell the truth.
But they don't tell the whole truth.
A camera records light.
It cannot record warmth.
It cannot record wisdom.
It cannot photograph gentleness.
It cannot capture the way my grandsons' faces light up when I walk into the room.
It cannot measure kindness.
It cannot see resilience.
It cannot see the woman who has spent thirty-two years helping other people feel beautiful.
As photographers, we know every photograph is incomplete.
So why, then, do I allow one incomplete photograph to define me?
As I've sat with these feelings this week, I've begun to wonder if my grief isn't really about wrinkles at all.
Wrinkles are simply evidence.
Evidence that time has kept moving while I was busy living.
I wonder if what startled me wasn't the photograph itself.
I wonder if it was the realization that there are fewer photographs ahead of me than there are behind me.
That's a much deeper fear.
It's not vanity.
It's mortality.
Perhaps that's why the photographs hit so hard.
Not because they made me feel less beautiful.
But because they reminded me that life is moving more quickly than my heart can keep up with.
And maybe that's the invitation hidden inside all of this.
Not to spend more time mourning the face that has changed...
But to spend more time living inside the life that still remains.
I still see the wrinkles.
I still notice the softness where there once was firmness.
Sometimes I still grieve the face I used to know.
But I'm beginning to wonder if the woman I've spent my life trying to reveal in everyone else deserves the same kindness from me.
Perhaps beauty was never something I was meant to preserve.
Perhaps it was something I was meant to keep discovering.
*This essay and more can be read on my Our Cozy Compound substack
WHAT I’M LOVING THIS WEEK
Inspiring Follow: @VillaTiezzi
This recommendation may say more about me than I intended...
Every evening while I'm editing photographs, I somehow find myself completely captivated by a YouTube channel called Villa Tiezzi.
Now, if you had told me a few years ago that I would happily spend an hour watching someone jackhammer old concrete off stone walls, clear an overgrown hillside with a weedwhacker, or haul decades' worth of clutter out of an abandoned villa, I probably would have laughed.
And yet... here we are.
The channel follows Steve and Tammy an American couple who purchased an abandoned villa in Tuscany and are slowly, thoughtfully bringing it back to life. There's no manufactured drama or frantic editing—just the satisfying rhythm of hard work, problem-solving, and watching something forgotten become beautiful again.
Maybe that's why I love it so much.
It's peaceful. It's fascinating. And it doesn't demand my full attention while I'm editing, which somehow makes it the perfect evening companion.
Judging by their 62,000+ subscribers, I'm clearly not the only one who finds watching someone spend three hours with a jackhammer strangely relaxing.
If you love Italy, old homes, restoration projects, or simply appreciate a slower pace, I think you'll enjoy this one as much as I do.
What I’m Loving: Mauviel Copper Cookware
I fear I may have developed... a French cookware obsession.
It started innocently enough. A little curiosity. A little admiration. And before I knew it, I was down the rabbit hole of Mauviel copper cookware—the beautiful French cookware that's been handcrafted in Normandy for nearly two centuries.
Now, let's be honest... I am fully aware of the financial commitment involved. In fact, it's a little embarrassing to admit how much I've been admiring pots and pans lately. So, for now, I'm simply dipping my toes into the world of French copper rather than diving in headfirst.
There's just something about the warm glow of polished copper hanging in a kitchen that feels timeless. Functional, yes—but also beautiful enough to leave out on display.
Will I own an entire collection someday?
Let's just say I'm taking it one saucepan at a time.
After all... every great French kitchen has to start somewhere.
Local-ish: CoCo & Blu
I'm always on the hunt for cozy coffee shops, and one of my favorite recent finds is CoCo & Blu in downtown Arlington Heights.
The moment you walk in, it feels like the kind of place that encourages you to linger a little longer. Their mission is to be an extension of your family room—a place to slow down, connect, create, or simply enjoy a quiet break—and they absolutely succeed. CoCo & Blu
The coffee is wonderful, but don't overlook the food. Their Signature Quiche is worth the trip all on its own—but if you're anything like me, pair it with the Lavender Blu: espresso, lavender, blueberry, and steamed milk. It sounded intriguing when I ordered it and was every bit as delicious as I'd hoped.
Whether you're meeting a friend, catching up on a good book, or simply taking a break from a busy week, CoCo & Blu is one of those places that invites you to slow down and stay awhile. If you find yourself in Arlington Heights, I have a feeling you'll love it as much as I do.
12 S Dunton Avenue, Arlington Heights
Studio Happenings
As I've been thinking about photographs this week, I've also found myself thinking about the ones we're creating every day in the studio.
Senior year has a way of feeling endless when you're living it. Classes, practices, college visits, friends, part-time jobs... it all seems like life will always be this full.
And then, almost overnight, it's over.
I've often joked that I'm not really in the photography business—I'm in the business of helping people hold onto time just a little longer.
Every senior who steps in front of my camera is standing on the edge of becoming someone new. There is excitement, uncertainty, confidence, and vulnerability all wrapped into this one remarkable season of life. It's a privilege I never take for granted.
If there's one thing thirty-two years behind the camera has taught me, it's this: someday these photographs won't simply remind you what your son or daughter looked like.
They'll remind you who they were.
The laugh that always escaped between poses.
The confidence they were just beginning to discover.
The dreams they couldn't wait to chase.
Those are the moments I'm really hoping to preserve.
If you have a Class of 2027 senior, I'd be honored to help tell this small but unforgettable chapter of their story.
WHAT I’M LOVING THIS WEEK
This is one of my absolute favorite summer lunches—especially when the garden is overflowing and tomatoes are at their best. Dan and I love making a big bowl of this and eating it for lunch (sometimes two days in a row). If you can get your hands on juicy heirloom tomatoes, it takes this salad from good to truly superb.
Simple Tomato Panzanella (Summer Bread Salad)
There's something magical about this classic Italian summer salad. Juicy, sun-ripened tomatoes, fresh basil from the garden, crusty bread, and creamy mozzarella come together in a simple vinaigrette that tastes like summer on a plate. The secret? Letting the toasted bread soak up all of those wonderful tomato juices.
Ingredients
For the Salad
5 ounces rustic Italian bread (about ½ loaf, ciabatta works beautifully), cut into 1-inch cubes
Extra-virgin olive oil, for drizzling
Kosher salt
2¼ pounds ripe tomatoes (heirloom or vine-ripened are best), cut into wedges or bite-sized chunks
2 small shallots, thinly sliced
½ cup fresh basil leaves, torn
4 ounces fresh mozzarella (baby mozzarella or chopped fresh mozzarella)
For the Dressing
½ cup extra-virgin olive oil
¼ cup red wine vinegar
2 garlic cloves, minced
½ teaspoon Dijon mustard
1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves (optional)
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
Instructions
Toast the Bread
Preheat the oven to 400°F. Toss the bread cubes with a drizzle of olive oil and a pinch of kosher salt. Spread onto a baking sheet and bake for 8–10 minutes, until lightly golden and crisp around the edges. Set aside to cool.
Prepare the Tomatoes
Place a colander over a large mixing bowl. Add the tomatoes to the colander, sprinkle generously with kosher salt, and toss gently. Let them rest for 5–10 minutes so their flavorful juices collect in the bowl below.
Make the Dressing
Remove the colander of tomatoes. To the bowl of reserved tomato juices, whisk together the olive oil, red wine vinegar, garlic, Dijon mustard, thyme (if using), and a few grinds of black pepper until well combined.
Assemble the Salad
Add the tomatoes, toasted bread cubes, shallots, basil, and mozzarella to the bowl with the dressing. Toss gently until everything is evenly coated.
Let It Rest
Allow the salad to sit for 20–30 minutes before serving. This gives the bread time to absorb the flavorful dressing while still maintaining a bit of texture.
Serve
Give the salad one final gentle toss. Taste and adjust with additional salt and pepper if needed. Garnish with a few extra basil leaves and enjoy.
A Few Notes
The better the tomatoes, the better the salad. Summer is the perfect time to splurge on beautiful heirloom tomatoes.
For even better texture, cube the bread a few hours ahead of time and let it dry out before toasting.
Fresh mozzarella is optional, but I think it makes this salad feel just a little more special.
Feel free to add cucumbers, or even in season peaches to add a little wow factor.
with love and light,
Alicia Staley Johnson
of Alicia’s Photography
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