“Senior sessions” aren’t something I photograph very often.

When I got the chance to do a senior session in Cleveland, I decided to treat it like I do most of my portraits: keep things simple, look for good light, and make photos that really capture the person in front of me.

We booked a studio for an hour and a half.

The studio had lots of windows, great natural light, and enough variety that I knew we wouldn’t need anything else.

There was just one small problem.

My client apparently didn’t get the memo that this was a “senior portrait” session.

He showed up in shorts, Birkenstocks, and an Ohio State shirt his girlfriend, Anna, gave him.

No second outfit.

No carefully planned wardrobe.

No backup options.

That was it.

And honestly, I should have expected nothing different.

Crepes Before Portraits

Before heading to the studio, we stopped at West Side Market.

The morning began with one of his favorites: a strawberry Nutella crepe.

We weren’t in a hurry. The session was short, and I didn’t have a long list of shots to get. I wanted the morning to feel relaxed.

After breakfast, we headed to the studio.

He had just turned 17 a week ago and will graduate next May, so this technically counted as a “senior session.”

But nothing about it felt like a typical “senior session.”

No props announced the Class of 2027. No cap and gown. No collection of outfits hanging in the corner.

Just a 17-year-old in an OSU shirt, shorts, and Birkenstocks standing in front of some really beautiful window light.

That was enough.

Finding the Look

When we arrived at the studio, I followed the usual steps I take with any client.

I started by taking a few test shots.

Before thinking about poses or moving around, I wanted to check how the light fell on him and how the colors worked together.

We looked at the first few photos together and picked a color palette we both liked.

I’ve always liked doing this early in a session.

Rather than waiting until I’m in Lightroom days later to decide on the mood, I prefer setting some direction while we’re shooting.

Once we settled on it, we kept going.

We used natural light.

The backgrounds were simple.

Nothing was especially complicated.

Then something unexpected happened.

He was actually enjoying it.

I Thought I Only Had 20 Minutes

Before the session started, I doubted I’d actually get the full hour and a half.

I thought I’d only have a short amount of time before he lost interest.

I planned to take a few portraits.

Then I’d move him closer to another window.

Maybe I’d catch a different expression.

Eventually, I expected to see that look every photographer recognizes—the one that means the session is over, even if no one says it out loud.

But that moment never came.

He followed my directions and let me move him around the studio. We tried out different spots and kept taking photos.

At some point, I stopped thinking about when he might want to finish.

We were simply making portraits together.

And I genuinely enjoyed the experience.

The Clothes Were Actually Perfect

Photographers talk a lot about wardrobe.

I talk about it too.

What someone wears can change how colors look in a photo. It also sets the mood. The right outfit can match the setting or clash with it.

There are lots of reasons to think about what to wear before a portrait session.

But looking through these photographs, I wouldn’t change what he wore.

Especially the Ohio State shirt.

His girlfriend gave it to him.

That small detail might not matter to someone looking at these photos today.

But photographs aren’t only for today.

Years from now, that shirt will still have a story attached to it.

The shorts will probably make him laugh.

Maybe even the Birkenstocks will.

Instead of seeing a version of himself dressed up just for 'senior pictures,' he’ll see how he really looked at 17.

I think there’s value in that.

The Photograph Before These Photographs

There’s something about this session I haven’t shared yet.

A few years back, not long after I got my Fujifilm X-T5, I took one of my first portraits with it.

It was a simple shot.

Black and white, with window light, taken in a bedroom.

There was no studio, no big setup, and really no reason to take the photo except that I had a new camera and someone willing to sit for a few shots.

I’ve held onto that photo ever since.

When it was time to plan this senior session, that’s the photo I sent him.

That became the idea for our shoot.

It wasn’t about recreating it exactly. I just wanted to see what would happen if we started with the same idea a few years later: simple light, a simple portrait, and nothing to distract from the person in the frame.

But there was something else about that old photo.

The person looking back at me in that photo was clearly younger.

Now, the person I was about to photograph in Cleveland had just turned 17.

Same photographer.

Same camera.

Same person.

Just a few years between the photos.

But there’s one detail I haven’t mentioned until now.

My client was my son.

That bedroom photo was one of the first portraits I took of him with my X-T5.

Now, a few years later, I was using that same camera to take his senior portraits.

Julian at Seventeen

That changes these photographs for me.

For years, I’ve photographed other people’s faces. I look for expressions, watch how someone reacts to light, and notice those small moments when they forget about the camera.

Photographing my own son was a different experience.

Sometimes, when I checked the camera, I didn’t see the same kid I’m used to.

I saw a 17-year-old.

Someone who graduates next May.

Someone who is almost ready for whatever comes next.

As a parent, you expect to see your child every day, or at least often enough that the changes are easy to miss. But for us, it’s different. He lives in Ohio, and I’m in Virginia, so distance and time separate our visits. Yet, even though we don’t see each other every day, we’re still close. Growing up still happens little by little, but sometimes the distance makes those changes stand out even more.

But photography has a strange way of breaking that pattern.

It freezes a moment so you can really see someone.

That morning, looking through the viewfinder, I saw my son in a new way.

It wasn’t because I suddenly became objective. I’m his dad, so that’s impossible.

But for an hour and a half, I photographed him just like I’ve photographed so many others.

I watched the light.

I gave him directions.

We looked at photographs together.

We picked our colors.

I pressed the shutter.

Somewhere in that process, I realized I was capturing a version of him that won’t be here for long.

Seventeen.

“Senior year”.

Shorts and Birkenstocks.

An Ohio State shirt from Anna.

A strawberry Nutella crepe before the shoot.

And, to my surprise, he didn’t complain at all about me pointing a camera at him for so long.

One of the first portraits I took with my X-T5 was of him.

Years later, I used that same camera for his senior portraits.

The photo I sent him as an idea ended up starting the session itself.

I didn’t know exactly where it would go.

But those are usually my favorite kinds of ideas.

Of all the people I’ve photographed over the years, I’m especially grateful I got to photograph him. Despite the miles between us, moments like these remind me just how close we really are.

Andrew