Portrait of Aitalina

A Writer, A Mother, A Moment

I love giving myself little challenges—especially when it comes to portraits. This time, I limited myself to a single lens: the 24mm. Not the first choice for most portrait photographers, I know. It distorts, it demands. But that’s the point. I wanted to see what would happen when the frame stretched wider than comfort and left me nowhere to hide.

So, I visited My Biblioteka, a bookshop and library near Prospect Park in Brooklyn, where my friend Aitalina was working one of her four (!) jobs. She’s a writer from Yakutia, a mother of four, and an immigrant carving out a life in New York City with incredible grace and grit. On this particular day, she had her youngest son with her—calm, curious, quietly orbiting around her as she worked.

We only had a short window. After her shift, we stepped outside and walked a few blocks toward Prospect Park. The sun was punishing—2 p.m., that brutal hour when shadows vanish and every surface reflects back at you—but I leaned in. Learned to work with the light instead of against it.

We grabbed a few frames beneath the trees, softened slightly by leaves and breeze. Then she ran off—to pick up her older kids, to keep the day moving. That in-between moment was all we had, and that’s exactly what I love most about photography. The in-betweens.

This wasn’t a planned shoot. It was a document. A portrait not only of a woman, but of a moment in her day.