Mother. Artist. Doula.
Becoming a mother fed my creativity.
There is no separation between mothering and creativity for me. Being a mother is a continuous act of creation—intuitive, messy, sacred, and ever-evolving and my creativity feeds off the fact that I have housed, labored, birthed, and held human life. What could be more creative than that?
Let’s back up a bit…
My name is Jehlisa and I am a birth and postpartum doula and a film photographer.
Like many, I grew up with plastic disposable film cameras on family trips and at events I wanted no part of, but found myself wanting to preserve the moments by snapping photos. Taking pictures has shifted since then from digital to phones back to digital back to phones again. It felt like I was returning home when I picked up a film camera a few years ago.
And motherhood? Well, it has a way of turning all of us into photographers.
Becoming a mother cracked me open as an artist. I began writing, painting, drawing, even crocheting (poorly)—but photography stuck. Already documenting every waking and sleeping moment of my daughter, I was drawn to capture our family life in a photojournalistic style like a fly on the kitchen wall: uninterrupted and a chaotic good time. Film felt like the right tool for this journey—imperfect, slow, and patient, just like parenting.
Motherhood was the beginning. My daughter is what keeps the train going. She is the muse. Your children are muses too. Every image I create is an attempt to reflect how a child might remember their family: blurry, full of big movement and even bigger feelings. I believe that’s the key to capturing the most genuine movements of a family on camera.
Family is the most complex and compelling story I know, and I feel called to attempt to capture that story through my lens. I believe the most powerful use of my camera is to document the connection between parents and children, especially the role women play in carrying, birthing, and crafting family life.
I am an artist. I am a doula. I am a mother to Olive.
I won’t be able to write from the grave so let me tell you what I love:
sourdough bread, cold sunny mornings, peaks of red in a room, cobalt blue, “I luh loo mama”, churros, gallery walls full of old art, vanilla, romantic comedies, collecting coffee table books, well lit rooms painted in dark moody colors, black and white photos (sometimes with flash), the sound of rain on the roof but only in my grandmother’s house in Jamaica, talking about death, my partner’s voice when he’s sleepy, cold peanut butter cups, sour cream and onion chips, crows, staring at the full moon,
beeswax candles, oil pastels, a new sketchbook, a well-used journal, inky pens (if it smears, I need it), horoscopes and tarot, white roses, very spicy ramen without the heartburn, well-written villains, the blue bag of lifesaver mints, pottery, floor lamps, decor and art that features cats but cats terrify me, marquetry, book stores, antiques, cowboy boots, and staring at bodies of water contemplating if I’m getting in.
