We recently connected with Heather Rafferty-Phillips and have shared our conversation below.
Heather, appreciate you joining us today. I’m sure there have been days where the challenges of being an artist or creative force you to think about what it would be like to just have a regular job. When’s the last time you felt that way? Did you have any insights from the experience?
Honestly… sometimes.
Not because I’m unhappy as an artist, because I am happy. I’ve built a life doing what I love, and that’s not lost on me. But the world I started in isn’t the same one I create in now.
I came up in a film-to-digital transition, before presets and content days and styled shoots were the norm. Before “lifestyle” was a genre (it was just how I naturally photographed my daughter, my first muse, who didn’t fit into the traditional portrait mold). Back then, it wasn’t trendy. It was just me following what felt honest.
Now, there’s a camera in every pocket, and “everyone’s a photographer.” And while there’s beauty in that kind of accessibility, there’s also something lost. Not just in terms of craft, but in how people value what we do. The pressure to constantly produce, to post, to keep up with trends I’ve watched rise and fall (and even fell victim to at times.. yikes) it’s exhausting. Sometimes it feels like the emotional labor of creating is completely invisible.
And then there’s the personal cost.
When my dad, my lighthouse, was dying of cancer, I was trying to honor his wish to go through it privately while also facing a client deadline. A bride who had more than enough beautiful images, but didn’t have the last few hundred reception photos yet, began threatening legal action. No compassion. No pause. Just pressure.
In that moment, I thought: Maybe this world isn’t for me anymore.
But that’s the thing, every time I reach that edge, someone or something pulls me back. A client who’s kind. A session that feeds my soul. A little human moment that reminds me of why I started.
So yes, I’m happy. But being happy as a creative doesn’t mean it’s easy. It just means I’m still choosing it, even when it hurts, even when it feels like too much. Because for all that’s changed, the heart of it: honest storytelling, connection, light—hasn’t. And I chose this life, and I keep choosing it. Not because it’s easy, but because the pulse of what I do, the soul in it, is still mine.
And like Biggie said… “I got a story to tell”.
Great, appreciate you sharing that with us. Before we ask you to share more of your insights, can you take a moment to introduce yourself and how you got to where you are today to our readers.
I once read that the depth of your creativity is tied to the life you’ve lived and I feel that in my bones. That’s why my work is personal. Original. I’ve never been one to study what everyone else is doing. I won’t Google photos from a location, I’d rather go feel it for myself. I stay present. I watch. I let nature, light, emotion, and energy lead me. It might not always offer perfect posing or know what to do with your hands, but that kind of presence creates something real. And real is what lasts.
I got into this business because I stopped trying to make my oldest daughter fit into the studio portrait mold and decided to follow her around with my camera. What came out of that felt like her. When I started sharing those moments, other people wanted the same thing for their kids … something honest, something true. And the rest is history.
I’ve been a photographer for over 16 years now. I’ve seen trends rise and fall, editing styles come and go, but what stays constant is the way connection looks when it’s real. And the beauty in someone who has let their guard down for an instant. And that’s always been my favorite thing to chase.
I consider myself to be multifaceted. I don’t know if it came from trying everything at least once just to figure out what I actually liked, or if I’m just a little addicted to life. But I feel like I’ve lived a dozen different timelines already… and in every single one, I pick up a camera. It’s the one thing that’s followed me through it all.
Growing up, all I wanted was to matter. To be seen. To be included. Photography became my golden ticket into moments I never had. It showed me what was missing, and quietly nudged me to keep reaching for it: to become the calm mom I documented, the patient one I admired, to chase the kind of love I witnessed. It sounds so cheesy but the universe gifted me with a path that allowed me to see things with my own eyes. I was not the type to take someone’s word for it. The camera became both a window and a mirror. It helped me witness connection and grow into it.
One of the most meaningful things I do each year is photograph Camp Able, a camp for diversely abled individuals. That experience reshaped everything: the way I see people, the way I listen, the way I move through the world. It taught me to notice the quiet, in-between moments: the glance, the gentle hand, the unspoken bond. Sharing the silence. That kind of intimacy doesn’t need words. And I carry that way of seeing into every session I shoot.
It took me years to realize I couldn’t be everything to everyone. That it was okay to say no. That not every opportunity is mine to hold. That I was allowed to rest. I used to think I had to prove my worth by doing it all. Now, I know better. I protect my time, my peace, and I work hard at finding the balance between work and being a mom.
They say to pay attention to what people photograph, it will say a lot about their heart.
If that’s true, then mine’s all about connection, safety and acceptance. The kind of moments where people feel free to just be themselves.
How can we best help foster a strong, supportive environment for artists and creatives?
Honestly? Let artists be artists. Stop expecting us to turn everything into content, or make it palatable, fast, and clickable. Support looks like giving us space to explore, mess up, and grow without demanding constant output. Pay us fairly. Credit our work. Share it without asking us to shrink it. Stop assuming creativity is a luxury, for a lot of us, it’s survival. And when you see someone doing something original, instead of trying to copy it, protect it. Uplift it. That’s how you build a creative ecosystem that thrives.
Do you think there is something that non-creatives might struggle to understand about your journey as a creative? Maybe you can shed some light?
Yes. I think what’s hard for some non-creatives to understand is that we’re not just creative machines, we’re human. We have kids, families, grief, joy, heartbreak, burnout, and full lives happening behind the scenes. The same emotions that drive us to create are the ones that sometimes pull us inward, too. We feel deeply, that’s our gift and our challenge. So there will be seasons when we’re not producing constantly, or showing up online, or performing for the algorithm… and that’s not us being flaky, it’s us being human. What we need most is grace and space, to live, to feel, to rest, because that’s what fuels the work you love in the first place.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.ejrphoto.net
- Instagram: ejr_photo
- Facebook: https://facebook.comMSEJRPHOTO
- Linkedin: Heather Rafferty
Image Credits
HEATHER RAFFERTY, EJR PHOTOGRAPHY