Ah, the joys of family life. Sunday brunches, cozy movie nights, spontaneous road trips… and, if you’re unfortunate enough to be related to me, elaborate, overly staged photoshoots that turn even the simplest moment into a full-scale production.

You think you’re just enjoying a quiet cup of coffee in the morning? Wrong. You’re now the leading actor in a carefully curated scene about existential dread, staring into the abyss of your rapidly cooling latte while dramatic lighting cascades across your face.

Going grocery shopping? Think again. You’re now the bewildered protagonist of a high-art piece titled Lost in the Consumerist Void, standing motionless in the cereal aisle while other shoppers awkwardly squeeze past, wondering if you need medical attention.

The Reluctant Muse(s)

My family has long since accepted their fate as unwilling but inevitable participants in my creative visions. They complain—oh, they complain—but when all is said and done, our family album looks like a cinematic masterpiece, while their friends have nothing but generic beach selfies and blurry birthday snaps.

Sure, other families get to smile naturally in their Christmas photos. My family? They’ve spent an hour getting into character for Melancholy in England, a somber reflection on the fleeting nature of holiday joy.

The Outtakes: A Comedy of Errors

Of course, with great art comes great chaos. Like the time I made them stand in the rain for Urban Isolation but didn’t check the weather forecast. An unexpected gust of wind flipped an umbrella inside out, my brother slipped on wet pavement, and the final shot—though artistically perfect—was accompanied by a lot of screaming.

Or the infamous Breakfast Despair shoot, where I tried to capture the bleakness of Monday mornings. My wife refused to look sad enough, the kids wouldn’t stop eating the props and the dog staged a coup by stealing the croissants entirely.

The Secret They Won’t Admit

For all their dramatic sighing and eye-rolling, I know the truth. They love it. They love that our family photos aren’t just another sea of stiffly posed portraits or forced grins. They love the stories behind each shot, the ridiculous situations that make us laugh long after the photo is taken, the way we somehow always pull together to make something weirdly beautiful.

And, let’s be honest—when their friends see our photos, the jealousy is palpable.

So, my dear family, continue your protests. Complain all you want. But when you’re 80 and looking back at these images, you’ll be grateful. Because while everyone else has forgotten their boring, standard-issue snapshots, we’ll have art. We’ll have stories.

We’ll have that time you stood barefoot in the snow holding an antique suitcase because I thought it would be ‘visually interesting.’

You’re welcome.