The View from the Dirt: Mud, Milestones, and Moving Forward

 Mud, Milestones, and Moving Forward

    Sometimes, the best thing a photographer can do is pull their eyes away from the viewfinder, take a step back, and look at the bigger picture. With a rare open weekend on the rodeo schedule, I had a chance to do exactly that. The brain-dump that follows is a mix of where this studio is at, where it’s going, and the unfiltered reality of the miles we’re putting down.

Grit, Grace, and the Reality of Celebration Shoots

    This past Friday, we ran a specialized celebration and empowerment shoot. My friend Chelsea came down to help with hair, makeup, and a pre-shoot facial treatment. Before we ever clicked a shutter, we went shopping to find proper, well-fitting clothing.

    I pay for all of this as a business expense, because the reality is that many of the people who reach these milestones are single moms. They spend everything on their kids and their households, often wearing clothes that were given to them or that they’ve had forever, just because they were free or cost very little. My goal is to change that narrative for a day. We find the right pieces that fit the vibe, and I step in with the business card so they can step into their confidence.

    But equally important to the wardrobe is the environment. I’ve been told I have a good eye for picking out colors and styles, but I have absolutely no interest in being near a fitting room, and I refuse to be alone on a set with a female client. It is strictly about optics, safety, and protecting the trust we are building. Having Chelsea there means she handles the hair, the makeup, and any physical wardrobe adjustments, while I stay strictly behind the camera where I belong. It ensures everyone is completely comfortable, nobody gets the wrong idea, and the entire focus remains on making the subject feel incredibly proud of how far they have come. Out of that same respect, our subject from Friday will remain completely anonymous—no names, no faces—just the quiet victory of a new beginning.

The Anchor, The Bear, and the 1,500 Sprint

    Moving into this week, today marks the official kickoff of our sprint to 1,500 followers by July 1st. To get the same traction as other businesses on Meta, I need to get this brand out there. But let’s be clear: it’s not about the money, and it’s not about ego. I absolutely hate the feeling of forcing myself on people through paid advertising. I want our growth to happen organically because people genuinely connect with the photography, enjoy the editorials, and want to see what comes next.

    That’s why I am consolidating everything here and moving away from the old pages. I am just one person; I don't have a team running these pieces for me, and I have to protect my time and energy. This studio's identity has evolved. Retiring the old Superman logo and moving to the Anchor has pulled everything together for me personally. The Patchwork Bear logo we worked so hard on is now plastered on the hood and doors of my Jeep, and it catches everyone's eye when I'm driving around town.

    I want the phone to ring with Ag societies, event organizers, and committees saying, "We want you at our arena to cover our story." Gaining that respect matters to me, because they know when I show up, I’m going to do the job right, paint their event in the brightest light possible, and show the world exactly why they need to be in those grandstands.

The BRC Hustle vs. The Big League Egos

    The schedule is packing a heavy punch this week, and we are diving headfirst into three massive Bull Riders Canada (BRC) events. We’re hitting Rockyford on June 30th, Benalto on July 2nd, and then hauling out to Edgerton on July 3rd for a massive $10,000 double-points night.

    I can’t wait to get back behind the chutes, but the process has highlighted a frustrating reality on the editorial side. It is incredible how quickly, easily, and enthusiastically the amateur BRC riders sit down to answer my interview questions. They are hungry, they respect the media, and within a week, I have their stories ready to spin.

    Meanwhile, I’ve reached out to local, pro CPRA guys who live right here in my own backyard—guys whose families I’ve known for years because we’re from the same county. I can get their numbers easily, yet I can’t even get a text back. One local young fellow answered a third of his questions and completely vanished; others haven’t even tried.

    Because of the strict CPRA rules on journalism and photography, they don't view independent creators like me as official media. I’m sure as hell not going to pay gate admission just to sit in the stands where I’m banned from behind the chutes. If the pro guys don't want the coverage or the story told, that’s fine. My lens will stay pointed at the BRC and the amateur circuits, because those riders are hungry, they value the recognition, and that’s where the true heart and hustle of community rodeo live anyway.

The Broad Spectrum of the Road

    This Wednesday, July 1st, is Canada Day, and it’s also my birthday. Ever since my divorce, I really don't care to celebrate it. I was actively hoping to find a live rodeo to cover that day just so I could completely disappear into my work. Instead, I’ll likely spend the day sitting quiet in the office, editing the Rockyford wrecks and rides, and prepping for the long haul weekend.

    When I talk about mental health, brain injuries, or community support on this page, I mean it in the broadest spectrum possible. It’s not just depression and anxiety; it’s neurodivergence, autism, and the daily battle to be seen.

    I don't usually share this, but for some reason, kids on the autism spectrum naturally gravitate toward me. I can be minding my own business at a mall or a swimming pool, and they will slowly make their way over, ignoring everyone else, just to interact with me. Because I am always hyper-aware of how adults might misinterpret things—and it's the exact reason I carry professional liability insurance 365 days a year—I always look for the parents first to make sure they are completely comfortable.

    It happened again this weekend. A non-verbal little boy walked away from his parents, came right up to where I was sitting, and just wanted to show me his new toy. His mom ran over, immediately apologizing for him bothering me. I stopped her right there and said, "As long as you're okay with this, so am I." I didn't stare, I didn't make a fuss, and I didn't treat him like he was different. I just looked at his toy, interacted with him like a normal human being, and let him share his excitement. By the time they walked away, his parents were thanking me.

    It’s an incredible, humbling feeling, but it shouldn't be a rare one. If more people could look at children and adults on the spectrum without staring, without making a scene, and just meet them with baseline human decency, the world would be a drastically better place.

We are wrapping up June with our boots on the ground. See you behind the chutes this week.

Lee Kemp

Every Moment Is A Choice Studio

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