Behind the Scenes: A Day in a Perth Photography Studio

At 7:40 on a Thursday morning, before the first family has even left their driveway, I'm standing in an empty room watching light move across a wall. It's the most important part of my day, and nobody ever sees it.

People often picture a photo session as a blur of flashes, stiff smiles and someone shouting "say cheese." Ours looks nothing like that. If you've ever wondered what studio photography actually involves at Let The Light In, here's a day in the life, with a few tips for getting the most out of your own session.

Morning: The Room Wakes Up First

I'm Hirak, and I run Let The Light In as a natural-light studio. That means no big flashes and no blinding softboxes. The windows do the heavy lifting, so my day starts with the sky.

Perth light is a gift. Even in winter, when we get those soft grey mornings, there's a cleanness to it that photographers in gloomier cities would trade a lot for. I spend the first half hour watching how it falls: where it pools on the floor, which corner glows around ten o'clock, and where the shadows go flat and unflattering. Then I set up simple backdrops, a couple of chairs, a rug, and a stool for little ones who need a boost.

Then comes the unglamorous work. I wipe down every surface, check batteries, and lay out a few small props, mostly blankets and a wooden toy or two. I put out a basket of snacks (parents, you'll thank me later) and switch the kettle on.

A practical tip: Ask about time of day when you book. Natural light changes hour by hour. Mornings are brighter and cooler, which suits newborns and toddlers who are at their best early. Later slots are warmer and moodier, which many couples love.

9:30 AM: The First Ten Minutes Are for Breathing

The first family arrives. Today it's a mum, a dad, a three-year-old who has decided she's not smiling for anyone, and a baby asleep in a car seat.

This is where most people expect me to start shooting. I don't. The camera stays on the bench for the first ten minutes while we chat. I ask about the kids, about their week, about whether the drive in was terrible. The three-year-old is wary, so I ignore her completely, which works better than you'd think. Within a few minutes she's inspecting the wooden toy and telling me it's "a bit broken."

That first stretch is about letting shoulders drop. Nobody looks natural when they've just walked in from a car park, running late and slightly stressed. I've come to think studio photography gets an unfair reputation for being stiff and formal. It doesn't have to be. When the space feels like a friendly living room instead of a set, people forget they're being photographed, and that's when the good stuff shows up.

A practical tip: Arrive five to ten minutes early if you can. Choose colours that sit comfortably together, such as creams, soft greens, dusty blues and warm neutrals, and skip big logos or loud patterns. Comfort matters more than a perfect outfit. If your toddler is only happy in dinosaur pyjamas, we can work with that. Bring a spare outfit, too. Spills happen.

Late Morning: Where the Real Photos Happen

Once the camera comes out, I keep it low-key. I talk more than I click. If you'd like to see how this looks in practice, you can browse real sessions in our studio photography portfolio.

We start with everyone together, and it's a bit awkward, which is completely normal. Dad is holding himself like he's waiting at a bus stop. I ask him to pick up his daughter and tell her the silliest thing he can think of. She giggles, he cracks up, and that's frame number one that I love.

Then we shift. Mum and baby by the window, where the light is softest. Dad and daughter on the rug, building a wobbly tower. A few quiet frames of the parents leaning in close while the kids are busy, which is often where the most tender photos come from. I don't pose these so much as set up a situation and let it unfold. A small nudge on where to stand, then I step back.

Kids run on their own clock, and I've stopped fighting it. If our three-year-old needs a snack break at minute twenty, we take a snack break. If the baby wakes up hungry, we feed the baby. Some of my favourite photos come from the gaps between the planned moments: a yawn, a hand grabbing a collar, a parent laughing at something off-camera.

Couples sessions run a little differently. Many people worry they're not photogenic, which I hear all the time and almost never agree with. I give couples something to do, like walking toward the window, sharing a whispered joke, or swaying gently to nothing in particular. Movement gives nervous energy somewhere to go, and real laughter usually follows within minutes.

A practical tip: Try not to direct your kids too much from behind the camera. When parents keep saying "look at me, smile!", kids either freeze or start performing. Let me do the talking while you enjoy the moment with them. It doesn't need to be perfect. It needs to feel like you.

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After the Door Closes: The Part Nobody Sees

By lunchtime the family has gone home, probably for a nap, and I'm left with a few hundred frames on the memory card.

This is where good studio photography is often decided. I go through everything slowly, picking the images that tell the story of the session. Not just the technically perfect ones, but the ones with feeling in them. A blurry frame of a toddler mid-giggle can beat a sharp, posed portrait every time.

Then comes the editing. Each chosen image is edited by hand, with gentle adjustments to colour, tone and light so everything looks true to how the day felt. I'm not interested in plastic skin or heavy filters. I want your daughter to look like your daughter, freckles and all.

Every session includes 15 to 25 professionally edited images. That's enough to tell a real story without drowning you in hundreds of near-identical photos you'll never look at again. Most families tell me a smaller, more considered gallery is easier to enjoy and far easier to actually print.

A practical tip: Think about where the photos will live before you book. A framed print above the couch, a small album, a set of prints for the grandparents overseas. Knowing the end goal helps me shape the session, and it makes choosing favourites much simpler.

Afternoon: Reset, Repeat

There's usually a second session in the afternoon. I reset the room, wipe the rug again, put out fresh snacks and wait for the light to shift. This time it's a couple celebrating an anniversary, and the golden low light through the window suits them perfectly.

By the end of the day my feet ache, my camera bag feels twice as heavy, and I'm oddly full of energy. Watching people relax into being seen never gets old. Some arrive convinced they hate having their photo taken and leave asking when they can book again.

That's really the whole point. A good session shouldn't feel like a performance. It should feel like a slightly noisy, very human hour in a bright room with someone who's paying attention to you.

Ready to Step Into the Light?

To find a time that suits, get in touch with Let The Light In and book a session at our Perth Family Portrait Studio.

If you've been putting off family photos because life is busy, the kids won't sit still, or you're not sure you'd look natural in front of a camera, I'd love to change your mind. Bring the toddler, the dog-eared teddy, and your slightly nervous partner. We'll take it slowly, laugh a lot, and finish with 15 to 25 professionally edited images that feel like you.