Thirteen years of photography, motherhood, mistakes, and finding my way to a studio of my own in Hoboken.
On Thursday, October 22, we celebrated the grand opening of KLP Space, my new photography studio in Hoboken, and I cried. Quite a bit, actually.
I knew the ribbon cutting would be special, but I wasn’t prepared for how emotional it would be. Standing there with my children, seeing their joy and pride, and having them wrap their arms around me was something I’ll never forget. Then there were friends I hadn’t seen in far too long, including a fellow photographer, clients whose families I’ve watched grow, neighbors, and so many people who took time out of their day to come celebrate with me.
Looking around that room, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. So many of these people had been part of my life and my photography business in different ways, and somehow they were all there together, celebrating something I’d spent years trying to build.
I don’t think I fully understood how much this moment meant to me until I was standing in it.
And to explain why, I have to go back quite a few years.
Learning to freeze time
I’ve loved photography for as long as I can remember, although it was never really photography as an art form that fascinated me. It was the ability to freeze time, to hold on to a moment and return to it years later. I’ve always been deeply nostalgic, and I love how a single photograph can bring back an entire afternoon, a person, a feeling, or a version of your life that no longer exists.
When I was about 14, a family friend who produced television for a local German station used to watch me taking pictures and say, “Kim has an eye! She should be doing photography.” I admired him enormously, so hearing that meant the world to me. Naturally, I promptly forgot about it and went on with my life.
Ironically, it was on the day I graduated from law school that my husband and his family gave me my first DSLR. After all those years of studying law, the gift that would eventually change the direction of my life was a camera. At the time, though, I was simply excited to have a really nice camera.
My nephews became my favorite subjects, and I photographed them so relentlessly that my family started calling me the paparazzi. They weren’t wrong.
Then my husband gave me a photography lesson with Craig Dale of Beyond the Photo, and something clicked. My daughter was eight months old, and I became completely obsessed with learning to shoot in manual, understanding light, and practicing every chance I got. I particularly loved shooting into backlight, which was apparently a big no-no according to some of the rules I was learning.
Naturally, that made me love it even more.
Before long, I was photographing friends, then friends of friends, and slowly what had started as a hobby became something I wanted to pursue seriously.
That was 13 years ago.
Building a business around motherhood
I wish I could say everything took off from there, but the reality was considerably messier.
I eventually left the corporate world to spend more time with my children and give photography a real chance. In theory, it sounded like the perfect arrangement. In practice, building a business while being the primary caregiver to two young children, with no family nearby to help, was far more difficult than I had imagined.
I spent years squeezing sessions between school schedules, activities, and everything else that comes with raising kids. I answered emails whenever I could and edited late into the night after everyone had gone to bed. I made plenty of mistakes, struggled to turn a profit some years, and regularly questioned whether I had any business trying to build a business.
I loved being a mother, but I also desperately wanted something of my own. I wanted to create, grow, and see what I was capable of, and for a long time I struggled with the guilt of trying to do both. If I was working, I felt I should be with my children. If I was with my children, I was thinking about all the work waiting for me.
Some days I felt confident about what I was building, and other days I wondered who on earth I thought I was to be doing any of it.
During COVID, photography became my escape. Alongside two other photographers, I helped start the Hoboken chapter of the Front Steps Project. I was out photographing families every day, editing late into the night, and building better systems for my business. It was exhausting, but I loved it, and for the first time I began to see what I could accomplish when I really had the opportunity to focus.
Then, at Easter in 2024, a little studio practically fell into my lap.
The little studio that changed everything
It was 350 square feet in an old industrial building in Hoboken, with beautiful natural light, relatively affordable rent, and a four-story walk-up. Because apparently nothing can be too easy.
I signed the lease, spent hours painting everything white, moved in my equipment, and suddenly had a space of my own.
I now affectionately call it my tween studio, because that’s where I did so much growing up, both personally and professionally. For the first time, I had somewhere entirely dedicated to my work, where I could think, experiment with light, dream a little bigger, and work without being pulled in a dozen directions.
But perhaps the most important thing that happened in that little room had nothing to do with photography.
My family slowly learned to function without me being home every minute, and I learned to let them. After years of being the person who was always there, always available, and always figuring everything out, that was a surprisingly big adjustment. I had to get comfortable leaving the house to work without feeling guilty, and trust that everyone would be perfectly fine without me.
And wouldn’t you know, they were.
I grew enormously in that little room. I also started dreaming about a bigger one.
After occasionally pestering my landlords about anything larger in the building, I got a call about an L-shaped space directly across the hall. It had been used for fabric storage by a major New York fashion designer, and his head seamstress was moving everything elsewhere.
I was interested immediately, but things got complicated when someone else wanted it. Suddenly I had about 24 hours to decide whether I was ready to take on a bigger space and get a security deposit in.
So I said yes.
And when I finally walked in, I genuinely wondered what I’d gotten myself into.
Enormous worktables, ribbons, thread, piles upon piles of fabric, and then more fabric. It was hard to imagine how all of this was going to become a photography studio, but I could see the windows, the beautiful light, and the possibilities.
I had no idea how I was going to pull it off, but I wanted to try.
Six windows and two very large arches
The move itself was a whirlwind. Apparently, “ready to move in” means different things to different people, and I ended up with less than a day to paint part of the new studio white before moving everything across the hall the following morning.
And then the real work began.
I replaced six windows, painted walls, ceilings, pipes, and doors, patched holes, moved furniture, ordered more furniture, and slowly started turning an industrial storage room into the studio I’d been imagining.
Then, because apparently that wasn’t enough, I decided to build two enormous movable arches spanning an entire wall. Because why not? I wanted something beautiful and versatile that I could change depending on what I was photographing, and buying a backdrop like a normal person clearly wasn’t ambitious enough.
There were plenty of evenings when my back hurt and I was so exhausted I could barely think, but I loved watching the space come together. Every improvement, no matter how small, made it feel more like mine.
I finally had room for a changing area, a makeup station, a comfortable sitting area, and, obviously, a coffee bar. I could create different setups, photograph in multiple directions, and offer more variety for families, headshots, and branding clients. The space also gave me the confidence to finally launch Kim Lorraine Kids, my headshot work for young performers, and create a place I could share with other photographers and creatives.
It was exciting and terrifying in equal measure. I’d taken on more rent, more responsibility, and more expenses after years of trying to make this business profitable. But I could finally see so many of the things I’d imagined coming together.
And that brings me back to October 22.
A ribbon cutting I’ll never forget
Having known Emily Jabbour first as a fellow mom and then as a client, it felt especially meaningful to have her there as Hoboken’s mayor to cut the ribbon. I’m incredibly thankful to the Hoboken Business Alliance and Councilwoman Tiffanie Fisher for being part of such a special day.
And to everyone who walked through the door, thank you. My fellow photographers, who understand just how much work goes into building a creative business. My friends and neighbors, who have listened to my ideas and encouraged me along the way. My clients, who have trusted me to photograph their families, their children, and moments in their lives they want to remember.
Seeing so many people I care about in one room, especially friends I hadn’t seen in a long time, was overwhelming in the best possible way. I was genuinely touched that you all took the time to be there.
But the moment that stays with me most is one I don’t think I could have appreciated in quite the same way 13 years ago.
My children were standing right next to me when the ribbon fell, and of everything that happened that day, that’s what I’m proudest of. Because they watched me build it.
They saw the late nights, the frustration, the mistakes, and the times I wasn’t sure any of this would work. They’ve watched me paint walls, haul furniture, learn things I didn’t know how to do, and keep trying when something didn’t go according to plan.
For years, I struggled with the guilt of dividing my time between being their mother and building Kim Lorraine Photography. I worried about what I wasn’t doing when I was working and whether I was giving enough of myself to either one. But standing there beside them, seeing their joy and pride, I realized that they had also spent all those years watching their mother create something of her own.
I don’t know what they’ll remember about those years, but I hope that part stays with them. That it’s okay to want something for yourself, to work hard for it, to make mistakes, and to keep going even when it takes longer than you imagined.
And to my husband and family, thank you for being there through every version of this, from that first camera on my law school graduation day to the very last coat of paint.
I’ve spent my whole life loving photography because it allows us to hold on to moments that pass far too quickly. There’s something rather wonderful about finding myself, after all these years, in one of those moments I wish I could freeze forever.
Thankfully, there were plenty of cameras in the room.
KLP Space is officially open, and I couldn’t be more grateful.
Today, KLP Space is home to Kim Lorraine Photography in Hoboken, New Jersey, where I photograph families, headshots, personal branding, and young performers. With beautiful natural light, movable arched backdrops, and room to create, it’s also a space I’m excited to share with fellow photographers and creatives. If you’re looking for a natural light photography studio rental in Hoboken, explore KLP Space on Peerspace. I’d love to welcome you.
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