SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA - Some locations sit in the back of my head for years.

Mormon Rocks was one of them.

Those massive formations.

The color.

The texture.

The way the rocks seem to come straight out of the ground like somebody dropped pieces of another planet along the highway and forgot to pick them up.

I had wanted to photograph there for a long time.

So when the Montes family came to us as new customers, I finally had my excuse.

On February 22, 2026, this family from Riverside County met us at Mormon Rocks for something I wanted to feel adventurous, warm, and cinematic.

The rocks could handle the adventure.

The family took care of the rest.

Sometimes the client chooses the location.

Sometimes I do.

This one was mine.

I wanted those formations in a photograph.

Not because they're impressive on Instagram.

Not because somebody told me they're a popular photography location.

I just think they're beautiful.

And when a place sticks with me visually, eventually I start wondering what a person—or in this case, a family—would look like inside it.

That's always the question.

A beautiful landscape by itself is one thing.

Put people inside it and suddenly scale matters.

Emotion matters.

Wardrobe matters.

Where they stand matters.

The rocks become more than scenery.

They become part of the photograph.

That's what I was after with the Montes family.

Mormon Rocks can feel enormous.

Hard stone.

Open land.

Big sky.

Lots of earth tones.

You could very easily make photographs there that feel cold or distant.

The Montes family didn't give me that problem.

What stood out almost immediately was the way the parents interacted with their son.

Playful.

Affectionate.

Protective.

Patient.

All of it.

Their attention kept coming back to him.

And that changed the photographs.

You can put a family in the most dramatic landscape in California, but if the connection isn't there, you're basically photographing three people standing near an interesting rock.

That's not enough for me.

The environment gives us atmosphere.

The people give it meaning.

Family photography requires some direction.

I'm still thinking about composition.

Still deciding where everyone should be.

Still watching hands, light, expressions, background, foreground, all the little things happening inside the frame.

But family photography also requires knowing when to stop directing.

Their son needed a little more patience and flexibility during the session.

Nothing needed to be made into a big deal.

His parents understood him.

They gave him room.

They let him move through the session at his own pace.

So we did too.

That's part of photographing families.

You read what's happening.

You adjust.

You don't keep forcing a moment because you decided five minutes ago that everybody absolutely needs to stand in one exact spot.

Sometimes you direct.

Sometimes you wait.

Sometimes the photograph you wanted disappears and something better happens instead.

You have to be willing to notice.

I don't want family photography to feel like the old department-store portrait studio.

Everybody lined up.

Hands on shoulders.

Smile.

Next.

Nothing against those photographs.

They have their place.

That's just not what Black Rider Studios is trying to make.

Every family is different.

So why would I photograph every family the same way?

Some families are quiet.

Some are chaos.

Some kids want to run.

Some want to stay close to mom and dad.

Some parents are naturally romantic with each other.

Others spend the entire session making everybody laugh.

The Montes family brought their own rhythm.

My job wasn't to replace that rhythm with mine.

It was to photograph it.

We still created portraits.

We still gave direction.

We still made intentional compositions.

But underneath all of that, I wanted them to look like the Montes family.

Not Family Session Number 184.

Some of my favorite photographs from this session are the wide ones.

The family becomes small.

The rocks become huge.

Usually photographers spend a lot of time trying to make the people dominate the frame.

Sometimes I want the opposite.

I want you to understand where they were.

I want the landscape to feel enormous.

Then your eye eventually finds three people standing inside it.

And despite everything around them being larger...

they're still what matters.

There's something I like about that.

A family can look incredibly small against a place like Mormon Rocks while the thing connecting them feels enormous.

That's what I hope they remember years from now.

Not that we found an impressive location.

Not what everybody wore.

Not whether their son cooperated perfectly every second.

I want them to remember the love their family radiated.

The way they held him.

The way they played with him.

The patience they gave him.

The way the three of them belonged together.

That's the photograph underneath all the other photographs.

When we sent the Montes family their previews, the response came back:

“Wow! Qué hermosas fotos.”

In English:

“Wow! What beautiful photos!”

That's always good to hear.

Especially from new customers.

They came into the session without years of history with us.

No previous wedding.

No maternity session.

No old family gallery telling them exactly what this would feel like.

They trusted us anyway.

And they let us take them somewhere I had wanted to photograph for years.

I'm glad the rocks finally got their turn.

I'm even happier that the Montes family ended up being the people standing in front of them.

No two families should come away with the same story.

The Coria family shows another side of outdoor family photography—returning to the camera years later and seeing how children and relationships have changed while the connection holding everyone together remains.

For something completely different, Sarah & Fischer's annual family story takes place at home, where familiar rooms, growing children, and ordinary family life become part of the photographs.

One family surrounded by enormous rocks.

Another among trees and open fields.

Another inside the place they call home.

Different environments.

Different personalities.

Different stories.

That's exactly the point.

Black Rider Studios photographs families throughout Southern California with an approach built around connection, environment, and the personalities already present.

Sometimes that means giving direction.

Sometimes it means leaving people alone.

Usually it means doing both.

The goal isn't to manufacture a perfect family for an hour.

It's to take the family already standing in front of us and create something beautiful from what makes them different.

If you want the same photographs everybody else has, there are plenty of ways to get them.

If you want photographs that actually feel like your family, that's where things get interesting.

Come be yourselves. We'll figure out where to put the camera.