All photos taken with Canon F-1 35mm SLR, 50mm lens with 100 Speed TMAX B&W Film.

All photos taken by Katrina Frye. 2016 All rights reserved. 



All photos taken with Canon F-1 35mm SLR, 50mm lens with 100 Speed B&W Film.

All photos taken by Katrina Frye. 2016 All rights reserved. 



This is for you.

Over this past year I found myself in fear of motherhood but couldn't quite name what my fears were. So instead of hiding I took it upon myself to spend hours with other women that had just become mothers.

Five of my dearest friends let me stop by their homes for a few hours to see what their day was like. I am a curious-human-researcher, so I needed to see how my friends so graciously adapted to this major life change. 

I found that each of these mothers were so capable and elegant during these long hours. Their beauty seemed to be something the fashion industry has yet to capture. They each had different techniques and mottos that guided them through out the day but the themes were very similar. 

Through the following photos I hope you explore these themes with me and begin to see their unseen hours as sweet delicate poems.  I hope you these pages honor you, mothers, and dispel any doubts you have about being less than, unqualified, or without. 

I know now that what I feared was opening my heart to a new depth of love. A love that demands you to let it go, while constantly needing your nourishment. The extend to which mother's love their children can not be confined to words or photos. It is something felt and filled into every room, blanket, book, and diaper. The incense of love that permeated these simple hours gave me a renewed sense of hope for our world. Not just it's future but in it's present. I am convinced that they way in which I have seen my friends heart's grow in becoming mothers, will give way to a  healed world.

So, thank you.


 "85 percent of brain development occurs before the age of 5." Each mom let me know. I was astounded at how much they knew they were responsible for. Each mother seemed to find solace and acceptance in this weighty reality. It seemed to justify the sleepless hours, the loss of hair, and sacrifice of self. They were like noble soldiers that knew the cost of freedom.

The friendship and bond created between mother and child was what fascinated me the most. They were best of friends. They laughed together, cried together, hurt each other, frustrated one another, knew what each other liked and disliked. They share a common language not diluted by spoken words. They didn't seem to need words to be sync and in love.  

I see now that laboring doesn't end after delivery. Mother's given the privilege to stay at home with their babies during these formative years are asked to quietly and humbly accept this responsibility without any guarantee of success, acceptance, or gratitude. Truly their lives are a LABOR OF LOVE.