I don't believe beauty can ever be won by force. A beautiful portrait either gives itself up willingly or consciously or it is captured delicately, breath held, finger poised, easy...easy...now!

"Photogenic" is nothing more or less than a measure of the soul's aperture. Children are so photogenic (and so vulnerable) because theirs is open wide. The difference between a photogenic adult and one who is not, is a difference of consent. You cannot "take" a beautiful picture of someone, it must be given.

Like a naturalist in the wilderness with her subjects, I have let my children become so accustomed to my camera, they no longer notice it as a mechanical object. It is an extension of their mother's eye, no more obtrusive to them than my eyeglasses. Just another tool Mom sometimes has to help her see. When its lens takes them in, it is my gaze they perceive and respond to, not the camera (and sometimes their response is to ignore).

Shooting them has become a form of caress, as natural as reaching out to brush bangs back from their eyes. I see my reach in the photos. There is nothing objective about them. "This is how I see you," is the caption written invisibly on every one. "This is how love sees you." It is how I think we all wish to be seen, all our lives, even when the aperture narrows or is jammed.

What about you? What portraits reveal an exchange between subject and photographer, the trajectory between the eye of the beholder and the one so carefully held?

 This guest post was written by the amazing Kyran Pittman of Notes to Self.

As anyone with a long term love of photography knows, it's easy to find yourself taking the same kinds of pictures over and over again.   Glance over your last 1000 pictures and you might see what I mean.  Overrun in flowers?  Same style portraits?  Bricks and mortar?   While there's no harm in going on a kick now and then to master your craft, you'll know it's time for a change when your images start to look the same and you can no longer recognize the gem in that one picture that represents a departure from your tried and true subjects.  May I shyly submit the photo above as a case in point.

What subjects do you tend towards when you pick up the camera?   Ready to cook up something fresh and unexpected by widening your repertoire?  Comments are open for your confessions and links to the images where you strayed from the same ole, same ole with delicious results.

 She had just turned forty, her seventh baby tied to her back.  Her hands were worn from tilling fields in her husband's absence.  I saw weariness in her eyes, but also an unexpected kind of peace.  For every hardship, every year she felt overwhelmed or forgotten, the kindness of simple things remained--like the way a baby's foot feels in the deep hollow of your hand.

 What kind of goodness have you discovered lately in somebody's hands?  Or better yet, show us what you are holding in awe and wonder these days.   Leave us links to your hands or another's in the comments below.

I'm writing this Love Thursday post from my studio in the attic while The Weepies and my daughter Madeleine keep me good company.  We can't stop listening to "Somebody Loved."  Do you know it?  Here are a few of my favorite lines:

Now my feet turn the corner back home
Sun turns the evening to rose
Stars turning high up above
You turn me into
You turn me into
You turn me into somebody loved

What is it about the sweet companionship of another dear soul that transforms you into somebody loved?  It can happen in an instant--the unexpected smile of your favorite baby, the confidence of a much needed sage, the quiet admiration of a little brother--and before you know it your soul fills up with the knowledge your presence matters.

This Love Thursday I hope you are surprised by all the ways kindness is turning you into somebody loved--I can't wait to see your images.  And if you feel lost today on the road to love, don't despair.  Your eye through the viewfinder will remind you love is all around you, that all the love you need is coming your way, sooner than you think.