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2026 Collection
Adriana Gomez Hernandez, "Love Language, 2026. Acts of service and nagging. That’s my dad’s love language: doing things he doesn’t have to but wants to for us, even while nagging us about what we did wrong. I had recently hit my car against something, and the plastic of my headlight broke, along with denting my car. Everything else was still working, but my dad saw this issue and told me he was going to replace the headlight, fix the dent, and give the car a fresh paint job so the car would look better than before. He could’ve left the car dented and scratched up because it was still in working condition, but he didn’t because it was the car he gifted me as a birthday present, the car that I appreciate. He wanted this car to last long, so he fixed it to keep it in working condition. He is the only one who knows about cars, so he teaches my brothers how to work on cars and checks on the cars we have every once in a while to keep them in working condition. My mom’s Jeep didn’t work for about a month or so, and he spent all of his free time fixing the Jeep, telling my mom the issues and telling her that she needs to be more careful, the same way he told me to ”not be dumb and be more careful” when it came to driving my car again.
Antonio P., "La calma antes de dormir," 2026. Después de un largo día, mis padres, Ana y Luis se recostaron en la cama, cada uno envuelto en sus pensamientos mientras el silencio llenaba la habitación. Las luces apagadas y las cortinas cerradas hacían que el mundo exterior pareciera lejano. Entre suspiros y la suavidad de las mantas, compartían el simple confort de estar juntos, sin necesidad de palabras, esperando que la noche los arrullara hacia un sueño tranquilo. After a long day, my parents, Ana and Luis, lie back in bed, each wrapped in their own thoughts as silence fills the room. With the lights out and the curtains drawn, the outside world seems distant. Amid sighs and the softness of the blankets, they share the simple comfort of being together — without the need for words — waiting for the night to lull them into a peaceful sleep.
Catherine Weinmann, "Comic," 2026. My father began working on a comic three years ago. It’s the only thing that feels like it hasn’t changed since then. He still works on it every day, keeping his schedule of sketch, ink, and paint more consistently than work or even his marriage. I don’t resent the comic; that’s just how it all worked out.
Eleanor Brownlee, "Clothes Piles," 2026. My mom, by far, does the most for our family. Despite what my dad may say, she does the majority of the household chores between the two of them, even though they both have full-time jobs. Here, she is doing laundry in the afternoon.
Eleanor Brownlee, "Early Work by Lamplight," 2026. My dad gets up around 5:00 a.m. to start his day. He does an hour of work on the chaise lounge in our front room before heading to the University of Texas campus, where he teaches classes as a political science professor and attends classes as a third-year law student. As seen in this photo, he doesn’t like using the big lights any time before 7:00 a.m., and he does his best not to disturb the rest of our family’s sleep.
Grayson Allen-Sibold, "The One Night Aurora," 2026. It’s a cool Tuesday night, and the aurora borealis is visible all the way down into Fort Collins, Colorado, turning an ordinary night into an extraordinary experience. The sky looks cool to the naked eye, but when you look at it through a camera lens, it explodes into vibrant swirls of green, blue, and pink. On a normal night, my entire family is usually apart: my dad in his office working on research, my mom grading student papers, and my sister hanging out at a friend’s house. This night, however, was different. We all hopped in the family car and drove to a nearby park, finding a secluded corner where nobody else was. Then, for about the next hour, we stood and looked up at the sky, taking photos and appreciating the night. I still remember that feeling of unity and peace that we all felt, united under one colorful sky. It was incredible!
Greta Steadman, "Free," 2026. My mother has always been a dancer. In fact, she got a full-ride scholarship to dance at the university where she met my father, and now works a job centered around it. For her, dance is for both creative and emotional expression. But, over the years, raising children and growing old have taken a toll on her body. From stretching to being active for long durations, her body struggles to keep up. It’s deeply frustrating for her. Yet, my mom has no bitter feelings about it. While she can’t work at the pace she used to, my mom has decided to dedicate her life to teaching children the joy of dancing, so they could feel what she did — free.
Harper Maxwell, "Front Yard Emergency," 2026. My dog, Olive, waits at the door for her favorite member of the family to come back home. My dad often tries not to bring what he does for work home — my mom hates hearing the traumatic stories from his day as a paramedic — but for an organization that works 24 hours a day, it’s inevitable. So whenever he gets a phone call or has an urgent text to respond to, he steps outside and paces back and forth on our front yard sidewalk to get the job done. For Olive, she thinks he’s taunting her by walking in and out of her view from the front door. But in reality, my dad is trying to protect the rest of the family from the tragic news he’s in charge of settling and organizing.
Joseph Purtell, "Working Flow," 2026. My mother (left) and stepfather (right), both working from home. Mother is a legal secretary and also assists in managing my stepfather’s photography business, printing and filing documents in a digital age, and has a walking pad underneath her desk to keep herself moving. My stepfather, a professional photographer, edits his photos on his computer with a totally stationary, digital workflow. The two of them work side by side with mirrored desks, unintentionally symbolizing their opposite approaches of working from home.
Karla Garrett, "Where Love Still Lives," 2026. Five years ago, my grandmother passed away, and it hit our family hard, especially my mom. She loved my grandma so much. My mom cared for my grandma every single day. My grandma felt closer to herself in nature. We’ve always been a spiritual family. We believe nature holds souls and that life never really leaves. My grandmother’s favorite plant was the one we called Planta. After she passed, we placed her ashes into that plant. Now every morning, I watch my mom water Planta. One day I asked her why, and she said, “When I water Planta, I can feel Mama smiling down on me, and it gives me strength to keep going.” Since then, every time I look at Planta, I think of my grandma, all the memories we shared, and I can’t help but smile. Just like my mom, I feel her presence too.
Kiran Hayden, "Fastball," 2026. As my brother hurls a 40-mile-per-hour fastball from the pitcher’s mound across the diamond, my dad stands ready on home plate to catch it, serving as my brother’s warm-up catcher so he can pitch at his baseball game. My dad quit his job when my brother was born in order to take better care of us. My mom works as an ICU physician, taking on 12-hour shifts, in exchange for allowing my dad to be at all of our events, coach my brother’s baseball team, and always be there for us.
Marina DeVol, "Quince," 2026. Retiring from the Army meant trading missions for moments. My niece is already planning her May 2027 quinceañera. My sister and I had our daughters two months apart, and until recently, raised them on different sides of the country. Now, we are side by side for all of life’s events.
Maya Aguirre, "Ripping Up Metal," 2026. The handiwork around the house is mainly done by Dad. The backyard door broke and needed to be repaired.
Michele Schwartz, "Always Something," 2026. Stephanie and I always joke that, no matter where we work, we will drag the other person along. We have worked at a couple of places together over the years. She invited me to her house to photograph her family for this project. She was taking a moment to clean the window in the middle of working on her ten-year-old son’s school assignment. My mother always said, “We work to live, we do not live to work.”
Rider McIntyre, "Chicken Tender," 2026. Over spring break, my little brother took care of the baby chickens at his middle school for agriculture class. He has always cared so deeply for animals. He is always passionate about how the animals are treated before and after school, and he doesn’t just care about them to get a good grade; he genuinely wants to be able to make their lives better. When he got the opportunity to tend to the baby chickens over the break, he immediately took it because he cares so much about working to make animals as happy and healthy as possible, even if it took up a bit of his time off.
Schoen Thibert, "Fishing Buddy," 2026. This shows my aunt after catching one of the many fish of the day. She is excited to see us, especially when we come down from Austin to the country. We fish together for a long time because it’s the only thing that makes us so connected for the short time we are there.
Sean Sander, "Routine Maintenance," 2026. On an early Saturday afternoon, my dad and I work on maintaining my car. Having owned it a while, I thought it would be a good time to change out the old oil for new. Instead of taking the car to a shop and getting someone else to change it, I asked my dad if he could teach me to do it myself.
Sophia Lopez, "Great-Grandma Cruz," 2026. On an early Saturday afternoon, my dad and I work on maintaining my car. Having owned it a while, I thought it would be a good time to change out the old oil for new. Instead of taking the car to a shop and getting someone else to change it, I asked my dad if he could teach me to do it myself.
Sophie Hernandez, "Northern Lights," 2026. In this picture, you can see my mom looking up at the northern lights. My mom and I were heading to the store when I noticed that the sky was a little red. I checked my phone’s camera and saw the lights. We later went toward Moose, Wyoming, in Grand Teton National Park, to take pictures, and that is where I took this picture. I chose this picture because, although my mom had to get up early to go to work, she still stayed up late with me and enjoyed the northern lights.
Yinet Arias, "Eldest," 2026. Jairo, in front of his workplace, in East Flatbush, Brooklyn, New York. Having a laugh at his eldest daughter.