The Story Behind MANAWA Studio: My Journey as an Auckland Photographer
Written by Emma Williams — Newborn Safety & First Aid Certified Photographer,
Founder of Manawa Studio.
Where It All Began
I got my first camera when I was six years old. I used to take photos of wildlife, of water ponds, of whatever I could find outside — I didn't know what a macro lens was back then, and I didn't have the right gear for any of it, so I'd just get as close as I possibly could, or shoot through the reeds at the edge of the water. All I really wanted was to capture the beautiful world around us that we so easily walk past without ever really seeing.
Life carried on, and somewhere along the way, photography got quietly lost. For a while, I thought I'd become a lawyer. I never did. I went into computing instead — I was naturally good at coding, and it was such a different path from anything I'd imagined for myself as a child.
Becoming a Mother
Fifteen years later, I got married, and had my daughter.
To be honest, that first experience of childbirth wasn't the one I imagined. I was young, and it never crossed my mind that anything could go wrong — so when it did, I wasn't prepared for it. I ended up being put to sleep for an emergency caesarean. When I woke, hazy and disoriented, I remember thinking my daughter's eyes were blue like my husband's — even though his are brown — before drifting straight back to sleep. I had missed the most significant moment of the entire nine months, and it affected me deeply.
It wasn't until later, once I'd properly come through and held my daughter in my arms for the first time, that everything changed. I changed. I became a mother in that moment — this beautiful little human who had grown inside me was finally here, and suddenly everything about how I saw the world was different. Your thoughts change. Your whole life reorganises itself around this one, gentle new person.
I was still so young then. Ten years passed — impossibly fast — before my daughter, now grown into the most beautiful little girl, began asking for a brother. When my son came along, I made sure to do things differently. I'd realised how much I'd missed with my daughter — nine hours a day, five days a week, gone, and never able to get that time back. So when my son was old enough for daycare, I finally gave myself permission to build a future shaped entirely around my children — and, it turned out, around photography too.
The Spark
The spark came from somewhere I didn't expect. My best friend went to a professional photographer for images of herself after having her baby, and I went along with her. Standing inside that studio, I felt alive again — this quiet, unmistakable warmth and excitement, this feeling of *this is me*. I stood there mentally posing, adjusting the lighting, changing the props, all in my head, unable to stop myself.
So I made the choice to go back to university, to study arts and photography.
Two years in, I had my third child, and I paused. But I never went back to an office again. While he was young, I studied part-time, working through media and design at night while he slept.
Then I received some devastating news from my family back in the UK, and I came home. My boys were still young, so I waited — until they were old enough for school — before I even considered working full-time again. And when I finally did, I had a completely clear path in front of me: I wanted to be a photographer.
Finding My Path
I'd seen that Bounty UK photographed newborn babies inside hospitals, just hours old. There were no roles advertised, but I sent through my university portfolio anyway, along with exactly what I dreamed of doing.
"There were no roles advertised, but I sent through my university portfolio anyway, along with exactly what I dreamed of doing."
EMMA WILLIAMS
I started working for Bounty at the Royal Gwent Hospital in Newport. A few months in, COVID hit, and that role came to an end.
I didn't let it stop me. All through COVID, I kept photographing around Newport, kept learning everything I could about newborn photography — online courses, practice, patience. I even bought a stand-in baby (an "SIB," as it's known in the newborn industry) so I could keep training my hands and my eye even without real babies in front of me. I knew, by then, that newborns were the path I wanted. I'd felt an immense joy working at that hospital — being trusted with a moment that completes an entire journey.
Building My Own Way
As COVID eased, I was lucky enough to land a role as Studio Manager and Lead Photographer for one of the UK's most awarded newborn photography franchises, BabyArt Studios. I learned an enormous amount there. Unfortunately, after three years, the studio closed due to circumstances entirely outside my control.
That's where my own journey truly began. I worked part-time for Clifton Photographic in Bristol, a high-end portrait and boudoir studio, and trained with the Click community in London — some of the best photographic backdrop and prop specialists in the world — all while quietly building a studio of my own. It was during this period that I began entering awards, and started being regularly featured in magazines.
My style has come from years of trying every trend there was, before finally settling into what feels truest to me — a Vogue-inspired, timeless approach to imagery. No over-the-top backdrops. No overwhelming props. Just the portrait itself, at the heart of everything, and an image that genuinely captivates.
Why Images Matter
It took me becoming older to truly understand how precious images really are. I didn't grow up surrounded by photographs in our family home, and I never quite felt close to my own family — we all grew up, and drifted into separate lives. I wanted something different for my own family: a closeness that lasts for all time, where our generations still tell each other's stories, surrounded by the images that hold them.
Because images in a family home matter more than people realise. They're not decoration. They're proof — proof that you were loved, that you belonged, that this exact version of your family, at this exact moment, existed.
Why I offer this experience
Ultimately this is what I've learned through my years of life and what photography really is. It was never about a quick snapshot. It is about the human experience — the connection, the emotion, the laughter, the quiet moments and the feeling of being truly seen.
And perhaps that matters more than ever now. We live so much of our lives through screens, where photographs can be taken, shared and forgotten in an instant. There is something almost magical about stepping away from all of that and creating something tangible — an experience that exists in the real world, and photographs that you can hold, touch and live alongside.
Because the story doesn't end when you leave the studio.
I believe there is something incredibly powerful about a home filled with photographs and artwork of the people who live within it. For children especially, the home is more than simply the building around them. Research exploring children's understanding of home and belonging found that their sense of home is closely connected to relationships, safety, acceptance and the environments in which they live.
These images become part of the visual story of childhood.
That's me. That's my family. I belong here. I am loved. I matter.
And there is something beautiful about a child growing up surrounded by photographs of themselves, their family and the people they love. They become part of the landscape of childhood — familiar faces on the walls, moments from their earliest years, and tangible reminders of the people and relationships that make their world feel like home.
Research into family photographs displayed within the home has also explored how these photographs can become part of the way families represent themselves and create meaning within their domestic spaces. These aren't simply beautiful pictures on a wall. They become part of your family's story. And as the years pass, those images become even more precious.
The baby who once fitted into your arms becomes a child, then a teenager, then an adult.
The photograph remains — a tangible piece of a moment that can no longer be recreated. That is what I believe photography can give us. An experience that leaves you feeling something. Artwork that becomes part of your home. And memories made visible, so they can be felt again and again.
Perhaps that is the real magic of photography in a world that is increasingly lived online. We can scroll through thousands of images in a day, but there is something entirely different about walking past a photograph in your home and feeling that moment come alive again. And one day, those photographs may become part of your children's memories of childhood — the images they remember seeing on the walls of the home they grew up in.
That's the belief MANAWA was built on. Not simply a photoshoot, but a meaningful human experience — and photographs created as artwork, becoming more valuable, more personal and more irreplaceable with every year that passes.
Research & Further Reading
**Children, home and belonging**
Koistinen, A.-K., Lähdesmäki, T. & Ylönen, S. C. (2025), *Social Relations, Safety, and Acceptance — Making Meanings of Home in Children’s and Young People’s Visual Expression.*
**Family photographs in the home**
Rose, G. (2003), *Family Photographs and Domestic Spacings: A Case Study.*
These studies helped inform the ideas explored in this article around home, belonging, family photographs and the meaning we attach to the spaces and images that surround us.
With warmth and true blessings
from my family to yours.
About the Author
Emma is the photographer and founder behind MANAWA, based in Auckland, New Zealand. With over 20 years' experience photographing maternity, newborn, and family sessions, she is an award-winning photographer through the International Newborn Photography Competition and Awards (INPCA) and a regular contributing photographer for Bump, Baby & Beyond magazine. Emma's work is bold, soulful, and editorial — creating images designed to help every child feel they truly belong.
