PAIGE YOUNG

ARTIST BIO

Paige Young is a Midwest-based photographer whose work is deeply rooted in the intersection of psychology and art. Her journey began with an interest in how photography fosters intimacy between subject and artist—and how visual storytelling can cultivate self-love, compassion, and healing.

With over 17 years of experience running her own photography business, Paige’s work spans both commercial and fine art, often exploring themes of self-compassion, mental health, grief, body image, and representation. She is especially passionate about inclusivity in the wedding industry, challenging traditional norms and advocating for the visibility of all forms of love and identity.

Beyond the lens, Paige is a full-time assistant professor at Kendall College of Art and Design at Ferris State University. Teaching fuels her passion for growth and connection, and she sees education as another way to create a welcoming, affirming space for others.

In every aspect of her work—whether behind the camera or in the classroom—Paige is committed to holding space for others, telling honest stories, and preserving the beauty of fleeting moments.


ARTIST STATEMENT

I cry every year on my birthday.


Not because I fear aging—but because I fear those around me aging.

As a photographer, I've spent most of my life documenting the stories of others through my commercial work. But recently, I’ve felt the pull to slow down and turn the lens toward those who shape my own story. The people I love. The ones who make life meaningful.

In 2020, I began photographing grief. What started as witnessing others’ loss quickly became something more personal. That same year, I unexpectedly lost a young, close relative. The suddenness of it left me aching for more — more memories, more recordings, more… something. It made me realize how powerful it is to preserve moments, and how I had been doing this for others, but not nearly enough for myself.

As I grow older, so do my parents and grandparents. I was lucky to have all four grandparents well into adulthood. But when my grandfather was diagnosed with dementia, I felt the urgency to document what he could no longer remember. Through my camera, I processed the pain, recorded his decline, and preserved tender moments with my grandmother.

I also began asking questions—about our family, our history, our roots. My grandmother shared stories I would’ve never known if I hadn’t asked. I realized how fragile these connections are. Old photographs from the 1860s feel distant, but they are pieces of who I am. It's strange how some objects feel important without us knowing why—until someone explains their story. And if they don’t, that meaning can vanish with them.
That’s why I document. To remember. To honor. To hold on to the threads of who we are—before they disappear.