Meet Ellie Rich | Photographer • Author • Artist • Model

We had the good fortune of connecting with Ellie Rich and we’ve shared our conversation below.

Hi Ellie, other than deciding to work for yourself, what else do you think played a pivotal role in your story?
Other than deciding to work for myself, the single most important decision I made was learning to trust my own creative voice—especially when it went against convention. For a long time, I thought success meant doing things the “right” way, following formulas or industry trends. But the turning point came when I committed to creating work that felt honest, even if it was slower, riskier, or harder to explain. That decision—choosing authenticity over approval—changed everything. It gave my work a pulse that people connected with, and that connection became the foundation of my success.

Alright, so let’s move onto what keeps you busy professionally?
Art has always been the quiet, insistent thread running through my life. Photography is my main occupation—it’s how I move through the world, always chasing light, mood, and the quiet truth inside a moment. Whether I’m working on a portrait, a landscape, or something more abstract, I’m drawn to the emotional undercurrent of an image—the feeling it evokes before the subject is even fully seen. That emotional thread also runs through my painting and writing. I create because I have to—because I don’t feel quite whole when I don’t. It doesn’t always have to be something grand. Some days it’s writing a single scene that stirs with emotion; other days it’s shaping the rhythm of a sentence until it finally breathes. But without that creative expression, my day feels incomplete. It’s how I process the world, how I make sense of memory, wonder, and contradiction.

Photography taught me how to see—really see—and to chase meaning in subtle shifts of light, in expression, in stillness. It’s where my eye is sharpest, and where my love of emotion-driven storytelling first found its footing. That same sense of visual intimacy lives in my painting—more fluid, more instinctive—and in my writing, which has become a newer but no less vital part of my career and creative life.

I recently published my first fantasy book, Wake of Ruin – Empire of Vanishing Light. It’s a story that took root in me long before it ever touched the page. It stretched me creatively and reminded me that storytelling can live in so many forms. Whether it’s through a lens, a brush, or a book, what I want most is for my work to resonate with people. To offer beauty, or stillness, or a flicker of recognition in an otherwise ordinary moment.

What sets my work apart is the intention behind it. Each project—be it a photograph, a painting, or a passage of prose—is meant to carry a feeling, a flicker of recognition, a lingering echo. I’m not interested in polished perfection for its own sake. I care about depth, atmosphere, and genuine emotion.

Photography, in particular, did more than shape my eye—it brought me and my husband Dillon Richardson together. Our shared passion became the foundation of our lives, intertwining our creative spirits and guiding every project we undertake. We work side by side, blending our visions, inspiring each other, making art that reflects not just one perspective but a shared world. This partnership is the quiet heartbeat beneath everything we create.

The path here hasn’t been without struggle. Like many artists, I’ve battled doubt, fatigue, and the urge to conform to expectations that never felt quite right. But I persisted—project by project, day by day—because creating is how I understand myself and my place in the world. Over time, I’ve learned to honor my own rhythm, protect my vision, and let each challenge shape my voice rather than silence it.

At its core, my story and my brand are about more than making art—they’re about making meaning. Deliberately, quietly, and with all my heart.

If you had a friend visiting you, what are some of the local spots you’d want to take them around to?
If my best friend came to visit for a week, I wouldn’t want to cram the days with constant movement. I’d want to create a rhythm—something calm, inspiring, creatively rich. Time would stretch a little. We’d notice light, eat slowly, and make space for conversation, rest, and small, beautiful things.

We’d start simple. I’d pick them up and bring them home—no rush, just warmth. Music playing softly, maybe the smell of something baking or fresh coffee in the air. We’d sit on the floor or the couch with drinks and talk until it’s dark without realizing how much time passed. Dinner would be at Guard and Grace—a favorite of mine. Elegant, but never cold. The kind of place where the lighting feels cinematic and every plate looks like it’s been painted. We’d toast to being in the same place again. After that, the whole week would unravel slowly and intentionally.

We’d spend time in my favorite kind of spaces—ones that feel a little hidden, a little haunted by beauty. Bookstores with creaking floors. Galleries with too much silence. Cafés where no one rushes you to leave. There would be mornings of wandering—camera in hand, no map, just following shadows and color until we end up somewhere worth staying. And we would stay. That’s the difference.

One day, we’d escape the city and head to the Evergreen Loop—a serene circle that takes us through Evergreen Lake, where glassy water mirrors the sky and the mountains stand like silent guardians; then to Elk Meadow Park, where the wild grass sways and deer sometimes wander close enough to whisper secrets. We’d find a quiet spot, maybe by a stream or a rocky outcrop, and just be—watching clouds drift, listening to birdsong, feeling the kind of peace that sinks in deep.

Another day, we’d make the drive to Mount Falcon, right when the light starts turning golden. There’s this spot where the whole valley opens up beneath you, and everything goes quiet in a way you can feel in your chest. We’d bring tea in thermoses and probably just sit there for too long, not saying much, which is exactly the point.

In between, we’d have days where we barely left the house. One afternoon we’d clear a whole table and cover it in paint, scraps of paper, dried flowers, ink—whatever we could find. We’d make something for the sake of making. Music playing. Bare feet. Maybe wine. Maybe silence. We’d talk about everything and nothing. Probably cry-laugh. Definitely take too many photos.

We’d spend a night dressed just a little too well for where we’re going, which is always the best kind of night. Maybe somewhere dimly lit with a rooftop, or a bar that plays vinyl and makes cocktails like little spells. We’d talk to strangers. We’d feel cinematic.

And we’d have the quiet evenings too—the ones that stretch on with tea, old movies, and the warmth of shared stillness. That kind of intimacy you only get with the people who know the shape of your silences.

The best part is, nothing would feel forced. It would be a week of warmth and beauty and small magic. A reminder that the most unforgettable trips aren’t about how much you see, but how deeply you feel. That’s the kind of week I’d want to give someone. That’s the kind of week I’d want to live.

Shoutout is all about shouting out others who you feel deserve additional recognition and exposure. Who would you like to shoutout?
Wallis Kinney
https://www.instagram.com/wallisimo_writes/

Website: https://www.ellierich.com

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ellierich_artistry/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Ellierichartistry/

Other: A link to my latest creative endeavor — my book Wake of Ruin: Empire of Vanishing Light.
https://a.co/d/0zlbDVJ

Image Credits
In Frame: Ellie Rich and Dillon Richardson
Photographers: Ellie Rich and Dillon Richardson