I started Poppy in 2009.

If you know anything about 2009, you know that was not a gentle time to start a business. The economy was in freefall. Clients were pulling back. Nobody was talking about growth — they were talking about survival.

I wasn’t thinking about any of that.

I was thinking about Shaun Sullivan.

Shaun had built something rare. A career as an interiors and product photographer that took him through the pages of the best catalogs in the country; Smith and Hawken, Crate and Barrel, Restoration Hardware, Pottery Barn. He had the kind of work that made you stop scrolling before scrolling was even a thing. And he needed a real partner. Someone in his corner, not just answering phones, but with the ability to make stellar connections.

That felt like something worth building toward.

But I wouldn’t have made it back to California to build it without Karla (Springer) Rinehart. She came to the East Coast, believed in what we could do together, and brought me back west to start this crazy company. Poppy has her fingerprints on it from day one.

Within weeks, some of my favorite stylists, Jody Kennedy, Joy Coakley, and Rachel Cleaveland were on board. Digital techs who were just starting to break out on their own came with them. We were small, scrappy, and completely committed to each other.

Seventeen years later, I’m still here.

We survived the crash we launched into. We survived the pivot from film to digital. We survived COVID, the cancellations, the silence, the slow and uneven return. We survived the aftermath of that, which, honestly, was harder than the thing itself. There were highs that felt like anything was possible. There were lows that tested everything.

I’m still standing. Poppy is still standing.

And I find myself wanting to say thank you, to every photographer, stylist, and creative who trusted me with their career. To every client who picked up the phone. To everyone who said yes when they didn’t have to.

Representation isn’t going anywhere. How it works is.

If you’ve been reading along here, you know I’ve been thinking hard and out loud about what representation needs to look like going forward. I haven’t been shy about saying the old model has to evolve.

But I want to be precise about something, because I think it gets flattened in these conversations.

I’m not saying agents are going away. I’m saying how we work with artists and with clients has to shift into something more workable for everyone. The structure needs to flex. The relationship needs to be renegotiated. That’s a different thing than disappearing.

And here’s the question I keep coming back to: without artist representation, how do photographers and stylists get vetted for a client?

Think about what that process actually requires. A client needs to know that the person walking onto their set has the experience, the professionalism, and the aesthetic range the job demands. That trust doesn’t come from a website. It comes from someone who knows the work, knows the client, and has spent years building the credibility to make that introduction mean something.

That’s what representation does. In 2009. In 2026. In whatever comes next.

Having an agent means having a partner, someone who is in your business 50/50, as invested in your success as you are. Negotiating rates, protecting usage rights, reading contracts, knowing when to push and when to hold. That’s the work that happens before a single frame is captured.

And then there’s the network. Decades of relationships in the interior, hospitality, and food space with art directors, creative directors, and brand teams who trust the roster I bring them. That trust took years to build. When you’re represented, you step into it.

The shape of how I do this work has changed. It will keep changing. I’m not precious about the old ways, I never have been. But the need at the center of it is permanent.

Someone has to know the talent. Someone has to know the client. Someone has to stand behind both.

Seventeen years in, that someone is still me.

Poppy is growing. If you’re a photographer, stylist, or creative who has been wondering whether representation still makes sense in this industry I’d love to have that conversation. Something is coming in May and I want the right people in the room.

With gratitude,
Traci

Late last year I heard a rumor. One of our most important, long-standing clients was pulling all photography shoots for 2027. Going all-in on AI instead.

My first reaction? I brushed it off. There is no way that is actually true. These were people I had worked alongside for years. We had a rhythm, a shorthand, a trust built across dozens of shoots.

Then January came and went. No call. No email. No “happy new year, can’t wait to work together.” Just silence.

February arrived and the silence got louder.

I had a choice. I could sit with the anxiety and wait, or I could lean into the relationship I had spent years building and simply ask. I reached out to their producer and asked if she would get on a call with me. She booked a date immediately.

We got on Zoom and before I could even get into my thoughts or my questions, she said:

I was not expecting that. Not even close.

What followed was one of the most honest conversations I have had in a long time. And I think what she shared matters for every creative reading this.

Here is what I am hearing more and more across the industry. A directive comes down from above: use AI. What that means in practice, nobody has quite figured out yet. Producers are finding themselves becoming project managers, handling files and workflows they were never set up for. Creative teams are being asked to take on things they were never trained to do.

The mandate arrives. The infrastructure doesn’t.

When a real deadline hit and the pressure was on, her instinct was to reach for what she knew worked. Her trusted crew. Her photographer relationships. Her process. That is not resistance to change. That is a professional making a smart call.

I keep coming back to the shift from film to digital. That wasn’t just a technology change. For a lot of photographers it felt like an identity change. The craft of film, the darkroom, the grain, all of it was tied to who they were as artists. Digital felt like a threat.

Some dug in and refused. Some adapted and thrived. The ones who thrived were not the ones pretending digital wasn’t happening. They were the ones asking: what does my expertise look like in this new world? What does my client actually need from me that a new tool can’t replace?

This moment asks the same question. But it feels more charged, because digital replaced a process. AI feels like it might replace the person. That is a different kind of fear, and I think it deserves to be named honestly.

What I walked away believing, more than ever, is that relationships are still the most durable currency we have.

Not your portfolio. Not your gear. Not even your aesthetic.

It is the trust you have built with a producer who picks up the phone when things go sideways. The shorthand with an art director you have worked with long enough that you already know what they need before they do. The fact that when someone is under pressure and needs a solution fast, your name is the one that comes to mind.

That cannot be prompted. It cannot be generated. It is built over time, in person, in the small moments that don’t feel like they matter until they suddenly do.

The photographers and creatives I know who are navigating this with the most confidence are not ignoring AI. They are curious about it. They are learning what it can and can’t do, exploring how it fits into their workflow, thinking about how to bring real perspective to the clients who are already using it. They are not waiting to be displaced. They are positioning themselves as the people who understand both worlds.

We did this before. We figured out digital. We will figure this out too. But only if we stay in the room, stay curious, and keep showing up for the relationships that brought us here.

The phone didn’t ring in January. I made it ring in February.

That made all the difference.

With gratitude,

Traci

We hosted our monthly Focus on Women call this week. Just a check-in. How are you, what’s working, what isn’t.

It wrecked me a little, if I’m being honest.

I’m watching photographers,stylists, producers who have spent 15, 20 years building something real now quietly searching for supplemental income. Or walking away entirely. I’m watching agents lose their rosters because when things slow down, we become the convenient explanation. The liability. Never mind that we’re the ones still in the room, still making calls, still believing in artists when the market makes that belief feel absurd.

And here’s what I want to say to every creative right now: this is the moment to dig in. Research where the industry is heading. Strengthen your portfolio. Stay in motion. Learn more about AI - seriously!

And also, in the same breath: it is completely okay to decide you’re done. If you’ve spent two decades trying to convince brands that a skilled photographer, a trained stylist, and a real crew actually produce better work than a phone and an intern, and you are exhausted from that fight? Leaving isn’t failure. Sometimes it’s just wisdom about what you’re willing to carry.

I spend a lot of my days checking in on producers, agents, photographers, stylists, just asking what's working, what isn't, how they're holding up. We all know the beginning of the year is slow. That's not new. But this year feels different. The world is on fire. People are marching. Parents are scared. Nobody wants to think about a campaign deadline when they're worried about their kids, their neighbors, their community. Who wants to post on their instagram and then get stuck in the doom scroll and start to have a panic attack.

I’m usually the one with something useful to say. The steady voice. The person who reminds you to keep your rhythm, keep your head down, keep going.

But I want to tell you the truth: I’m tired too. I’m scared too. Some days I’m just as lost as anyone else in this industry.

I’m not saying that to be dramatic. I’m saying it because I think we need to stop performing resilience for each other and just be in this thing honestly, together.

That’s where I’m at. Where are you?

Not because I ran out of things to say but because I wasn’t sure how to show up honestly when so much of the world feels heavy, fractured, and uncertain. The pain so many people are carrying right now is not abstract to me. It lives in my body too. And there were moments where writing about creativity, careers, or photography felt small against the backdrop of what’s happening on our planet.

At the same time, silence didn’t feel right either.

Because this industry, our industry, is also in pain.

Photography has always required resilience, but lately even the most experienced artists and agents are quietly asking: Where is this headed? What is sustainable now? And what does real support look like in this moment?

That uncertainty is part of what stalled me. Another part is more personal and more uncomfortable to name.

I am actively trying to break the ceiling between how artists and agents work together. And doing that means questioning a system that no longer works the way we were taught it should.

The Myth of Representation

Somewhere along the way, representation became synonymous with rescue.

There’s still a deeply held belief that once an artist is “represented,” work will magically appear, that doors will open, calendars will fill, and if they don’t, the agent must be to blame.

That belief is so outdated, it might be understandable to some but these days I don’t even agree with that, it’s unacceptable.

Representation is not a vending machine.
It is not a guarantee.
And it has never been a one-sided responsibility.

But there’s another piece of this myth that rarely gets discussed: how agents are paid.

The Old Model (And Why It’s Breaking)

Traditionally, agents earned what I call a small percentage of the total photographer’s fees, an agency fee, typically 20-25%. That percentage was meant to cover everything: marketing, outreach, portfolio development, meetings, strategy, relationship-building, negotiations, follow-ups, even billing for some reps and often emotional support behind the scenes.

That model assumed:

• healthy production budgets

• a steady flow of assignments

• fewer marketing channels

• and less ongoing labor required to stay visible

None of that reflects today’s reality.

Photo fees are smaller. Jobs are fewer. The number of photographers out there is more. Marketing requires more time, more money, more strategy, and more consistency than ever before. Agents are spending at least one year, if not more, developing artists, positioning them thoughtfully, editing portfolios, refining messaging, checking in regularly, and maintaining momentum long before a single job materializes.

A tiny percentage of a shrinking pie simply doesn’t cover that work anymore.

And pretending that it does helps no one.

This is why I’ve changed my model.

In my current format, I charge a monthly subscription fee for my time and ongoing support, and I only take an agency fee when I am negotiating a deal from start to finish. This isn’t meant to be a barrier, it’s an acknowledgment of the reality of how this work actually happens now.

In this model, artists aren’t exclusive to me, and I’m not automatically handling their client relationships unless they ask me to. My role isn’t to control access or sit between artists and opportunity, it’s to support, guide, and help them build something sustainable on their own terms. When an artist wants me involved in negotiating or managing a project, we decide that together.

This shift also changes the dynamic in an important way.

Artists are no longer waiting for work to “appear.”
They are actively building alongside me.
We are sharing responsibility, accountability, and effort.

That doesn’t mean instant results. It does mean clarity.

When work doesn’t land, we look at the full picture; market conditions, positioning, outreach, timing, not for someone to blame, but for something to adjust. Success is measured over time, not by a single booking.

Why I’m Writing Again

I see now my absence wasn’t about disengagement, it was about reckoning.

With the world.
With this industry.
And with my role inside it.

I still believe deeply in mentoring. I still believe in sharing experience and hard-earned perspective. And I still believe that sustainable, thoughtful creative careers are possible but only if we let go of myths that no longer serve us.

So this is me returning, not with easy promises or polished answers but with clarity about what I stand for.

I don’t have all the answers, but I’m committed to continuing the conversation, honestly, thoughtfully, and with care. If you’re questioning what support, partnership, or sustainability look like right now, you’re not alone.

If this resonates, I’d love to hear from you, we’re in this because we build each other up and keep it going together.

with gratitude,

traci

But once the cracks start to show, the real question becomes:
What do we build in its place?

Because the truth is, our industry is evolving. Artists today are more entrepreneurial, more strategic, and more connected than ever before. They’re not waiting to be “discovered” or “represented.” They’re building their own paths and they want partners who can help them do it with clarity and confidence.

That’s why I’m thrilled to team up with Mary Dail of Big Leo Productions for an upcoming workshop designed for exactly this moment:

✨ Clarity is Power: How to Market Smarter and Define Your Creative Voice

Between us, we’ve spent decades helping photographers and stylists navigate the shifting landscape of commercial photography. We’ve seen how much the game has changed and how clarity is the key to standing out.

In this workshop, you’ll learn how to:

• Understand how clients perceive you (and shape that narrative intentionally)

• Define what makes your work unique

• Market with confidence and purpose

• Build a creative career that’s sustainable and true to you

📅 Nov. 19th, 12pm-2pm EST
📍 Online (Register below)

This isn’t about more hustle, it’s about more focus.

Because once you’re clear on who you are and what you offer, the right opportunities find you.

➡️ [Register for Clarity is Power here]

💬 Let’s chat:
What’s one thing about your creative business that you wish felt clearer right now?

Drop it in the comments or the Substack Chat, I’d love to hear and maybe even weave your questions into the workshop.

In 2018, I found myself at a crossroads. My business was thriving, but I felt stuck. I knew I didn’t want to expand into the traditional “bigger agency” model by adding more agents and artists, it just didn’t align with my values.

Instead, I went back to what I love most: helping artists discover how to stand out in an oversaturated market. I’ve always had an eye for spotting talent and a passion for mentoring, so I created Artist to Watch as a six-month program. It gave me the chance to grow my network in a more intentional way, while also working with artists whose work I truly believed in. A way to broaden my number of artists I could refer to clients without having to have the bandwidth to officially bring them onto my roster.

What started as an experiment quickly became something bigger, a bridge for artists to gain the tools, confidence, and visibility they needed, and for me, a new way to nurture creative voices without being bound by the old agency model.

Over time, ATW revealed something bigger: the traditional artist–agent model simply doesn’t fit the world we’re working in anymore. The old system, where agents relied on a small percentage of a photographer’s day rate to sustain themselves has become impossible to maintain. The math doesn’t work.

And beyond that, artists need more than a middle person taking a cut. They’re looking for strategy, accountability, and true partnership, someone who can help them not just get hired, but build a career that lasts, someone who has got their back and still brings them that vetted experience of a bigger entity behind them.

That realization led me to shift my own agency model. After nurturing more than two dozen artists through ATW, I decided it was time to move away from the outdated framework of representation and into something more collaborative. That’s how The Poppy Pod was born, where artists and I work side by side as partners, creative allies, and co-strategists.

The Pod isn’t about the old way of doing things. It’s about walking alongside artists as allies, strategists, and creative partners, supporting them in building sustainable, thriving careers on their own terms.

ATW opened the door. The Poppy Pod is the next chapter.

As many of you know, one of my overarching goals is to stay ahead of the curve, to not only anticipate where our industry is going but to be ready to pivot when it gets there. The landscape of commercial photography and creative partnerships is shifting, and with it, the traditional roles of agents, reps, and marketing partners.

As I continue to explore where this industry is headed, I want to open up the conversation. I’d love to hear directly from you, photographers, stylists, and creatives about what you’re really looking for when you reach out for representation or marketing support.

• What do you hope to gain when you seek a rep or partner?

• What qualities matter most in that relationship?

• And perhaps most importantly: what would your ideal agent–artist partnership look like today?

The truth is, the “old model” of representation doesn’t serve everyone anymore. We’re at a moment where collaboration, adaptability, and shared vision matter more than rigid titles or outdated roles. That’s why I want to better understand your goals, your challenges, and your vision for the future of these relationships.

This isn’t just about building a better system, it’s about building the right system. One that supports artists as business owners, nurtures creativity, and makes marketing feel less like a burden and more like an extension of your craft.

I’d love to hear your perspective. 📸

If you’re a photographer, stylist, or creative, please take a few minutes to share your thoughts in this short questionnaire. Your insights will not only help me better understand the challenges and goals of today’s artists, but will also shape how my agency continues to grow in partnership with the creative community.

👉 [Click here to share your perspective]

Thank you in advance for lending your voice to this conversation, it truly means the world.

With Gratitude,

Traci

Hi, I’m Traci — creative collaborator, problem solver, and champion for artists.

I’m a California girl, born and raised. After years rooted on the West Coast, I’ve now moved to the East Coast twice — and this time, I think it’s going to stick.

Like many people with an Art History degree, and no clear plan, I started my career in a gallery, unsure of where I fit. Then a friend recommended me for a job as the admin to the Creative Director at Williams-Sonoma Inc. It felt like a placeholder, but it became my creative bootcamp. WSI sent me back to school for graphic design, and taught me how to lay out catalogs, write copy, mark up film, color correct, and navigate press checks. It was the introduction to a whole new world.

And then, I got sent on my first photo shoot.

I knew instantly: I never wanted to be in an office again, I had found my place.

That moment lit the fire. I set my sights quickly on becoming first, an Art Director but ultimately, a Creative Director, because at the time, I thought that was the goal. I moved from Williams-Sonoma to Restoration Hardware, where I got to both be a producer and an Art Director, and went work building out their production department. After staying for six years there, I then got approached by Gump’s, the well-known SF department store to come and be their AD, not knowing that within a few months the CD would leave and I would take their place, the dream title I’d been chasing was finally mine.

It was short lived and without any notice the job was yanked out from under me and “eliminated”.

What felt like the end of the road was actually a huge turning point. I left San Francisco, moved East for the first time, and took a leap: I opened a flower shop. A long-held dream that finally had room to bloom.

Those few years were some of the most creative, living in an idyllic New England town, fulfilling a passion filled dream. I worked with my hands, and created beautiful color palettes of design thru nature, bringing smiles to the faces of nervous brides and customers. And in that space, I found clarity.

But then came the tech crash.

In 2008, like so many small businesses, mine didn’t survive. I had to reevaluate once again. That’s when a dear friend — a photographer I deeply admired — reached out.
He said, “You have the best network I know. I need your help. Will you come back and be my agent?”

That call planted the seed for a move back to the Bay Area and for what would become the underlying ethos of Poppy Creative, not just a representation agency, but a creative collective. A place where artists are treated as business owners and collaborators, not just portfolios.

It started as a traditional style of representation, a group of photographers, stylists, and producers working together in service of each client’s vision, choreographed by me: the girl with the biggest and best network in the Bay Area’s home industry.

Over the next 15+ years, we built relationships, launched campaigns, and navigated the ebb and flow of a rapidly shifting creative landscape. Artists came and went. Covid prompted a move back to the East. The industry evolved. And so did we.

Now, we’re pivoting once again, toward something even more collaborative. Today, Poppy Creative is a place where artists are treated as partners in their growth. Where marketing, strategy, and storytelling happen together, side by side, with someone who’s been doing this for nearly two decades and still loves every part of it.

I work to be a creative ally, first and foremost, not just connecting artists and clients, but helping build careers that are rooted, thriving, and ready to grow.

That’s what The Poppy Perspective is all about: honest stories, real shifts, and the kind of conversations that help us all feel a little more grounded in this ever-changing creative industry.

🌺
With perspective,
Traci

It’s no secret — July has been quiet. For many of us in commercial photography, styling, and production, it feels like someone hit the pause button. And with August just around the corner, a lot of us are asking the same question:
Is it just me? Or is everyone feeling this too?

Let me say this clearly: it’s not just you.

Work has slowed down. Budgets are tight. Inboxes are quieter than usual. And it’s not just seasonal, it’s also a reflection of the world around us. There’s a lot of uncertainty right now. From economic shifts to global unrest, many people, creatives and clients alike, are navigating this moment with caution.

In the stillness, a sneaky mix of FOMO and guilt starts to creep in.
Should I be doing more? Posting more? Pitching harder?
Is a hike with the dog equal to a missed opportunity for work?

Here’s what I want to offer instead: permission to breathe.

This slower season doesn’t mean you’re behind. It means you have a rare window — the kind that doesn’t come often in this industry - to check in with yourself, your goals, and your business.

What could this season be for?

• Finally updating that portfolio or website

• Cleaning up your client list or researching new dream contacts

• Reaching out to someone you admire for a test shoot or just to grab a coffee

• Following up on missed inquiries or jobs you had to turn down but now have time for the connection

• Or… just being in the moment - enjoying the sun, the kids, the summer

None of these are wasted. And neither is rest.

The industry will recalibrate. The world will shift again. The work will come. It always does.

So if you need to take the day and wander, hike, stretch, or sit — do it. You’re not missing out. You’re making space.

And space is where creative energy is reborn.

🌺
With perspective,
Traci

Hi, I’m Traci — creative collaborator, problem solver, and champion for artists.

For over 20 years, I’ve worked behind the scenes in the world of commercial photography and production—helping artists build thriving careers, guiding brands through seamless shoots, and creating the kind of partnerships that make great work possible. As the founder of Poppy Creative and co-founder of Focus on Women, I’ve made it my mission to support artists not just as talent, but as business owners, collaborators, and creative partners.

Over the years, I’ve worn many hats: artist advocate, producer, art director, marketer, strategist, mentor, and often, the calm voice of reason when the inevitable challenges of creative production arise. My greatest strength lies in connecting people—bringing the right artists, clients, and teams together to produce work that’s beautiful, effective, and most importantly, enjoyable for everyone involved.

But what’s become clear over time is that the old model of artist representation doesn’t fit the creative world we’re working in today. What artists really need isn’t just an agent — they need a true partner. Someone who helps guide, connect, and advocate for them as they build sustainable, evolving careers. That shift in perspective is what inspired this space.

The Poppy Perspective is where I’ll share insights, wisdom, and lessons gathered from years in the field—everything from marketing and business development to production trends and how we reshape the narrative around supporting artists today. Think of it as a peek behind the curtain—real conversations, practical advice, and field notes from someone who's been in the trenches and still loves every part of the process.

I’m so glad you’re here. Let’s see where this conversation takes us. 🌸