ARTIST STATEMENT

BROCK MILLS

Hi, I’m Brock Mills. I’m a photographer, an artist, and the founder of Your Favorite Little Human™ (YFLH™).

I was born in Brownsville, Brooklyn, and with hydrocephalus. My first brain surgery took place just weeks after I was born. I’ve had six more since. Both my condition and my neighborhood shaped how I see the world, long before I ever picked up a camera.

I didn’t come to photography through formal study. My earliest influence was my mother. She wasn’t a professional, but she carried herself like one. She photographed our lives with care and precision in parks, on stoops, in the spaces we called home. She gave weight to everyday moments. I watched her. Later, I followed that instinct.

Photography became my art, my passion, and my livelihood. At different points in my life, surgery saved me. Photography did too.

Today, I run Brock Mills Photography® and lead Your Favorite Little Human™, a fine art lifestyle brand dedicated to honoring childhood and memory through books, imagery, and conceptual storytelling.

My latest series, Untouched (2025), began during my birthday celebration at The Peninsula with my wife and son. It captures a sealed slice of bread, originally packed as a snack for my son. Once placed down, it stopped being food and became something else. A meditation on simplicity, care, and what we choose to preserve and why.

I believe the quiet moments are often the ones that last. My work is about seeing them, and saving them.

Everything I’ve shared so far is the beginning of my story. What follows is the language I built from it — the practice that keeps me grounded in every frame.

ON STILLNESS

I didn’t learn stillness from other artists. I learned it from life — from waiting rooms, from hospital beds, from quiet kitchens where nothing moved but mice. Stillness taught me before I ever picked up a camera. Stillness taught me how to survive.

When I say stillness, I don’t mean silence. I mean awareness. I mean care. I mean patience. The space between movement and meaning. It’s the pause that lets the truth reveal itself instead of being pulled out.

I work across everything — insects, people, landscapes, family — but I don’t switch modes. The same patience that lets me photograph a fly resting on a leaf is the patience that lets me photograph my son reaching for the world. Stillness connects it all. It’s not genre that defines me. It’s restraint.

Stillness, for me, is an ethic. It’s how I protect what I love from being turned into performance. I don’t chase moments. I wait for them. Even when I’m shooting an event, I don’t make people smile. I don’t force them to pose. I allow them to exist as if I don’t. My work is about keeping what was already true, true.

I grew up thinking quiet was a flaw. I turned what I thought was a flaw into a practice. My art doesn’t borrow stillness. My art borrows time. I capture moments that won’t last, but deserve to. That is stillness in its truest form.

I use the camera the way I use my breath — slowly, carefully, so I don’t disturb what’s in front of me. Patience isn’t a technique. It’s my voice. I’ve learned to be fluent in it. That honor goes to the people who have been in my life — and to the people who haven’t.

I’m not afraid to be independent. That’s how I protect my work. That’s how I protect my family. That’s how I stay untouched.

Portrait of Brock Mills, fine art photographer, in Brooklyn

Brock Mills, photographed in Brooklyn

“Everything is new to him. And now it’s new to me again.”