09/29/2026
I didn’t pick up a camera because I had a dream of becoming a photographer.
I picked one up because, at the time, I needed a reason to keep going.
Three years ago, I had taken a bad fall off a horse. I struggled with eating. I was inches away from a career I had spent years chasing but I got hurt. My horse was sick. I was responsible for someone when I should have been figuring out how to carry myself.
Everything I had been working toward suddenly felt out of reach.
But I knew one thing:
I needed horses.
So I found a way to stay close to them.
I picked up a camera.
It gave me a reason to be at the barn, beside the ring, at the track. To stay in a world that still felt like home when almost everything else didn’t.
And somewhere in that chapter, there was a song:
“Glass House” by mgk.
The name stayed with me because the idea of a glasshouse felt familiar.
You can see everything outside of it. You can watch the world moving forward. But you’re still behind the glass. Exposed, fragile, surrounded by cracks.
So I called it Glasshouse Photography.
Not because my life was beautiful then.
Because it wasn’t.
It was a name born from a version of me who didn’t know what came next, but knew she couldn’t let go of horses.
And somewhere between shutter clicks, muddy boots, racetracks, show rings and quiet moments with horses, the camera became more than a way to stay close.
It became a way to see.
To notice what was still beautiful.
To build something from a life that no longer looked the way I had planned.
Three years later, I think about that girl often.
She thought she was picking up a camera to survive a chapter.
She didn’t know she was building the beginning of something.
Glasshouse wasn’t born from a dream.
It was born from the cracks.
And maybe that’s what makes the name mean so much.
Because glass can break.
But it can also let the light in.
🖤
Three years of Glasshouse Photography.
