08/04/2026
This is me.
Proof that there is, in fact, a person behind the camera. 😂
Usually I’m the one asking people to stand in the wind and pretend they’re not freezing, so it feels a little strange to be on this side of the lens.
But here I am.
And I’ve been thinking a lot about art, and where it actually comes from.
I don’t think art is something we create.
I think it’s something we become.
For years, I thought my photographs were somewhere just beyond my reach. Like there was some version of my work I was trying to unlock if I could just learn enough.
So I chased it.
I bought the cameras. I took the workshops. I invested in mentorships with photographers I admired. I studied their light, their edits, the way they saw a room.
And I kept believing that one more thing would finally make my work say what I wanted it to say.
None of it was wasted. Every teacher, every mistake, every season of growth shaped me. I’m still learning, and I always will be.
But eventually I realized the thing I was searching for wasn’t another technique or another person’s way of seeing.
It was my own.
Because photographs don’t become meaningful just because we become better at making them.
They become meaningful because we become better at noticing.
We notice things we once overlooked.
We understand tenderness because we’ve experienced it.
We hold onto fleeting moments because we know they don’t last forever.
The camera can only capture what we’ve learned to see.
So I’m not chasing someone else’s definition of better anymore.
I’m building a life that gives me something worth photographing…a life where I slow down, pay attention, and let ordinary moments be ordinary moments without immediately asking how they’ll become an image.
And somehow, the less I force my work to prove something, the more honest it becomes.
If my photographs ever resonate with you, I hope it isn’t because they’re perfect.
I hope it’s because they feel like something real.
A small piece of a life that was actually lived.
