About

Why I photograph

I photograph because it asks me to slow down. When I’m looking through the viewfinder, I start paying attention in a different way—details, structure, the way surfaces hold time, the quiet evidence of history in ordinary places. The act of choosing a subject becomes its own kind of practice: noticing, waiting, and deciding what feels worth keeping.

A finished photograph is also how I speak. It’s how I show the way I see—how I make choices, how I compose, how I build a story out of what’s real. Sometimes the subject is literal; sometimes it leans toward abstraction. Either way, it starts with something in front of me that I find meaningful, and the work becomes a translation of that moment into shape, tone, and intent.

I’m constantly in conversation with the photographers who came before me. Not in the sense of imitation, but in the way their images form an internal library—styles, techniques, and instincts that surface when I’m framing, when I’m pacing a series, when I’m deciding what to leave out. Their work has shaped the subjects I’m drawn to, and it’s helped me learn how to trust my own eye.

Photography also gives me a space that feels entirely mine. In my professional life, I work in a world with rules—objectives, constraints, approvals, definitions that are shared and negotiated. Making photographs is the counterweight. Behind the camera, I’m closest to my true creative self: setting the terms, making the calls, and owning the choices when I share the work.

And I love the craft of it. I’ve always been drawn to the technical side of image-making—the feeling of building something in the pre- and post-production space. Years ago, that meant the darkroom. Today it’s Lightroom. Either way, the work doesn’t end when the shutter closes. The photograph continues as I refine it, shape it, and bring it closer to what I felt when I first stopped to look.

Select photographs are available as prints in my online shop.