I got serious about photography in 2016 when I bought a medium format camera from 1971. For the better part of a decade I worked with a single lens, perfecting my technique. I'd grown up around 35mm photography in the 1980s, but it took years before I viewed a film camera as a vehicle for artistic expression rather than just an expensive hobby.
In 2024, I started printing and framing my own work for personal use, and that was the turning point — seeing the photographs on the wall rather than on a contact sheet made me realize that they should be shared with the world. What I lacked was a body of work large enough to share, and a clear sense of how to put it out into the world.
2025 changed that. A skateboarding accident left me with a serious concussion. The months of recovery that followed transformed how I saw and made images. Coming back to photography during my recovery, I experienced a confidence and a new effortlessness in my creative decisions that hadn't been there before.
Today my photography is largely directed toward black and white portraiture and reinterpretations of still life. The medium of film, with studio lighting, lets me tell a story of life and death in a way a digital camera falls flat — the process forces me to think more like a painter than a photographer.
Underneath my creative output lies a meditation practice I've kept going for years. This daily meditation practice informs and influences what I am after in an image: making every moment infinite. The sages of the Himalayas put it more plainly than I can: Sarvam Khalvidam Brahman — all of this is totality. That's what I hope someone standing in front of one of my photographic prints might awaken in their awareness and being.
