Over decades of photographing, I’ve come to recognize a quiet throughline in my work, there’s a sense of loss, a thread of nostalgia, an awareness of what once was. That doesn’t make the work purely melancholic; at times it leans into humor, commentary, or reflection. But there’s often an undercurrent, a subtle tension between presence and absence.

 

My process is rooted in both physical and cognitive exploration. Early on, I found myself drawn to overlooked spaces, entering through broken windows, documenting structures and their stories, long past their prime. That’s where my connection to architecture began. I cut my teeth photographing an abandoned asylum, spending hours in the darkroom bringing those images to life. That body of work became my first exhibition. The building has since been demolished. The hundreds of photographs I took are now a part of its history. 

 

A following series photographing miniatures explores the idea that appearance rarely reveal the full truth. In Overwhelmed, a composed, manicured figure reveals something more unsettled through posture and palette. The titles are integral to the work, acting as a second voice that reframes the image and sharpens the space between appearance and meaning. One Slip captures a moment of divergence, a subtle shift where a single action redirects the course of events. It’s less about a dramatic break and more about the quiet instant when one path gives way to another, aligning with the decisive moment described by Henri Cartier-Bresson. It’s the fraction of time where something quietly, but irreversibly, shifts.

 

I continue to explore new creative concepts and develop new bodies of work alongside my editorial practice, which includes live music and behind-the-scenes photography for film and television. Both require time, patience, and a sensitivity to fleeting moments, whether in stillness or motion.