10/01/2026
I think some art is inherited.
Not always in the form of paintings passed down through generations, like the paintings that line my walls, created by my great-grandmother before I ever knew her…
Sometimes it is inherited as a love that refuses to disappear.
My mother loved photography long before I understood what it meant to make a life from it.
She got her first camera around nine years old. Took courses. Worked at a photo shop. Bought her first 35mm at eighteen. Even photographed a wedding. She dreamed of going away to study photography, but life, as it sometimes does, asked her to put that dream down.
Decades later, somehow, it found its way back into our family.
Through me.
When I photograph, I think I am doing more than documenting what is in front of me.
I am carrying something forward.
The natural instinct to preserve what disappears and the belief that an ordinary moment can become priceless simply because we chose to notice it.
Maybe that is why I have always been drawn to photographs that feel lived in rather than constructed.
I photograph the things we cannot keep, so we can keep them somehow.
I don’t think I fully understood the weight of that until my dad died unexpectedly nine months ago.
There will never be another photograph of him.
What I have of him now is what already exists, a finite collection of photographs that suddenly became priceless over night.
And I will always wish there were more.
That changed me.
Because now I understand, in a way I never wanted to, that photographs aren’t just photographs.
They are evidence that we were here.
They are pieces of people we can hold onto when we can no longer hold onto the people themselves.
I don’t photograph perfection.
I photograph existence.
The ordinary.
Because one day, these photographs may bring someone back to a room, a face, a hand, a voice, a season of their life they thought they had forgotten.
I’m not here to make beautiful photographs.
I’m here to make something that lasts.
Something that outlives the moments and the people we will never get back.