I pay attention to things most people pass by.
I’m interested in beauty that doesn’t announce itself, things that sit quietly until someone takes the time to notice them. Where attention goes changes what’s visible, and a lot gets missed when everything is rushed.
Much of my work comes from time spent close to land. I’ve worked on farms, lived alongside the seasons, and spent long days observing plants, animals, materials, and light. That experience shaped how I see and how I work. It taught me patience, restraint, and respect for what’s already there.
I’m drawn to textures, materials, living things, and shifts in scale. Small moments. Subtle changes. Work that asks the viewer to slow down rather than react.
I feel a responsibility to the subject and to the person looking at the work. To the subject, not to exaggerate or turn it into spectacle. To the viewer, to point toward what might be overlooked, not by explaining it, but by staying present with it long enough for it to speak.
The work isn’t made to chase attention or trends. It’s made slowly, with care. If it holds your attention, it’s because it earned it.
I work alone and I take my time.
Most of the process is waiting, watching light change, staying longer than is efficient, letting conditions settle. I plan carefully, then stay with the work until the moment feels right. A lot of it happens close to the ground, on my belly in dirt or mud, waiting for produce, blossoms, or small details to reveal themselves.
Photography is my primary focus, but it’s supported by other practices that train patience and touch: traditional stone carving, drawing, tattooing, and garden design. I’ve also studied herbalism, permaculture, and land systems, which informs how I think about structure, cycles, and limits.
I don’t rush work to match trends or platforms. Some things take longer than expected. Some never get shown. That’s part of the practice.
The work is meant to be encountered slowly, in homes, books, institutions, or on screens used with intention. Alone or with guidance. It asks for presence more than anything else.