I know — saying I fell in love with photography as a kid digging through old family albums sounds like the most cliché photographer origin story ever. And yeah…it kind of is. You’ve probably heard some version of it a dozen times.
But in my case, it’s true. And it wasn’t just a casual flip-through of photos...I was obsessed. Our family photo chest was like a time machine I couldn’t stop opening. I’d sit cross-legged on the floor for hours, pulling out stacks of prints and reliving memories I wasn’t even around for. Weddings, holidays, blurry beach trips, even photos of people I didn’t actually know. It didn’t matter. They showed a version of my family I’ve never known, the one that existed before me.
I loved hearing stories about their pre-me adventures. The trips they took, the friends they had, the lives they lived before marriage and parenthood. Hard to believe your parents had a whole life before you came along, right? But seeing those moments in photos brought everything to life in a totally different way. It felt like watching a movie I’d heard the plot to a hundred times, only now in slow motion, where I could catch all the little details I never knew I was missing.
Still, the ones that struck me most were the photos no one had a story for. The ones with no explanation, no memory attached, just a fleeting moment frozen in time. Somehow, those were the ones that hit the hardest.
There was something powerful about discovering those untold pieces of their lives. Seeing them mid-laugh or deep in conversation, in places I’d never been, with people I’d never met. They felt like windows into a private world I wasn’t a part of, but still felt connected to. I found myself wondering what they were thinking in that moment. What the air smelled like. What song was playing. It was like unlocking a tiny, beautiful secret.
That kind of quiet power is what draws me to photography the most. How it can connect you not only to people and places, but entire seasons of your life. To really wear my heart on my sleeve, I'd have to tell you about my grandma. I was only eight when she passed, but she meant the world to me. I was just old enough to feel how much it hurt to lose her, but too young to have stored away many clear memories. My brain was still developing (no pun intended), and even though I only had a handful of years with her that I truly remember, the photos we have hold pieces of her that my memory can’t.
I cherish them more and more as I get older. As that chapter of my life fades further into the past and my memory of her grows fuzzier, those images bring her back to me in an instant. Like I’m right there, at Grandma’s house again.
And that’s what I hope my work can do for others too. Because sometimes a photo isn’t just about remembering a person. It’s about feeling connected to a version of yourself, a chapter of your life, or a place that no longer exists in the same way. That kind of emotional anchor is something we don’t even realize we’ll need until it’s all we have left of that moment.
That’s part of what makes older photos feel so meaningful. They weren’t taken with an agenda. There were no perfect angles or Instagram captions in mind. In the film days, every click had weight to it, and you wouldn’t know what you got until the prints came back. Even when digital first came along, those photos still weren’t meant for the world. They lived on fridges, in shoeboxes, and tucked into wallets. Those images weren’t curated. They were kept.
As I got older, I started documenting my own life that way. Not just the holidays and birthdays, but the Tuesday afternoons and late-night kitchen hangs. The messy, beautiful, regular stuff. And eventually, I realized I could do that for other people too.
That’s the heart of why I photograph: to preserve what would otherwise pass. Sometimes that looks like a beautifully composed portrait or a moment we planned for. Other times, it’s a laugh you didn’t see coming, the wind in your hair, the way someone looked at you when you weren’t paying attention. I love the honest stuff most of all, but truly, I just love documenting. My favorites are the kinds of images that make you say, “Oh my god, I forgot that even happened,” or, “I didn’t even know you caught that.” Because that means it was real. And that means it’s worth remembering.
For me, photography means making people feel comfortable enough to be themselves, and then capturing whatever naturally comes through. It’s about honoring the beauty of real life. Unscripted. Emotional. Vibrant. Fragile.
What started as me flipping through someone else’s memories has turned into a life of helping others hold onto their own. I’ve seen how much a photo can matter, not just right after it’s taken but even more so years down the line. When details fade and memories blur, and you just want to remember how it felt. To be grateful that someone, at some point, thought to hit the shutter. If I can give people that through my work, then I know I’m doing something that matters.
