I’ve been photographing for almost fifteen years. It was always pictures of people that drew me: portraits, documentary work, caught moments. Even in a landscape, I missed the person.
It’s curious, because I often find peace in solitude — so you could say that in my own landscape, I don’t miss anyone.
Then I realized that I see myself in the people I photograph: I am the person in the landscape, even when they’re the one standing there and I’m the one behind the camera.
I step into their skin and tell a feeling in the first person, posing them — with a little direction or none at all — so the picture says something to everyone.
It’s always something we make together, even when the other person doesn’t know I’ve photographed them — and that’s the wonder of it.
I photograph where I feel at home, and I feel at home wherever I’m welcomed in.
Photography can be memory, art, a way of expressing yourself and others. In the wrong hands it wounds; used well, it heals.
Some make a living from it — and some, it keeps alive.