I’ve been a photographer for almost fifteen years. I’ve always been drawn to people-centered images: portraits, documentary shots, caught moments. Even a landscape felt incomplete without a person in it.
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 in the people in my photos, I see myself — I’m the person in the landscape too, even when they’re the one standing there and I’m the one behind the camera.
I tell a feeling in the first person, stepping into their skin, and direct them — with a word or without one — so the picture says something to everyone.
It’s always a joint effort, even when the person doesn’t know I’ve photographed them — and that’s the magic of it.
I photograph where I feel at home, and I feel at home wherever I’m let in.
Photography can be a memory, an art form, a way to express yourself and others — in the wrong hands it hurts, used well it heals.
Some people live off it. Others live through it.