How did your photography journey begin?My photography journey began almost by accident. I applied for a copywriting job at a catalog studio and was hired into the photo department instead. I hated it at first—the technical side bored me. Eventually, I left and started an ad agency with one of the photographers.After we sold the firm to DDB Worldwide, smart cameras removed the technical barriers that once frustrated me. What remained was what I had absorbed all along: lighting, composition, and an art director’s eye.Your work often gravitates toward sadness, loss, and people on the margins. What tells you a moment is worth capturing?I was a history major, and over time I realized I wasn’t just taking photographs—I was documenting history. COVID, Black Lives Matter, the worsening unhoused crisis, and the fentanyl epidemic deepened that responsibility. I began seeing scenes that felt almost Pompeii-like in their stillness and tragedy. Santayana’s warning about remembering the past stayed with me. What began as observation became a daily obligation. Street photography lives in a moral gray area.How do you think about consent, dignity, and responsibility?I walk a delicate line between capturing an image and earning permission. Respect is my guide. I often explain what I’m doing and offer people a place in the soft parade of history. Some turn away; others ask me to make them a star. Reality drives the image. Respect drives me.You’re drawn to distress, but you also speak about hope. What does hope look like through your lens?Hope appears in small flashes—a look in someone’s eyes, a stranger’s curiosity, a protester’s passion, a puppy’s love, a sunset, a kiss, a baby staring upward. Against darkness, those moments shine brighter.
