A Life Reframed

I chase light in the early hours before the world wakes — the hours where ordinary scenes tilt toward the extraordinary, and the noise of the world finally lets go. The stillness carries the weight of history, and that gravity centers me. Long before sunrise—while the crowds sleep—I’m out in the cold, dark, often rain‑soaked streets searching for stillness that feels like truth rather than performance. Those early hours are the only time I don’t have to negotiate for space. It’s just me, the light, and a world that isn’t demanding anything back.

I grew up in the Rockies. Raised on hose water and mild neglect, I learned early to become relentlessly competent because no one was coming to save me. Gen-X. I'm one of the latchkey kids. Mildly feral. I was six when I started copying Disney characters, twelve when I started winning state fair ribbons for drawing and painting, and twenty when I joined the Air Force because art 'was not going to pay the bills,' according to my mom. I spent decades following that advice, convinced practicality was the only viable path. But the truth is simple: art pays dividends practicality never could — not just to my livelihood, but to my sense of direction. None of that time was lost; it became the scaffolding for the work people seek out now.

My grandparents always had Polaroid cameras, and the alchemy of instant imagery fascinated me. Then my mother let me use her old Chinon. I was hooked. I shot weddings, pet portraits, then products for catalogs as a creative director. But it wasn’t until 2022, when I became an Army photographer and moved to Germany, that everything aligned. I met mentors who sharpened my instincts and revealed the missing piece I hadn’t known to name. It felt like I had come home to a part of myself I’d misplaced but never stopped scanning the horizon for.

Now I photograph the world with the discipline of a machinist, the eye of a painter, the precision of a graphic designer, and the sensitivity of someone who has lived most of her life observing quietly from the margins. I shoot architecture, historic landmarks, and the hidden alleyways of ancient cities—not as trophies, but as emotional topography — the interior world etched onto the exterior landscape. When I stand on a Venetian bridge at 4am, I’m not “capturing Venice.” I’m capturing solitude, belonging, and the lingering echo of every soul who stood there centuries before me. I’m capturing the moment the world stops performing.

My work has earned recognition from jurors at SFMoMA, Leica Gallery LA, Aperture, Photo Basel, and AIPAD. I’ve received Silver and Honorable Mention with Exposure One, along with honors from ReFocus, 1x, UCP, Club Noir, and the 1839 Awards. My images have appeared in international magazines, often showcased on covers. Awards matter only as mile markers — proof of motion, not the reason for it. What matters is creating images with emotional endurance — work that refuses to be drowned out by synthetic perfection and digital noise.

We’re living in a time of acceleration: AI-generated imagery, geopolitical instability, digital oversaturation, and a collective hunger for something real. My photography acts as a counterweight — a deliberate deceleration in a culture addicted to acceleration. It reflects the values that shaped me—discipline, resilience, reverence for place, and the quiet courage of showing up when no one is watching.

People tell me my work returns them to places they thought they’d lost — not on a map, but in themselves.

If one of these images gives you breath, anchoring, or the sense of being precisely where you’re meant to be, I’d be honored for it to live with you — to become part of your space and your story.

The world is loud. Your spaces deserve the kind of quiet that remembers you.