A Life Reframed

Those early flight line lessons never left me; they built the standards I still live by—precision, accountability, and the quiet mastery that only repetition and risk can teach.

The smell of jet fuel and wet concrete still lives in my memory—the kind of scent that tells you something powerful just happened. One wrong spark, and the whole place could go up. That’s where I learned precision, patience, and the thrill of risk.

From Grit to Gallery

(Side note: if you’ve ever tried to parallel park a van in Venice traffic before sunrise, you’ll understand why caffeine is a survival tool.)

I shoot images the way I once built aircraft parts—measured, deliberate, and always with a sliver of danger baked in. Chaos typically ensues—usually with me muttering under my breath and pretending I meant for it to happen..
The tools changed. The discipline didn’t.

The Air Force taught me focus and failure, the hard way. Those lessons stuck. I just traded titanium and torches for light and silence. Now I hunt that same discipline across Europe. Venice, Paris, Lisbon, Budapest at first light, last light, and the beautiful mess in between. Sometimes it’s one frame. Sometimes seven. Sometimes it’s wind, cold fingers, and a silent argument with the universe until the weather finally cooperates.

What matters isn’t the method. It’s the honesty. Hard-won images without AI.
No synthetic skies. No illusions. Just patience, precision, and the rare alchemy of being there when the world offers something worth keeping. Often that means rolling up in my van well after dark and waiting for the dawn. 

Cole, my service dog, rides shotgun on every trip. He's equal parts critic and companion, riding on my camera bag like the little monarch he thinks he is. He’s in every story, even when he’s not in the frame.

Recognition

(Side note: apparently, sleep deprivation and stubbornness photograph well.)

The awards aren’t about trophies or titles—they’re about endurance and proof that patience pays off. Each one carries the weight of missed ferries, failed shots, and the mornings I almost packed it in. Recognition isn’t validation; it’s confirmation that the work, the grind, and the stillness were worth it.

My work has earned international recognition from jurors representing SFMoMA, Leica Gallery LA, Aperture, Photo Basel, and AIPAD—including a Silver Award in Travel and an Honorable Mention in Architecture at the 2025 Exposure One Photographer of the Year Awards.
I also earned a Bronze Award and the People’s Vote at the 1839 Awards, with additional honors from ReFocus and 1x.

Each recognition is a small marker on a much longer road—proof that the discipline still matters. That patience still wins.

What Endures

Art outlives the artist—it becomes memory in motion, endurance captured in form. That’s the legacy I chase every time I frame a shot.

I don’t photograph landmarks—I photograph the fog lifting off the canals, the echo of footsteps on stone bridges, the way morning light skims the water before the city remembers it’s awake.

When my work finds its way into someone’s home, it stops belonging only to me. It becomes a witness. A part of their story—carrying its own quiet presence from one generation to the next. It's that feeling of peace and happiness you want to share with your kids. The nostalgia they feel when they inherit the work and remember how special it was to you. 

Everything else fades—status, noise, even the people who first stood in front of it.
What remains is the feeling.
That moment of stillness beneath the chaos.
That’s what I chase.
That’s what lasts.