Artist Q&A
What comes to you first: the idea, or an individual photograph that suggests a theme?
For me, everything begins with the act of photographing—it’s a bit like casting a fishing line to see what I might catch. I don’t usually start with a fully formed idea; instead, I let the process guide me. Sometimes, a single photograph—or a small group—catches my attention and suggests a direction worth exploring further. That’s often how a theme begins to take shape.
One example is a series I created of store-front mannequins and window displays, where reflections on the glass merged with the interior arrangements to create layered, almost surreal images. In other cases, the theme starts to form as I’m making that first image. For instance, while photographing the Santa Barbara harbor in early morning fog, the atmosphere led me to create a whole series of images in that single session. It’s a mix of discovery and intuition—following the photograph where it wants to go.
What essentials must be present to create work? Social commentary, form, emotional resonance, unity of place, etc.
For me, the essential ingredient in creating work is a visual form or idea that allows me to tell a story—something that goes beyond the surface of what’s seen and sparks an emotional response. I often refer to this as a moment of visual “surprise”—that instant when the familiar becomes unexpected, and suddenly, something ordinary feels newly charged with meaning.
My photographs are always rooted in structure—whether it’s clearly defined or deliberately absent, which creates a kind of structure. That structure is built through visual elements like shape, color, light, and shadow. These elements work together to create a moment of intellectual and emotional tension—a subtle disruption that invites the viewer to pause, look again, and engage more deeply. It’s that layered experience I’m always aiming for.
Do you have a “style”?
There are many photographers whose work I admire, and their influence naturally filters into my own. But I don’t try to imitate anyone. I prefer not to confine myself to a single, defined style—it would feel too restrictive and, over time, could make the work feel repetitive or stale. Instead, I let the subject matter lead. My style is shaped by what I’m photographing, not the other way around. Gary Winogrand’s film title, All Things Are Photographable, really captures how I see the world and how I approach my practice—with openness and curiosity.
How much of your work is happy accident versus editing?
I love happy accidents. They often bring an image to life in a way that deliberate planning can’t. But editing is where the real work happens. It’s where I step back, reflect, and start to see patterns and connections—sometimes even a narrative—emerge. The editing process helps refine what a project or series is about. It’s not about salvaging images; it’s about discovering them.
What must be present for a photograph or series to “work” for you?
There must be something beyond the surface—some visual idea or structure that opens the door to an emotional response. I’m drawn to moments of visual “surprise”—when something familiar appears unexpected, or when elements like light, color, and shape come together in a way that stops you for a beat. Structure plays a big role in my work, whether it’s clearly defined or more subtly implied. That underlying organization can evoke something felt before it’s fully understood, and that tension is often what draws me to keep looking.
What comes to you first: the idea, or a photograph that suggests a theme?
Usually, it starts with the act of photographing itself. It’s like casting a line into the water—you don’t always know what you’ll catch. Sometimes a single image or a small group of images begins to point toward a theme I want to explore more deeply. A good example is a series I did on store-front mannequins, where reflections on the windows layered unexpectedly with the displays inside. That initial surprise kept pulling me back.
Other times, the idea starts to emerge as I’m taking the first photograph. When I shot the Santa Barbara harbor in early morning fog, I set out to make a single image but ended up with a whole series. That environment—its stillness and muted tones—created its own thematic logic.
How do you balance artistic practice with your background in commercial and technical work?
My background in commercial photography and web development has influenced how I think about structure, clarity, and communication. In both worlds, there’s problem-solving, collaboration, and a focus on visual impact. The big difference is that my personal work isn’t bound by a brief or a client. That freedom allows me to pursue ideas that are more ambiguous, more emotional, and less easily categorized. But the discipline and technical skills I’ve gained from my professional background inform my artistic process.
Do you teach photography?
Yes—I offer classes for both beginners and those interested in street photography. I enjoy sharing what I’ve learned, not just technically but in how to see photographically. My beginner class includes two online sessions: one focused on essential concepts, and one on reviewing student work. The street photography class includes an online discussion followed by a photo walk in New York City, which can also be tailored for one-on-one instruction. I believe photography is as much about how you see as what you shoot, and I love helping others discover that.
Who are some of your photographic influences?
I’ve been influenced by a wide range of photographers, from classic to contemporary. I deeply respect the street photography of Garry Winogrand and Lee Friedlander—their ability to capture layered, often chaotic moments with precision and wit is remarkable. I’m also drawn to the quiet formalism and emotional resonance in the work of photographers like Saul Leiter and Harry Callahan. In more recent years, I’ve found inspiration in the color work and narrative sensibility of Alec Soth, and the poetic minimalism of Rinko Kawauchi. I don’t try to mimic any of them, but their work has certainly shaped the way I think about photography—as both a visual and emotional language.
What kind of gear do you use? Do tools matter to your process?
I try not to get too hung up on gear, but I do use tools that suit my process and help me stay responsive. I shoot mostly with digital cameras, though I have a background in film and printing, which still informs how I approach exposure, framing, and tonality. I’ll choose the camera or lens based on the situation, but I don’t believe there’s one perfect setup. What matters more to me is how comfortable I feel with the tool in my hand—whether it disappears enough so I can really focus on the act of seeing.
How do you approach sequencing or building a body of work?
Sequencing is a quiet, intuitive process for me. I’ll start by looking at all the images I’ve made and asking: what am I really seeing here? What holds these photographs together—not just visually, but emotionally or conceptually? Sometimes I’ll print small versions and move them around physically. Other times I’ll use digital tools to explore flow and rhythm. I pay close attention to pacing, contrast, and resonance between images. I don’t always want to make things too neat—ambiguity has its place—but I do want the viewer to feel guided, like they’re walking through a story or an experience that builds and deepens as it unfolds.
What made you first think you were an artist?
I’m not sure I’ve ever fully claimed that title with confidence—I still question it. But I think that uncertainty is part of being an artist. It keeps me curious, humble, and searching. I don’t think being an artist is something you declare once and for all—it’s something you live into, through the work you make, the risks you take, and the way you see the world.
What was the golden age of photography?
In many ways, I’d say we’re living in it right now. The digital age has removed so many of the barriers that once made photography costly or inaccessible. You can make one image or hundreds without worrying about film or processing expenses. Today’s cameras are incredibly capable, and post-processing tools allow for creative control that photographers in the past could only dream of. Of course, every era has its strengths—but this one offers a level of freedom, experimentation, and reach that’s truly unprecedented.
How does your background in traditional art—like painting and printmaking—inform your photography?
My training in painting and printmaking has had a lasting impact on how I see and compose photographs. Working in those mediums taught me to think in terms of visual structure—how shapes, negative space, and balance guide the eye across a frame. It also made me deeply aware of color relationships and the emotional weight that subtle shifts in tone can carry. Printmaking emphasized process and patience—qualities that have stayed with me, especially when editing or sequencing a body of work.
Even though I’ve returned fully to photography, that foundation in traditional art gave me a kind of visual literacy that I continue to rely on. I still think in layers, in texture, in rhythm, and pattern. The camera is a different tool, but the act of seeing—really seeing—is what drives me.