I make photographs to understand the world and my place within it. My work begins with quiet observation — slowing long enough to notice the details most people pass by.

I’m drawn to the edges of towns, alleyways, overlooked structures, the ordinary marks of human presence. These places become mirrors, reflecting both the world around me and the inner landscape I carry. My photographs are a way of bearing witness — to what is present, what is absent, and what time leaves behind.

Music plays a central role in my process. Like a distant voice, it shapes my emotional state and tunes my attention. Sometimes I photograph immediately after listening, responding to tone and rhythm; sometimes the influence is subtle, guiding the atmosphere of an image. In projects like Distant Voices, each photograph is born from a song — a visual interpretation of sound, memory, and emotion. Music helps me approach the world with heightened sensitivity, letting intuition guide what I notice and when I press the shutter.

Influenced by the clarity and honesty found in the work of Walker Evans, David Goldblatt, and Robert Adams, I rely on a restrained visual language: line, form, shadow, and the quiet dignity of unembellished places. I try to show things simply and truthfully, without theatrics — letting the subject reveal itself.

Photography, for me, is also a form of meditation. It calms the noise of contemporary life and helps me reflect on my experiences, including a long career in military service. Whether I’m documenting landscapes, structures, or my own internal struggles, the act of photographing gives me space to think, breathe, and listen.

I place no expectations on the viewer. Each photograph is simply a moment of attention — a thought made visible. If the work offers someone a pause, a connection, or a feeling they can’t quite name, that is enough.

At its core, my photography is about listening: to places, to memory, to music, and to the quiet truths that live between presence and absence.