My work begins with a sense of place.

I am drawn to environments that feel suspended between the familiar and the unknown—coastlines, cities, mountains, roads, architecture, and the spaces where the natural and built worlds intersect. I photograph these places not simply to describe what they look like, but to explore what it feels like to inhabit them.

Working primarily with 35mm film, I make quiet observations of people and places in which mood often takes precedence over subject. A solitary figure, a distant structure, a formation of rock, or a city disappearing beneath clouds can become less about the thing itself and more about its relationship to the space surrounding it. Scale, negative space, weather, light, and distance allow ordinary environments to take on a psychological dimension.

I am particularly interested in ambiguity. I want a photograph to suggest that something has happened, or perhaps is about to happen, without explaining exactly what that might be. The image becomes a fragment of a larger narrative whose beginning and ending remain outside the frame. Rather than provide answers, I prefer to leave clues and allow the viewer to construct meaning from them.

There is an inherent tension in photographing this way. The camera records something that existed, yet memory is never an objective record. It reduces, exaggerates, obscures, and transforms. My photographs occupy the space between those two conditions: the specificity of a real place and the uncertainty of remembering it.

Film is integral to this process. Its grain, tonal character, imperfections, and physicality introduce a degree of interpretation between the subject and its representation. I am less interested in technical perfection than in images that feel organic and lived-in. The photograph should retain evidence of its making.

Although much of my work is rooted in California, I do not think of it as documentation of California. The coastline, desert, city, and mountains become stages upon which broader ideas of solitude, memory, transience, and human presence can unfold. A person may occupy only a small portion of the frame, yet that presence can alter our understanding of the entire landscape.

Ultimately, I am interested in photographs that resist immediate explanation—images that feel like memories of events we may never have experienced. I want the viewer to encounter something recognizable, remain with it for a moment, and leave with a question.