The click of my camera’s shutter is most often a question rather than an attempt to “take” or “make” a picture. My camera is an interlocutor - a means of asking questions of myself and the people and scenes before me. As I walk along my city’s streets looking for pictures, I have no preconceived notions of images I wish to make. I ask myself “What is drawing my attention?” and “How do I feel about what and who I’m seeing?” When I encounter people who intrigue me, I often ask for their permission to photograph them, while asking myself “What is unique about this person?” and “What do we share in common?” My ongoing inquiries yield permutations of the same answers; I gravitate toward scenes and people that seem somehow transcendent - a reflection in a window that melds interior and reflected exterior elements in a surprisingly coherent way; a piece of cityscape where foreground and background inform each other equally; a person who seems to be both distinct and emblematic of the human condition writ large. I want my portraits to illustrate both the unique characters of marginalized individuals and their resilience in the same frame. In a fractured and frenetic world where hope seems to be in short supply, I want to find (rather than “take” or “make”) photographs that bridge the chasm between privilege and undeserved hardship and celebrate our shared humanity.
