When I was 14 years old, I was given an ancient camera and the tools to make my own film while away at summer camp. As I stood in the dark room, developing the images I had chosen to capture, I discovered a powerful way to represent the world through my eye. I still have on my wall that first photo I took and developed, a black and white rendering of old canoe oars…and it still lights me up.
My passion hasn’t been consistently present, I found myself in business school instead of art school, I’ve tried to imitate what seemed like a more normal or responsible path in life…but the artist in me has always cried out, has always shaken and forced me to abandon high paying jobs, environments that didn’t inspire or support my true path, relationships that suffocated my colorful soul.
So here I am. I don’t have a plan or any idea where my art will lead me. I only know that with every click of my camera’s shutter opening and closing, with every idea that springs from my mind and splatters itself across a glossy piece of paper, with every folder filled with another 600 pictures on my computer desk top, I feel more alive.
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