Photos

My dad used to always carry around a handheld camcorder and a pocket-sized silver digital Canon. Any special occasion or family trip was accompanied by these portable, digital eyes. I constantly badgered my dad to let me use the small Canon. At first, I pictured the little device as some sort of weapon, a gun that used my vision as fuel and recoiled with a reflection of the trigger moment. I dashed around corners, fired off shots from unpredictable angles, and learned to anticipate my targets' movements. Taking photos was a practice of memorializing what I felt in the moment—the artifacts lost in the annals of the memory card post-trip.

Now, I try my best to follow my heart when taking photos. I rely on instinct to capture the stories and moments that suck me in. I tap into my inherent curiosity to find the specific worlds that *I* care most about exploring. I observe. Then, I create. Conspiring with the universal present, I make a permanent snapshot of the intimacy I shared with this tiny world I had the privilege to enter. And then I move on—searching for another world to visit and come to know.

You can also read the full origin story behind my interest in photography.