I am a quiet photographer. I enter my sessions with a belief that beauty exists without my interference. My effort comes in paying attention—acutely—using the camera as a tool to make meaning known and remembered.
It’s initially unsettling to show up this way—unasking, trusting, silent (for the most part). But beyond the discomfort is the act of me receiving, which becomes the ultimate gift to each person involved. Life is to be witnessed, held, respected. All forms of it. I’ve learned this when asking myself what authentic truly means.

This is a family who dances in the kitchen and piles onto a single arm chair one by one, who reads before bed in the evening. They are God-witnessing and honest and generously fed me a meal to talk about unhindered trust the night before this shoot. We had a traditional session in a field planned but we instead stayed home and did what they always do—what is teaching them love a little more in this moment—dancing in the kitchen, sharing the one armchair, reading on the parent’s bed. From it has come deeply felt art because it authentically reflects deeply felt life.

I want us to know that art can be every day, unobtrusive, second-nature, safe. Whether we stand in front of a lens, a completed painting, or behind a camera, a guitar, we can do so without self concern. Being as a response is enough to honor bare human existence. An existence inspired out from the longing of God, igniting a union so complete, a sight so plainly hidden, that it becomes as a holy sheet of stars while a city twinkles below. From my heart, I want to be here for that. To look up motivated by wonder alone and love that we are reflecting what is made steadfast. Love that being is the point in everything we do, and let the quiet wake me time and time again.