Raised between structure and art, I began my education in Pennsylvania, then England — repeating the grammar of other people’s certainty. London followed, and finance: structured, legible, well-behaved. But somewhere, the repetition starts to feel stale. Safe. Restrictive.

The mountains came next. Kyrgyzstan, Japan, Chile, the Alps, Turkey — guiding skiers through terrain that demanded presence and performance. It was there, moving through the landscape, that I started to learn to read light and scale.

Photography arrived the same way language does — by borrowing, by imitating, by absorbing the accent of what came before. And then, if you’re lucky, something shifts. The work begins to speak differently. It no longer wants to be merely competent. No longer a polished replica. No longer willing to repeat itself blindly.

My work captures architecture and interiors with precision and freedom in equal measure—moving fluidly between structure and art. Color is intentional, never corrected into submission. The mood of a space, or a particular day, leads the way.

Outside the work: art, design, skiing, and the world — explored alongside my son, Santiago.