Some stories don’t start with a single moment. They grow slowly, over time. Mine has always been told through photographs.

I’m a 20 year old photographer, and I’ve been building this little business since I was fifteen. What started as something small became the way I learned to understand the world around me. Both of my parents are creatives, so I grew up surrounded by photographs, art, and stories. I think I learned early on that the things we remember aren’t always the biggest moments. Sometimes it’s a place, a feeling, the way the light fell through a window, or the way someone looked at you when they thought no one was watching.

That has always been what draws me to photography.

I’m interested in the space between what happens and what we remember. The pieces of a day that seem insignificant while you’re living them, but somehow become the things you miss years later. A hand reaching across the car. Wind moving through an open window. Bare feet on the dock. Music playing in the background. Someone laughing so hard they forget about the camera.

There is something about photographs that can make a moment feel like it belongs to another time. I love that feeling. The nostalgia of looking at an image and remembering not only what happened, but who you were when it did.

That’s where my work lives.

Cinematic, nostalgic, imperfect, and rooted in real life. I’m drawn to movement and stillness, to the quiet moments and the ones that feel a little wild. I want the photographs to feel like pieces of a story rather than a record of what happened. Something you can step back into years from now and still feel.

I grew up modeling, so I know what it feels like to be on the other side of the camera. I know the awkwardness of being photographed and the strange feeling of wondering what you’re supposed to do. But I also know how quickly that disappears when you stop thinking about the camera and start living in the moment.

That’s what I care about creating space for. Not perfect poses or moments that feel manufactured, but room for something real to happen. For you to move, wander, laugh, get a little messy, and forget you’re being photographed.

I’ve been with my amazing, wonderful boyfriend, Dakota, for six years, and I think loving someone for that long has made me even more aware of the beauty in ordinary life. The routines. The inside jokes. The comfortable mornings. The places you return to. The little things you never think to photograph until you realize how much they mean to you.

Maybe that’s why I keep coming back to this.

Because life is happening all the time. And somehow, photographs give us a way to hold onto a little piece of it.

Some stories don’t start with a single moment. They grow slowly, over time. Mine has always been told through photographs.

I’m a 20 year old photographer, and I’ve been building this little business since I was fifteen. What started as something small became the way I learned to understand the world around me. Both of my parents are creatives, so I grew up surrounded by photographs, art, and stories. I think I learned early on that the things we remember aren’t always the biggest moments. Sometimes it’s a place, a feeling, the way the light fell through a window, or the way someone looked at you when they thought no one was watching.

That has always been what draws me to photography.

I’m interested in the space between what happens and what we remember. The pieces of a day that seem insignificant while you’re living them, but somehow become the things you miss years later. A hand reaching across the car. Wind moving through an open window. Bare feet on the dock. Music playing in the background. Someone laughing so hard they forget about the camera.

There is something about photographs that can make a moment feel like it belongs to another time. I love that feeling. The nostalgia of looking at an image and remembering not only what happened, but who you were when it did.

That’s where my work lives.

Cinematic, nostalgic, imperfect, and rooted in real life. I’m drawn to movement and stillness, to the quiet moments and the ones that feel a little wild. I want the photographs to feel like pieces of a story rather than a record of what happened. Something you can step back into years from now and still feel.

I grew up modeling, so I know what it feels like to be on the other side of the camera. I know the awkwardness of being photographed and the strange feeling of wondering what you’re supposed to do. But I also know how quickly that disappears when you stop thinking about the camera and start living in the moment.

That’s what I care about creating space for. Not perfect poses or moments that feel manufactured, but room for something real to happen. For you to move, wander, laugh, get a little messy, and forget you’re being photographed.

I’ve been with my amazing, wonderful boyfriend, Dakota, for six years, and I think loving someone for that long has made me even more aware of the beauty in ordinary life. The routines. The inside jokes. The comfortable mornings. The places you return to. The little things you never think to photograph until you realize how much they mean to you.

Maybe that’s why I keep coming back to this.

Because life is happening all the time. And somehow, photographs give us a way to hold onto a little piece of it.