All the major threads of my life have traced an odyssean circle.

As a teenager, I absconded to a six-month job in the backcountry of Kings Canyon National Park, building segments of the Pacific Crest Trail at 13,000 feet. I figured I’d think about a vocation afterward.

That six months turned into a decade. Through trial by fire, I gigged and apprenticed my way around the world. Among other things, I’ve been a ski instructor, masseuse, pyrotechnician, farmhand, heavy machinery operator, tech evangelist, writer, and drystone mason—but modeling was my mainstay.

Photography was a fixture in my life from the beginning: before I set off around the world, I shot black and white film that I developed in a community college darkroom as a private adolescent obsession. As a model, I got to watch the creative processes of countless photographers from the other side of the lens while I posed atop double-decker buses in Hong Kong, in ornate bat-infested ruins outside Havana, in frigid waves off the shores of Hobart.

When lockdown grounded everything, I circled around to formal study for the first time, enrolling in online community college before transferring to Stanford University to study Computer Science. Meanwhile, a photographer I admired offered me a sponsored seat in her digital portraiture course. Not long after, an old friend asked if she could hire me for an intimate maternity session. That cracked something open. I loved every part of that shoot: the logistics, the anticipatory brainstorming, the dynamism of side-stepping both inclement weather and a citywide power outage, the honor of being entrusted with such an intimate and celebratory moment, the technical experimentation.

For years, for fear of “ruining” a beloved mode of expression, I’d assumed I loved photography too much to risk doing it for money. Turns out I loved it too much not to.

Drawn to the luxuriantly feral, experiential, conceptual, and human. Based in San Francisco; available worldwide.