"Please capture this," I told her.
It was my wedding day. I remember that moment more than anything, asking my wedding photographer to be sure to get shots of my grandmother. She'd been diagnosed with cancer. We wanted to remember her, just as she was, at one last family celebration.
That's been the way I always looked at things- capture what you love, what you might soon lose. I carried that with me as I pursued a degree from the Brooks Institute of Photography. My father is a painter. My grandfather was a photographer. You could say art was in my bones all along.
But the real heart behind what I do- the reason I go through this life with a camera- didn't show up until years later. It echoed inside of me and became like a song to all the parts of me that ever wanted to capture something worth remembering: I should value people because I have them right here, not just because I might lose them soon.
That changed everything for me. Absolutely everything. The way I meet a couple for the first time. How I honor every relationship and detail entrusted to me. The way I am always, always searching for the shots that will make someone whisper, "Things were good in that moment." Things were really good and hard and real.
I shoot from that unseen place inside of me that has always craved for something more: a legacy documented, a history told, a story that was always bigger than our own two hands. To me, that's where life unfolds. Those are the memories worth passing on, holding each tightly with no fear of forgetting how good life was to us in those moments.