A Widening Lens

As 2025 draws its final breaths, I find myself looking back on a year that felt less like a chapter and more like an awakening. For so long, my world revolved around stages—rooms vibrating with sound, bodies caught mid-motion, the kind of human electricity that makes you aware of your own heartbeat. Those nights carved my eye. They taught me to listen with the lens, to meet life where it burns brightest.

But somewhere along the way, the quieter moments began calling with equal force. A face softened by late-afternoon light. The small, unguarded gestures people make when they think no one is watching—the patient language of trees and open sky. I started to understand that aliveness doesn’t belong only to the loud places. It moves through everything—shouting, whispering, waiting to be recognized.

What unfolded in 2025 wasn’t a change of direction, but a widening of the soul. A realization that the same pulse I once chased beneath stage lights beats just as fiercely in the hush of an ordinary day. I learned that the world doesn’t speak in one register; it hums, it sighs, it roars. And every part of it deserves to be witnessed.

As I look toward 2026, I feel the pull of that truth more strongly than ever. The work ahead is not about gathering images—it’s about tending to life as it passes, about honoring the fragile and the fearless in equal measure. It’s about stepping into each moment with presence, allowing the lens to become a bridge rather than a barrier.

Photography, at its heart, is an act of devotion: a way of saying I see you to the world. In the new year, I hope to deepen that devotion—to follow the light where it wanders, to stay curious, to trust that even the smallest scenes carry their own quiet miracles.

2025 was a year of expansion.
2026 will be a year of becoming.