I photograph silence. Not the kind you hear, but the kind you feel—standing alone in front of San Giorgio Maggiore at dawn, or watching the last shimmer of sunset spill across Neuschwanstein’s spires. My work is about presence. Stillness. And the weight of light just before it disappears. I didn’t grow up dreaming of being a photographer. I grew up in a blue-collar home, raised by a single mother who taught me to use power tools and trust my instincts. At 18, I joined the U.S. Air Force, became a machinist and welder, and spent years fabricating aircraft parts for F-15s and F-16s. Even then, I was the one they asked to “make it look good.” I drew retirement awards. Sketched logos. Designed patches. The creative impulse was always there—it just took time to find its rightful medium. After my service, I earned a BFA in Graphic Design and an MFA in Web Design and New Media. I taught at the college level. I worked as a Creative Director. I spent over two decades in federal visual communications—building brands, writing scripts, photographing events, and designing everything from learning systems to executive campaigns. But photography wasn’t a job. It was a lifeline. Something I quietly returned to again and again, especially during seasons of loss, transition, or chronic pain. Then something changed. After a difficult divorce and a long stint in survival mode, I stood on a Paris bridge one morning—camera in hand—and remembered who I was. Not who I used to be. Not who the world told me to be. But who I had always been: an artist. Since that turning point, I’ve fully committed to fine art photography. I specialize in large-format, limited-edition prints that capture iconic European locations with a painterly, timeless aesthetic. I photograph mostly at dawn, often alone or with my service dog, Cole. My aesthetic blends cinematic mood with classical restraint. I’m drawn to fleeting light, reflected symmetry, historical architecture, and emotional minimalism I wait. I wander. I work the shot until the atmosphere aligns with the story I want to tell. Often, I return to the same location multiple times—through fog, storm, and stillness—until the image feels true. Photography gave me back my voice. Now I use it to remind others of theirs. And while I don’t take myself too seriously, I do take the work seriously. Because beauty, when done well, outlasts us all.