This Is Why I’m Here

I didn’t choose video and photography because it felt like a smart career move. It found me through curiosity. Through paying attention. Through realizing that the moments people remember most are rarely the loud ones, but the quiet details that tell the truth. I’m drawn to the people behind the work and the responsibility that comes with being trusted to tell their story. The camera is just how I listen.

What matters most to me happens long before the final frame. It’s being on location, reading the room, solving problems when things don’t go as planned. It’s creating a space where people feel comfortable enough to be real. When that happens, the work changes. Trust changes everything. I’m not here to check boxes or chase a paycheck. I care about the experience because it shapes the outcome and because people deserve to feel seen in their own story.

There’s a film I haven’t made yet, but it’s the reason I take this work seriously. My dad lost his life to prostate cancer. The hardest part wasn’t the diagnosis. It was the moment I realized there would be a last conversation. Sitting with that truth, hearing him tell me he was proud of me, and knowing it would be the last time I’d hear his voice. I think about the ice fishing trips, the long road miles in the diesel, and the quiet stretches where nothing needed to be said because presence was enough. One day, I may face the same disease. It’s common, quiet, and devastating, and most people don’t talk about it until they have to. The good days, the fear, the moment a doctor says there’s nothing left to try. Those moments matter.

I tell stories because time doesn’t slow down, and neither should the things that matter most.