I have learned over time that the value assigned to a photograph is entirely subjective, and our estimations vary significantly.

I have been told from time to time that my work (which likely does not apply to everything that I create) shows a connection with the subject.

The thumping in my chest has guided me where my eyes can’t see; like a rudder it sways me.

As I write, and sip on coffee, I see myself portraying Reshonda over, and over, again. It is—in a way—a rehearsal. I can see myself in the moment, directing with clumsy words, making calculations, releasing the shutter; hoping for a connection that shall transcend my limited ability, and my medium. 

I have spent the last months trying to dissect my path as a photographer. It has not been easy to separate the documentarian, from the quasi-artist, from the man who wants to establish a business, and he who is fascinated with life itself.