I lived three lives before picking up a camera. I grew up in a loving, protective home and attended good schools. I lived through a recession where a college degree couldn’t get me a job in a grocery store. I’ve lived for months on less money than I now make in two weeks. I’ve bought one-way tickets to foreign countries with no plan to return. I return. Luck is my superpower. I’ve sat for hours by Mother Teresa’s tombstone arguing with gods. I’ve loved deeply and darkly, and despite my expectations I’ve learned to talk about it fondly. I’ve had help. I’ve processed my life in poems, stories, and songs; some of them are burned and buried. In most senses of the word but the usual one, I’ve lived a blessed life.

I work as a doctor now. Work supports my artist habit. I obsess over composition so I know what rules I’m breaking. When I take a photo, I’m looking at the past as much as at the present. I want my photos to feel like shuffling through a rolodex of dreams and memories. I experiment a lot. I’ve destroyed some of the best photos I’ve ever taken. I take more.