Creativity isn’t something you can run from. It is often our first form of communication and throughout life continues to shape the way we define our identity, our friends, our tastes, and our world view. People might watch hours of youtube to cook for their friends or family, build a motorcycle engine, tailor a suit, or paint a picture. Some people spend exorbitant amounts of money to master a formal education at a university or trade school. Some people simply pick up a book and decide their going to write down their adventures as they travel the world. I don’t have to look far, hop on a plane or pay for parking to start my next project.

I am an oil painter, an art teacher, and as you will find here a photographer. My first pictures may have been similar to yours, macaroni arranged on a tray in front of a non-verbal child. I didn’t choose to be absorbed by one creation or another, it just happened. My parents were thrilled to put a brush in my hand, to have some alone time as I spent hours with pastels at a messy studio with a handful of other kids. They bought me my first paint set, and supported me when I ran up a mountain of debt getting my degree in fine art, and studied psychology and anthropology at Uni. It wasn’t until I faced the prospect of not having health insurance that I decided education would be a practical choice for someone with a constant creative burn like mine. I chose to shape the emotional, social, and academic outlets visually for students. I couldn’t escape the need to make something new in the world. I continued to feverishly paint at all hours of the night. At this point I had gallery representation, but they strongly suggested I find other subject matter than myself and my family. In fact they insisted. Even going so far as to say if I did not, my work would not be hung within their walls. I hadn’t really taken pictures except with an old film camera as the high school photo editor, my junior and senior year. I decided to go mirrorless and stopped using my cell phone to photograph references and usable images of my artwork. I took to the streets. I wasn’t afraid to approach strangers as I had thought I would be.

Ironically it was painting that pushed me to photograph. With painting I spend my time interrogating my every emotion and opinion. I look in. Photography forced me to look out. To step outside myself. It’s nice out here.