I grew up in the Okanagan Valley, where the light dances on the water and the rugged landscapes begged to be captured. No classrooms, no rulebooks—just me, my camera, and an insatiable curiosity to figure it all out on my own terms. Being self-taught wasn’t a limitation; it became my greatest strength. Every mistake was a lesson, every failure a step closer to finding my own vision.  

There’s something raw about teaching yourself—you learn to trust your instincts. I didn’t have anyone telling me the "right" way to shoot, so I developed my own style through trial, error, and relentless experimentation. The long hikes, the quiet mornings by the lake, the unplanned moments with friends—they all became my classroom. I chased the light, studied the shadows, and learned that the best shots often come from breaking conventions, not following them.  

My photography isn’t about perfection. It’s about feeling. It’s the way a mountain looks just before a storm rolls in, the way laughter looks when it’s completely unposed, the way the Okanagan air smells like pine and earth in the frame of a single moment. I shoot what moves me, and because I learned by doing, my work carries the honesty of that journey.  

When I’m not behind the camera, I’m still learning—out on the trails, knee-deep in a river with a fishing rod, or gathered around a campfire with the people who keep me grounded. My process is messy, personal, and always evolving. That’s the beauty of forging your own path: the growth never stops.  

This is my story—written in light, shaped by experience, and always mine to define.