Where Surreal Meets Real: The Story Behind My Photography

For me, photography has never been about snapping a pretty picture and moving on. It’s about taking something ordinary and pulling it into another dimension — extracting the simple and transforming it into a surreal, standalone piece of art.

I don’t look for the obvious scenes. Instead, I search for the details most people overlook: the curve of a canoe, the pattern of lily pads or the image of an old, abandoned schoolhouse. In my work, these objects stop being background and start becoming the subject. By shifting perspective, layering in bold colors, or highlighting unexpected textures, I turn the mundane into something that asks the viewer to pause and look again.

That’s what drives me as a fine arts photographer. I want my images to feel like interruptions — moments where the real bends toward the surreal, and the ordinary reveals its own kind of magic.

How It Started

My instinct to look past the obvious began as a kid in the San Fernando Valley — where rocket tests and weekly sonic booms shook the foothills, even as the air was heavy with the sweetness of orange blossoms. Most parents, including my father, worked behind guarded doors in aerospace, and the machinery of that world always felt immense, secretive, and just a little menacing against the idyllic backdrop of suburban calm. Growing up with that mix of beauty and mystery shaped me into someone who questioned what was in front of me, always looking deeper. Not everything was how it was intended to look. I discovered things were much more complicated than that.

Afternoons often found me sitting on my skateboard, rocking back and forth in the driveway while music floated over the walls. Andy Williams from one house, Fleetwood Mac from another. Even then, I was storing away the visuals: heat rising from the blacktop, shadows, grass, flowers, the shimmer of light caught on a window. I didn’t just notice them — I turned them into pictures in my head.

Those impressions were my first lessons in composition and mood. Later, when I picked up a camera, it felt like a natural continuation of what I’d always done: turning small, simple moments into images that last. That instinct eventually led me to pursue formal training, where I refined my technical skills and deepened my understanding of visual storytelling.

My Process

When I take pictures, I think about how I can transform the image from unremarkable into something unique. I seek out overlooked details. A canoe flipped on a dock, a basket of fruit in the kitchen, or a pond of pale green lily pads. On their own, they’re simple, almost forgettable. But through framing, perspective, and color, they become something else entirely. Those lily pads, for example, disks drenched in burnt orange and magenta floating on an eerily dark, black surface — a bold, surreal composition that demanded attention.

For me, photography isn’t about chasing the perfect scene. It’s about elevating the simple into a single, standalone piece of art — something that interrupts the viewer, makes them stop, and see differently.

The Range of My Work

My portfolio stretches across still life, landscapes, editorial, and experimental photography — but the thread connecting them all is transformation.

Still Life Surrealism Everyday objects become playful and strange when pulled into new light. My psychedelic fruit buckets are one example — fruit turned electric through color and framing, moving from kitchen counter to something closer to dreamscape.

Landscapes & Architecture An old schoolhouse on the Kansas plains, or a pier in New England — each place holds a mood beyond its structure. I use framing and tone to shift them from landmarks into emotional spaces.

Editorial Moments A masked woman in Boston during the pandemic, photographed in black and white, is one of my most straightforward images — and one of the most haunting. Even stripped of color, it becomes a time capsule of resilience fear and uncertainty.

The range allows me to move freely between subjects, but the purpose is always the same: to take what’s simple, familiar, or even forgettable, and show it in a way that makes people pause.

Writing Meets Photography

For me, writing and photography are connected by the same purpose: impact. A photograph isn’t just about what it shows — it’s about the reaction it stirs, the words it pulls out of the viewer. I want someone to stand in front of one of my images and struggle for a second to describe it — to search for words that match what they’re feeling.

That same instinct carries into my writing. Just as a strong image can interrupt and linger, I aim for language that resonates beyond the page. Whether through visuals or words, I’m always chasing that moment where something simple becomes unforgettable.

Conclusion

I’ve always thrived by creating work that has a purpose, whether it’s through photography or writing. What matters most is connections — pieces that draw people in, make them linger, and leave them with an image they can’t quite forget.

This is why I’ll always describe my work as taking what is real and predictable, to surreal and surprising. It’s not about chasing perfect moments. It’s about elevating simple ones and trusting that the viewer will carry those images, and their own words for them — long after they’ve walked away.