I’ve always been my father’s son. Football games, chess tournaments, flower meadows, seas, caves, mountains, political meetings… I went everywhere with him. He was always chasing a story, finding something worth noticing. A picture of a cow giving birth to her three calves—wow. That moment stuck with me, forever.
My father, a journalist, had a green, military-style typewriter Erika and a Minolta camera. Vintage, now, but then just tools for the curious. I followed in his footsteps, testing Minolta, Nikon, eventually leaving my Sony in a drawer and taking to my phone as the lightest way to catch a moment.
I love capturing moments. Soul food. Everyone says a picture is worth a thousand words—but sometimes, words have already run their course. A photograph holds its own quiet truth. Its honesty, its beauty, is there for anyone willing to see.
Some of these moments have found their way to Getty Images. Happiness—like stepping onto the Moon, perhaps.
I try not to overthink, letting a few ideas roam free. Some of them find their shape: renovating a wagon into a business space, printing T-shirts with your avatar, writing a book—giving Urban Diary, my photoblog of scattered thoughts, a reason to pause.
Pictures and words alike are traces of the inner world, reflections of feeling, of personality. They come from the same place.
So, just shoot me—photographically, of course. A quiet nod to an old TV series; vintage is just how I roll.