I’ve never photographed a ribbon-cutting before, but this one felt especially meaningful. A couple of years ago, Colorado Springs Mayor Yemi Mobolade shared that our city was facing a shortage of 17,000 preschool slots. That need stuck with us.

Taking a 1961 Olympus Pen EE and a roll of Kodak Gold 200 through downtown Colorado Springs on an overcast afternoon. A look at architecture, murals, and the quiet stories that live between the buildings.

I arrived to find the perfect light and a wide-open landscape, only to realize my main camera was sitting on my kitchen table. Initially, I felt the sting of a missed opportunity—until I realized the beauty of the scene wasn't dependent on the quality of my sensor.

spent some time today observing what was presented to me. There is a specific beauty in the geometry of a city, but a building doesn't have a soul. It looks great, but it doesn't have a story. Then there are the people.

There is a specific corner you turn where the scale of Garden of the Gods finally hits you. It’s an oasis just a few miles from the busyness of downtown, but once you’re in the valley, the city feels like another world

Railroad tracks are a rigid, man-made idea of movement, while a stream goes exactly where it wants. These field notes observe the moments where our structures are forced to concede to the landscape, all connected by a common element: the fog.

t’s funny how the eye finds things the mind misses in the moment. While editing, I realized I was unconsciously picking up threads of a story I didn't even see while standing in the snow. A green thread was there the whole time—hidden in plain sight.

Stripping away the world to find what remains. Freedom looks like a new beginning; Faith looks like staying still.