My passion for photography began with my obsession for light, texture, and all things beautiful. Back in elementary school I poured over the Weekly Reader (a newspaper for schoolchildren) and was captivated by the black & white images of the southwest—the majesty of mountain and sky. I didn’t realize until much later in life that I had been introduced to the photography of Ansel Adams. Not a bad start.
My grandfather was blind. Like my grandfather, I closed my eyes as a child to see how long I could go about my day without seeing. I would fantasize about his eyesight returning, even for just an hour, and I hoped to show him the beautiful things that were taken from him. As if I were an imaginary camera, I gathered the many images of beauty that I saw, discarding what didn’t matter. The images kept were of places to share, to return to, if only in my mind. By example then, my grandfather who lacked sight, taught me to see, to appreciate my environment, to record with a camera what’s important in this world.