These black-and-white photos didn’t begin with a theme in mind. Unlike The Happentance Project, there wasn’t the same level of thought or emotional unpacking behind them. Or at least not at first. But shortly after my twenty-second birthday, something shifted. I visited the Robert Wade Exhibit in Pioneer Square and found myself captivated. There’s a quiet power in black-and-white images; simple in form, yet capable of revealing a complexity that color sometimes can’t.

As a child, teenager, and even into young adulthood, I found myself constantly people-watching. I’d invent stories and narratives about why someone was in this specific place at this moment. Perhaps it was a nurse, coming home from his twelve-hour shift at the hospital and going back home to his pet rats, or maybe a mother and daughter going to urgent care because she got a popcorn kernel stuck up her nose! It started as a way to cure boredom on long road trips or bus rides, but over time, it evolved into a tool for empathy, especially in frustrating or confusing situations. Maybe these photos are just another manifestation of that old habit, brought forward from childhood into this new medium.

As I kept shooting, I noticed a pattern: I was drawn to people. Not portraits or posed shots, but candid moments; people just living their lives. I’m still not entirely sure why, but there’s something deeply beautiful to me about freezing those everyday, fleeting moments in monochrome. Perhaps it ties back into that old storytelling habit.

When you view these photos, I invite you to imagine the scene behind the camera: I’m likely leaning on a wall somewhere, smoking a menthol cigarette (gross, I know), and listening to the Twin Peaks soundtrack or Townes Van Zandt on loop.