I’ve photographed horses in motion under stadium lights, designed posters that sold out events, built brands from nothing but ideas, and poured thousands of hours into crafting imagery that stops people mid-scroll.

But some of the hardest lessons in my photography career didn’t come from missed exposures or tricky lighting conditions.
They came from trusting the wrong people with my time, talent, and heart.

Ephemeral Grace was captured on Friday, August 22, 2025. I had stepped outside and noticed a monarch butterfly hanging still beneath a shrub. It felt almost too delicate to be real, suspended there in the late summer light.

The kind of day where heat clings to everything. Your skin sticks to your shirt. Your camera fogs up between frames. The air itself feels heavy, and every step kicks up dust that never really settles.

This show tested every rider, every horse, and every ounce of my own focus behind the lens. Not because of the competition—but because the conditions were relentless.

And still, I kept shooting.

Photography at an event like this is a thrilling challenge. The lighting is hard, the action moves fast, and the atmosphere pulses with excitement. Shooting handheld, I focused on freezing those split seconds where movement and emotion merge—a glance, a leap, a stance.

Today marks 24 years since the world stood still.

On September 11, 2001, nearly 3,000 lives were lost in a single morning. It was a moment that reshaped history — not just for America, but for individuals, families, and communities around the world. For many of us, that day is not a chapter in a textbook — it’s a memory. A feeling. A silence. A tear.

It’s not often that I step away from the barn and into the world of weddings. As an equine photographer, my usual subjects are four-legged, hay-loving, and prone to sticking their noses in my lens. But every so often, the right opportunity comes along—and I say yes.

As professional photographers, we're trained to chase perfection. We obsess over light, composition, lenses, and gear. We spend hours editing, curating, and delivering images that reflect our technical skills and artistic voice. But sometimes, the most important photographs we will ever take are not the ones shot with a $5,000 camera or under golden-hour skies — they are the ones captured in a fleeting, ordinary moment when all we have is our phone or a pocket camera.

Golden Silence was photographed in a quiet dahlia garden in Hilliard, Ohio, in late summer 2023. The air was warm, the world hushed. This single orange bloom—lit by the slant of afternoon sun—seemed to radiate from within. Flame-toned petals opened in perfect rhythm, unfurling like a breath held and released.

The Gaze was taken at Grizzle Ridge Arena in June 2025, during a brief pause at a cattle sort. Amid the dust and movement, in a place built for action and noise, this cow found stillness—and so did I. For just a moment, there were no flanks to pressure, no pens to shift between. Just breath, space, and a look that cut through everything.