I work in the space between moments.
Where nothing dramatic happens
but everything changes.
My photographs are quiet, observational, often unposed.
I’m drawn to gestures that almost go unnoticed:
a glance, a pause, a shift of light across a wall.
I believe the most meaningful moments often don’t announce themselves
they pass by quickly, softly
and I try to catch them before they disappear.
While writing Is This Something?,
I found myself watching the passage of time from two places at once:
as an artist, analysing the nature of attention,
and as a mother, witnessing my two young children, both under two
transform into small, brilliant people, day by day.
There is a camera on my desk.
Not for projects.
Not for clients.
Just for the flashes of life I can't risk missing
a smile that lasts half a second,
a hand reaching for mine mid-thought.
The camera reminds me to look up.
My work is about what we carry
not in the dramatic peaks,
but in the folds and fragments of the everyday.
The things we might forget if we didn’t stop.
If we didn’t frame them.
If we didn’t ask:
Yes.
This is the reason I notice anything at all.
