I think I have always been an observer.

Even as a child, I noticed the little things. A gesture. An expression. Someone laughing. Someone looking lost in thought. A dandelion growing where no one else seemed to notice it.

I would collect these moments in my mind like photographs, long before I really understood why.

There is one I still remember very clearly.

I was about eight years old and walking with my parents in New York when I saw a man sitting on the street. His clothes were worn, his hair fell across part of his face, and he held out his hand as people passed.

But what I remember most were his eyes.

People kept walking. I remember wondering why no one seemed to see him.

As we passed, I slowed down, looked at him and said hello. I smiled at him, and for a brief moment, he smiled back.

It was such a small exchange, probably forgotten by everyone else who passed that day.

I never forgot it.

Years later, while taking photography classes in high school, I thought about that man again. I wished I had been able to capture that moment, particularly that fleeting smile.

Perhaps that was the beginning of my desire to photograph people as they really are.

Capturing what happens in between

For years, people were at the center of my film photography.

I rarely wanted to pose anyone. I was much more interested in what happened when they forgot the camera was there.

The glance between two people, an unexpected laugh, a quiet expression, all those tiny unguarded moments that disappear almost as quickly as they happen.

Photography gave me a way to hold onto them.

Then, in 2001, my life changed dramatically when I moved from New York to France.

Suddenly I was in a country where I couldn’t fully express everything I wanted to say. Without really intending it, my photography began to change too.

Another form of expression began to develop alongside what I was already doing.

I still loved photographing people and capturing those little unguarded moments, but I also began exploring something else.

Color. Movement. Abstraction.

Little by little, I discovered that photography could also help me express what I was feeling without necessarily needing words.

Sometimes, what I was photographing became less important than what I was feeling while I photographed it.

And that led to something I hadn’t expected at all.

Someone noticed photographic proofs scattered across my desk and offered me a solo exhibition near Monaco.

My first reaction was to say no.

They were simply photographs I had taken for myself, never imagining I would exhibit them.

They were personal.

My new love had given me an orchid, telling me it would last while he was away. I had simply wanted to preserve that flower, to keep a reminder of a gesture that had touched me.

And somehow, those photographs had become pieces of me.

The people encouraging me to exhibit the photos eventually wore me down, and I agreed to do the show.

The exhibition featured all fifteen photographs from my Evocative Series in large format.

Seeing other people respond to images that had begun as such a personal form of expression changed the way I thought about my photography.

One shot. One moment.

There is something important to understand about my film photography.

My photographs are unedited.

There is no digital manipulation creating the colors, movement or abstraction you see. Everything was captured directly on film, in camera, in that particular instant.

One shot. One moment.

That has always mattered to me.

The light, the movement, the emotion and whatever is happening inside me as I press the shutter all come together for a fraction of a second.

And then the moment is gone.

I can’t recreate that exact moment.

And I don’t try to.

In some of my abstract photographs, what was actually in front of my camera ultimately mattered very little.

And what I love is that everyone can see something different.

You look at these photographs through your own memories, experiences and emotions. What speaks to me might tell you a completely different story.

And that’s perfectly fine with me.

In fact, I think that’s one of the things I love most about art.

One photograph. One original.

That idea of a unique moment also shaped the way I decided to offer my photographic artwork.

Yes, a photograph can be reproduced.

But just because an image can be reproduced endlessly doesn’t mean I want to do that.

The moment itself happened only once.

That’s why most of my original film photographic artworks are offered as one-of-a-kind pieces.

Once an artwork is sold, I won’t produce another identical piece. Each comes with a signed certificate of authenticity.

The Evocative Series is the exception. This series is available as a limited edition, also accompanied by a certificate of authenticity.

Looking back, photography has always been a way for me to see the world, hold onto certain moments and, sometimes, express things I couldn’t quite put into words.

And I think that’s still true today.

Looking. Feeling. Capturing a moment before it disappears. 

A little note about the Reply comment form below…

Please keep in mind that comments below this paragraph are public and may be seen by everyone visiting the website.