I’m easily moved. I’ve photographed enough City Hall ceremonies to know the order of things, and I still tear up behind the viewfinder when I hear, “I give you this ring.”
The photographs I remember most are rarely the ones we planned. It might be a hand reaching out, someone laughing before they are ready, or the second a person forgets that I’m there.
Portraits have made me notice a different kind of detail. One woman arrived after a week of being on call, dark circles and all. Another wanted to remember her body before surgery. One wore a vintage dress she found in San Francisco. Another proudly showed me the arms she had built through boxing.
None of them needed to become someone else for the camera. They reminded me that beauty can be tired, vulnerable, stubborn, or strong. It becomes interesting when it feels true to the person in front of me.
I still quietly keep up with many of them on WeChat and Instagram. I watch them discover jazz bars, rescue animals, start businesses, and travel the world with their dogs. Through them, the Bay Area feels like much more than a tech bubble.
Photography has never been only about light or composition for me. It is a way of paying attention—to how people love, how they carry themselves, and all the small ways a life keeps unfolding after the photograph is made.
