When I look through my camera, I’m not just looking for a face or a pose — I’m looking for the little things that say something deeper. The way a child tilts their chin in quiet confidence. The soft smudge of flour on a pair of hands that have been working all morning. The colors and textures of bracelets, each one a small story wrapped around a wrist. These are the details that pull me in.
Details speak in a language all their own. They don’t shout; they whisper. A hand resting against a cheek can speak of thoughtfulness. A patterned shirt, slightly worn, can carry the history of countless days lived.
When I photograph people, I’m always paying attention to these pieces of their story — the ones they might not think to tell me in words, but that reveal themselves in the way they inhabit their space.
Sometimes it’s the way someone looks at me, straight into the lens, unflinching and honest. Sometimes it’s something that’s not even about the person’s face — like the weight of their posture, the colors they choose to wear, or the quiet repetition of their daily rituals.
I think it’s because details are where connection lives. If you really want to understand someone — to feel something about them — it’s not enough to know the broad strokes. It’s the small, personal notes that stay with you: the curve of a smile, the way light moves across their skin, the patterns of a bead bracelet against hands.
When I’m photographing, I’m not just trying to show what someone looks like. I’m trying to show who they are, in ways that are sometimes more felt than seen.
A single image can carry both the person and their world in it. In a close portrait, the eyes may draw you in first, but then your gaze might wander — to a hint of fabric in the background, to the position of their fingers, to the subtle marks of a life being lived.
These things might seem small, but they’re often what stay with you long after you’ve stopped looking. They give you a sense of where someone comes from, what they value, how they move through their days.
The photographs I treasure most are never just about aesthetics. They’re about presence. They’re about that moment when someone lets you see them — not in the polished, “picture-ready” way, but in a way that feels unguarded and true. And in those moments, it’s often the tiniest details that make the image breathe.
When you look at my work, I hope you take a moment to find those little pieces. They may seem quiet, but they’re the heartbeat of the story.