What I’m Learning About Becoming

Over the past year, I’ve found myself returning to one word again and again.

Becoming.

At first, I thought it described the direction of my business. I was redesigning my website, refining the work I wanted to create, and letting go of parts of my business that no longer felt aligned with who I wanted to be as an artist. I assumed becoming was simply another word for growth.

Now I think it’s something much deeper.

I’ve spent most of my career introducing myself as a photographer. It’s a title I’m proud of, and photography has given me a life I genuinely love. It has introduced me to remarkable people, invited me into some of the most meaningful moments of their lives, and challenged me to keep learning every single day.

But somewhere along the way, I noticed that the questions I was asking myself had changed.

I wasn’t asking how to create prettier photographs anymore.

I was asking how to create more meaningful ones.

That shift has influenced every decision I’ve made. It shaped the redesign of my website. It influenced the kinds of projects I want to pursue. It’s the reason I find myself drawn to conceptual portraiture and to creating work that explores identity, connection, and the human experience.

The photographs became less about what they looked like and more about what they said.

One of the hardest parts of this process has been realizing that becoming often requires letting go.

We usually think of growth as adding something new—more knowledge, more confidence, more experience. But I’ve discovered that growth can also mean releasing what no longer fits.

Every page I removed from my website represented work I had once been proud of. Every change meant saying goodbye to a version of my business that had served me well for many years.

There was nothing wrong with that work.

It simply wasn’t leading me where I wanted to go.

I’ve come to believe that becoming isn’t about rejecting who we were. It’s about honouring that version of ourselves while allowing room for the next one to emerge.

One of the most interesting things I’ve learned about myself is the way my mind works.

I often see things finished long before they exist.

A portrait.

An exhibition.

A magazine.

An experience.

I can see the completed piece so clearly that it feels real, even while I’m standing at the very beginning. The difficult part isn’t imagining the destination. It’s patiently building the path that allows everyone else to see what I’ve already envisioned.

For a long time, I thought that was simply how everyone’s mind worked.

I’ve since realized it isn’t.

It’s one of the greatest gifts photography has given me, and one of the greatest challenges of being an artist. Living with the finished vision while you’re still creating it requires patience. There are days when it feels exhilarating and days when it feels impossibly slow.

But every time I’ve rushed the process, the work has suffered.

Every time I’ve trusted it, something better has emerged.

Looking back, I realize that every meaningful project I’ve created has followed that pattern. Inkcandescent began as an idea I couldn’t quite explain to anyone else until it finally existed. The Grief Project is still unfolding in much the same way. Even this Journal began long before there were words on a page.

Each project started as a quiet conviction that there was something worth creating, even before I knew exactly how I would get there.

Perhaps that’s what becoming really is.

Not reaching a destination.

Not finally having everything figured out.

But continuing to create while you’re still growing.

Continuing to trust your instincts when the path isn’t fully visible.

Continuing to believe in the finished vision while giving yourself permission to build it one step at a time.

I don’t know exactly where this journey will lead.

I do know that I’m no longer interested in creating work that is simply beautiful.

I want to create work that helps people feel something.

Work that starts conversations.

Work that reminds people of who they are, what they love, and the seasons of life that have shaped them.

If that’s where becoming is leading me, then I hope I never really arrive.

Because perhaps the most beautiful part of becoming is realizing there is always another story waiting to be told.

Continue Exploring

Every project begins with a question.

Explore the stories, portraits, and ideas that continue to shape my work.

• The Journal

• Conceptual Work

• Portraits of Becoming

• Inkcandescent

Explore My Work →