People often assume that self-portrait photography is autobiographical. Sometimes it is. More often, for me, it begins with a feeling of ease: I am comfortable both behind the camera and in front of it. Working alone allows me to move between those roles naturally, without interruption, and to explore light, movement and composition from both sides of the lens.
There is something grounding about being both the maker and the subject. I do not have to explain an idea before I have fully understood it myself, and I do not have to wait for the right person to appear in order to begin. The camera becomes a sketchbook, and the act of making becomes as important as the final image. Stepping in front of the lens is not about performance so much as presence.
This process also connects to my interest in art therapy and the wider idea of creative wellbeing. I am drawn to the way making art can shift attention, slow thought and create space for reflection without needing to force a clear explanation. Sometimes I do not know exactly why I feel compelled to make a photograph, but I know that I feel better for doing it. Immersing myself in the process often brings a sense of calm, focus and release that is difficult to put into words.
Many of my photographs are intentionally ambiguous. I love playing with movement and leaving the shutter open for a little longer than it needs to be, giving a softness to the body and shapes, while also providing me with that element of surprise. I like to think that i am painting with my body, an immersive body experience, something that also invites viewers to bring their own experiences to the image rather than presenting a fixed narrative.
Using myself as the subject also removes a barrier between artist and artwork. Instead of searching for the "perfect" model, I can focus entirely on atmosphere and emotion. It allows me to stay close to the work, to respond instinctively, and to follow whatever emerges in the moment.
Over time, these self-portraits have become less about me and more about universal experiences—memory, solitude, curiosity, change and the quiet ways we process what we feel. They are part of an ongoing practice of attention, one that values making as much as meaning.
When collectors tell me that a piece resonates with them or their story, that's when I know the photograph has found its deeper meaning.