My work is an invitation to pause. I am drawn to spaces that seem unremarkable at first glance, places where time appears to move slowly, where the world holds its breath. Yet within that stillness, I find that something is always shifting: light changes, a surface softens, a shadow lengthens. The ordinary becomes, with patient attention, quietly extraordinary.

Walking is central to how I work and how I see. I begin with a quick pace, then slow, gradually tuning in. It is in that slowing that something opens. I begin to ask questions I had stopped asking: Is this place as familiar as I assumed? Have I cast a membrane of knowingness over it, so that I no longer truly see it? Where did my sense of wonder go?

This way of working began years ago at Crissy Field in San Francisco — walking the same stretch of shoreline in fog and changing light, filming what most people walked past without seeing. That research became my MFA thesis, Fog. And the Whole World Stops, and the video landscapes that followed. It was there that I first understood that sustained attention to an ordinary place could become both an artistic practice and a form of inquiry.

The photographs and paintings in my practice reflect that searching. The series Retreating was born from a silent afternoon in June 2022, when I stood at the edge of Svínafellsjökull, a glacier in Iceland. Surrounded by grey-blue-white ice, I felt time suspend entirely. In that stillness, something vast spoke of change, of fragility, of impermanence. Of what endures and what does not. Each image in Retreating is a fragment of time, a quiet witness to transformation. The ongoing Tranquility and Blue Zone photography series emerged during my 2022 artist residency in Akureyri, Iceland — a town in the far north whose unhurried pace and intimate connection with the natural world reflect the qualities that Blue Zone research associates with long and meaningful lives. During that time, I made it my daily practice, morning and afternoon, to wander through the quiet pathways of the botanical garden and make a conscious effort to pay attention to my breath, thoughts, and surroundings.

Both the photographs and paintings are a search for spaces where stillness lives, where the pace of life breathes differently. These are not escapes from reality, but portals into its deeper layers — environments that, if we allow them, can restore our sense of balance, slow the fragmentation that accelerated technological life produces, and remind us that beauty and peace have always been here, waiting.

Through my work, I invite viewers to consider how tranquility can exist within and around them — in the pauses between daily tasks, in modest gestures of retreat, in the way light falls across a surface and creates a small clearing for reflection. The work asks: What if longevity is not only counted in years, but in how often we allow ourselves to step aside from urgency, to listen, to be still, and to recognize those slow and quiet moments of life as places worth returning to, again and again?

I make this work because I believe we need these moments, perhaps now more than ever. The act of looking slowly, of sitting with an image and letting it unfold, is itself a form of meditation and restoration. A small but real antidote to the fragmentation of our daily lives. I hope that something in these images meets you where you are, and offers a moment of stillness you can carry with you.