My story starts in Nebraska, with a young man who decided not to pursue an engineering degree in college in lieu of working at the plant and falling in love with a pretty teenager in desperate need of unconditional love and support. From here, all I can share (at the risk of a million micro-stories spilling out and taking over my Sunday) is that my father named me after a Nebraska pioneer who, on his death bed, requested that his daughter Mari Sandoz write his life story. My mother named me after a precious stone.
For as long as I can remember, I was a daydreamer. I loved how I could travel through time as I walked home from school when the condemned barns by the grain bins bustled with travelers waiting for the train. I’d listen as townsfolk chattered, horses trotted and school bells rang. There was life in this dying town at one time and I’d often get lost in it.
When my grandma gave me a Minolta 110, I discovered a passion for capturing moments, landscapes, and people’s emotions in the present and how those moments shifted over time.
Even though the focus of my photography and related projects have shifted over time, and sometimes even repeated themselves, I’ve found that a common thread has been my near-obsession with how people perceive and respond to their truths, the truths of others, and time.
