My father often likes to tell a story about me when I was 2 years old, although I was too young to remember the incident I believe it to be true. He says he returned home from work one day to find my mother doing some house work but I was nowhere to be found. He looked in my room, he looked in the living room, even in the kitchen. His worries were silenced when finally I called out to him from the top of the fridge. He says he is still trying to figure out how I got there.
I believe I was a photographer long before I ever owned a camera. School teachers would often say I didn’t listen and couldn’t focus, but the truth is I was focused on other things; how other kids moved, how the chalk would crumble off the blackboard and how the light would hit the classroom in the afternoons. Unable to properly communicate my thoughts as a child meant I would struggle through most of my schooling.
When I acquired my first camera in my early 20′s I felt like a fish who had discovered water. It naturally became an extension of myself and allowed me to express feelings and thoughts like never before. I fear the debt I owe the medium of photography is one I could never pay back because photography gave me a voice and a purpose.